MY LIFE 1
FROM EARLY WRITINGS – 1997
I was born on the 6th of February 1947, when according to my father, “Simpson hit a six.”
My dad was an avid cricket fan. Problem was, Bobby Simpson would only have been around twelve or thirteen.
It was more likely Australia’s greatest cricketer Don Bradman that hit that six at that time.
Though my father was notified of my birth at that time, my mother claimed that I had been born well before that time: Possibly twenty minutes earlier and the nurses were unsure if I would make it. There is even the inference from nurse Fields of that time that I was still born and left in an area alone, where I magically coughed into life.
Many years later when she recognised my name at the chemist where she then worked, she noted that I was considered at the time of being a miracle baby.
His elation quickly diminished, he said, when he saw me for the first time. That animosity towards me remained even after his passing.
Eldest of nine children, where goods and services were still extremely sparse, I learned very quickly not to antagonise my father for fear of his extreme temper: “You’re the eldest you should know better.”
Our home consisted of a main bedroom, hallway leading onto a bathroom, living – dining room and an exposed veranda where my brother and I slept.
Our end-to-end beds and a wooden box at one end meant we had nowhere to play when it rained and in 1952, a serious storm kept us penned up for days.
It was while playing in this very limited space, I lost balance and fell heavily onto the corner of the wooden box.
The result was I ended up with a crushed sternum and lower ribs, and was limited playing sports until my teen age, when the soft bones hardened enough for surgeons to consider any operation. Later, the doctors advised against any operations and so I have lived my life with a deformed chest and a very weak upper body.
At around this time, I complained of ringing in the ears, for which tests were taken and nothing found. I now know that those ringing in the ear episodes occur when there is psychic activity happening.
My dad, not wanting me to be effeminate, treated me as he had before, with beating being quite regular.
Older family members often commented that I had a vivid imagination and I now wonder how many statements I made, especially to my father, weren’t psychic utterances that caused those beatings.
One event I remember clearly was when my maternal great grandfather died when I was seven.
The family had gathered at our house, a few days later, and were sadly consoling each other, when I blurted out:
“At least there’s a spare bed for the visitors.” Totally shocked at what came out of my mouth, and because the feeling was funny, I laughed.
I now know it was my great grand dad speaking through me, but my dad didn’t see the humour.
These out of control outburst weren’t restricted to my home life. Too many times I received ‘the strap’ at school as punishment for statements I made that I didn’t recall making.
One such case was when a schoolteacher, with much excitement, told the class that within the next ten years, Australia would be generating all its electricity needs from atomic energy. I don’t recall my action, but apparently I stood up and said that would not happen. This was probably my earliest prediction, for which I copped six of the best.
I lived in fear most of my early life, not only because of my inability to control these outbursts, but also because of the inference of my mental status, and worse, my possibly being possessed by evil forces.
Two events that still have lasting memories for me related to the war, which ended two years before I was born.
My mothers’ two teenage sisters would sometimes take my next – down brother and myself into events that were occurring in Sydney at the time. They both lived with my great aunt at North Sydney and so a quick tram ride could get us to almost any activity with a minimal of expense.
This particular day was an open day at Garden Island Naval Base, situated at a cove east of the current Opera House. The queues were long and slow, so we instead hopped aboard a sight seeing ferry that went around the moored ships, not long returned from war.
I was sick. Not sea sick, but from the images I had in my head. A most vivid one was of a number of sailors, burning to death in the sea as the fuel around them erupted.
I would often have nightmares, especially if I saw a war movie at ‘the pictures’.
Another incident was when these same aunties took us by train to the open day at Windsor Air Base at the base of the Blue Mountains.
While planes were doing manoeuvres overhead, we joined the crowd lining up to visit the stationary exhibitions that had been set up in hangers. Further down the field, and away from bystanders, a fire-fighter team began to set alight an old warplane to show the extinguishing process the base fire-fighter team used.
We were about eighty mitres away when the fire was started.
There were no personnel in the plane, but I saw two airmen, in full flight gear, desperately trying to break out of the plane’s canopy.
I can’t remember what I said or did at the time, but it was a week later that mum took me to the doctors for a general check up. Of course, nothing was found.
School was a total waste of time for me because besides the aforementioned ‘status’ I was born with, I have a very limited short-term memory. And what is worse, it is extremely difficult, even now, to put information from the short term into the long-term memory.
Suffice to say I failed school, or at least the school failed me, and I left at the ripe old age of 14 year and 9 months.
I had never been concerned as each year’s report had me with levels below 50% on all subjects but one. My Christian Studies were always around the 60% mark and perfect for my aspirations of being a priest.
It wasn’t till the last few weeks of school, when I told the teacher my preference that I learned priests have to have a pretty high education level.
I have done no formal training, studies or research of any kind and especially, no work relating to English, grammar or subjects relating to writing.
So that leaves the question: Where did my skills as a writer, English comprehension, compilation and research come from?
MY LIFE II
MY LIFE III
ENMORE SPIRITUALIST CHURCH
I arrived at the Enmore address and made my way into the old house that had been converted into a large, one-room meeting hall. A lovely old lady, with a noticeable hunched back, welcomed me and asked had I brought anything for the psychometry session. I had no idea what she was talking about, because although I had done a psychometry reading for the woman at the BBC Hardware store, I didn’t know what it was called. My vacant stare caused her to direct me back outside, and with the aid of a brown paper bag she supplied, got me to pick a branch off one of the shrubs growing there, hold it in my hands for a short while, and then place it inside the bag.
No wonder the shrubs and trees looked so unhealthy with so many people coming each week, stripping them of their branches and leaves for the psychometry session.
“Now remember which bag is yours.” she said, “otherwise you may select your own bag, and that will never do.” I nodded in my ignorance, wondering what would happen to me if I chose my own bag.
Inside the very large room, a circle of chairs had been laid out, enough for at least sixty people. Left of the front door was a slightly raised area that I was told guest Spiritualists performed their platform readings each Sunday. These were terms that meant nothing to me then.
In the right back corner was a small kitchen area and opening out from that was a small alcove where I could see a number of people chatting. There was also a scattering of people around the chairs, while the many smokers had gathered outside in the chilly night air. At 7.00pm a gentleman in a dark shiny green ‘sloppy Joe’ jacket with light coloured green bands on the sleeves, called us all to attention. I remember it well because I was wearing a similar one in blue. There must have been 50 of us in all. We were all asked to take a seat in the circle, and as the chatter quietened down, someone turned off the main lights. At first it seemed the lights had been extinguished completely, but as my eyes grew accustomed to it, I realised there was a small blue bulb hanging from the ceiling where the gentleman was standing. He introduced himself as Ian and he got us all to introduce ourselves to the room. He had an accent that I didn’t at first recognise, but later found was French: He was originally from New Caledonia.
We were asked to close our eyes and to relax ourselves by breathing slowly and deeply, while at the same time concentrating on certain colours that he introduced to us to one at a time. He suggested that we should now be in a deep state of meditation.
He then got us to draw to mind any visualisations, no matter how weak or how insignificant they may be. I wasn’t seeing anything. The entire time, my mind was whirling around in almost total panic. What was I doing here with this devil group? What if a ghost starts to appear in the middle of the circle? What were we supposed to do? Where did they keep the Holy Water?
After what seemed to be an eternity, I heard people moving or rustling. I slowly opened my eyes to see most had returned from wherever they had gone. One old dear had gone to sleep and was snoring happily in the corner nearest the kitchen. Ian and the others took no notice. It seemed this was a normal occurrence. Ian then went around the room to each of us, asking us what we saw, felt, or had received that was appropriate. One woman said she had received a rose quartz crystal from some heavenly being, and was told to pass it onto another woman sitting opposite, to which the receiving woman offered her thanks. Another woman said she had seen her mother in spirit and started to weep. Ian told her not to be upset, and queried as to whether this had happened to her the previous week, and the week before that, and the week before that. She replied yes. The next woman said she just went ‘away’ and was still having difficulties ‘coming back’. One of the other women immediately told her she needed grounding. If she didn’t, she was warned, she would leave half her spirit behind in the room when she left, or worse, she could easily be taken over by ‘walk-ins’. The first woman thanked the second woman, and excused herself as she wandered off into the kitchen area to do a grounding exercise. I was petrified at the thought of a walk-in taking me over, what ever a walk-in was.
Then came my turn. Ian asked me what had happened, and I said nothing, other than feeling very peaceful and sleepy. That was true; I was feeling that way, mixed with apprehension and concern about what would happen if a ghost appeared. One old dear said that as I was not yet initiated, I would probably not receive anything of significant value for at least 12 months, as it has taken her that long from when she had first started coming. I was both disappointed and elated. I would have liked to have some psychic things happening, but apprehensive as to what harm they might cause me.
We broke for a short while and the smokers went outside again to pollute the crisp night air. Most of the group were women, and most of them smoked. As I have never smoked in my life, I took a toilet break.
Smoke break over, we were called back to the circle. The old lady, who had introduced herself to me outside when I had first arrived, collected a tray from a side table and started moving from chair to chair. On the tray was a stack of brown bags like the one I had put the branch in when I had first arrived. Each person took a bag, checking first that the bag was not their own, before the tray was passed onto the next person. I took a bag off the tray when the tray was offered to me and waited to see what magic trick we were about to try next.
We were asked to remove the contents of the bag we were holding, and to concentrate on what we were feeling. I was feeling an almost dead, withered flower. Ian then asked each person to comment on what they were feeling, starting with a woman three or four seats up from me. She was the one that had passed on the crystal to the other woman who was now sitting next to her. She said that she was getting a very warm, fussy feeling connected to the small cameo piece she was holding and that she felt this person was looking for a warm hug and some unconditional love. She was very theatrical in her description, and I thought ‘what a wanker,’ an Australian expression for ‘what an idiot’. It was all I could do not to smirk. Ian then asked who owned the cameo, to which a young woman, an attractive one at that said it had belonged to her grandmother, who had passed over two weeks before.
Ian asked did the information she received make any sense to her. She hesitated before saying ‘no it didn’t’. She then said she was the grand daughter of someone they all knew as having been a regular to the circle. Apparently the theatrical person got it terribly wrong, but it didn’t seem to worry her one bit.
The next person Ian asked said she was happy not to try this time, as she was new and wanted just to observe. Ian seemed contented with her wish. Next came a rather large woman, who most considered a well-respected and practising psychic from Kings Cross in the heart of Sydney. She spoke very confidently about the feelings she was receiving from the flower she had chosen, and was so informative with what she was saying, I thought I’d never ever be able to do a psychometry reading anything like that.
Ian asked who owned the particular flower, and the little old lady that had introduced me to the bag and branch raised her hand. Ian asked if what she heard made any sense, and the woman replied most certainly. She then confirmed each comment the large lady had made, right down to a small detail concerning her husband’s lost medication. I couldn’t help but be impressed. Ian thanked both the ladies and continued on the session by asking the woman next to me what she had received. She said she was just getting a cold and sad feeling coming from the ring she was holding, and nothing more. Ian asked for the owner, and an elderly man, who I hadn’t noticed before, stood up and said it belonged to his wife. She had Alzheimer’s disease.
He thanked the woman and she said she would talk privately to the man, as she felt she might have more information for him.
Then Ian came to me. I had no intention of saying anything other than I felt nothing, because I really didn’t feel anything at all. I went to say what I had planned, but stumbled. Ian asked what I had said, and I tried again, but again I had trouble getting words together. It was like my mind was having an argument with itself and so Ian asked me to take a long slow breath and then to count slowly to five, which I did. He then asked, “If the flower had a heart or soul, what would be the feelings you would use to describe it?”
A very strong and confident voice said,
“The person is like this flower, broken and in pain. They feel they are useless, of no use to anything or anyone.”
When the speaker stopped, I realized it had been me. I was stunned. Ian said how good I was, and did I have any more information, again my mouth spoke for me,
“Yes, I feel the person has no idea how very special they are and how beautiful they are, deep inside. I feel another person puts them down, and that they are unable to defend themselves. I feel this other person is very jealous. This person the flower relates to will be making a very big decision soon that will release them from this other person’s dominance.”
Oh my God, what have I done, I thought. You can’t just blurt out stuff like this, I scolded myself. What if you’re wrong? What if this person goes and does something silly because of what you’ve said? What if….
“Very good, ” Ian interrupted my self-scolding, “and who owns this? ” I cringed in anticipation of a severe reprimand.
“It’s mine,” a sweet middle-aged woman said. There was an audible gasp in the room as the woman stood up.
Oh God, here it comes I thought, as I prepared for the worst.
“And did this make sense to you? ” Ian asked, his smile seeming to say, “I know it did.”
“Absolutely, ” the woman replied, “I have been coming to this group now for eighteen months and this is the first time anyone has given me anything that makes sense.”
Realising how that could be misinterpreted she went to apologise but was stopped by the big psychic woman from The Cross.
“If you don’t mind dear,” she started, “I feel it important to say that this young man,” She pointed in my direction, “Needed to know he has a gift, and his Guide has shown him, with this reading, exactly that. You both were the conduit each needed as a means of confirmation personally.”
“Thank you so much, ” the woman I had got the information for said to me.
I was busy catching flies with my open mouth.
“Well done, ” smiled Ian, “not bad for your first attempt.”
The room started to quietly clap. I was shocked. What was going on?
After the session, the large woman psychic from The Cross called me aside and congratulated me on my first psychometry exercise.
She told me she was one of the regular overhead readers that came to the Spiritualist Church on Sundays, and the one designated to ‘observe’ on behalf of the Church this night. She said she could see a very special Guide around me, a woman of great spiritual experience, who I had know when she was in the physical world, and that this Guide didn’t want me to be concerned with what was happening. She said this Guide would give me a sign soon to show that what I was doing was not bad. I thanked her and wandered into the smallest, most inconspicuous corner I could find, still feeling every eye in the place was watching me go. Ian came over and congratulated me, as did a few others. Then the woman, who had given the rose quarts to the other woman, came over and warned me not to do any more readings till I had learned to ground myself. She said she could tell I was mixing with negative energies, from the dark colours she could see in my aura, and I immediately knew she was as psychic as my shoe, which was probably more psychic than she could ever be. I thanked her and moved into the kitchen, where I made myself a nerve-settling cup of Peppermint tea.
The few weeks passed before I came back to the centre. At that time I hear that the woman I had given my first reading to, was away for a few weeks as her mother had passed away. Her friends had informed the group that the woman’s mother had been a brutal influence on her life and had made it a misery.
I began coming more regularly to the centre and was starting to feel quite confident with what I was able to do with psychometry. However, as I was not able to visualise anything, and most of the group said you aren’t psychic unless you can, I just assumed I was at the beginning of my psychic journey and had to be patient a while longer.
I can only recall one occasion at this place where I had a visualisation and that was while I was trying the transfigure exercise. In this exercise, we had to stare, without blinking, into the face of another person across the other side of the room. Their face would go blank and another face, usually a spirit who had recently passed over, would superimpose over the person’s face. I had no luck at all with the transfiguring exercise, but instead could see a vision slightly to the left of the person I was staring at. I could clearly see a beautiful wicker chair sitting in moonlight up on the platform stage. It was painted white and had a very large circular back. There was no one sitting in it and I, to this day, don’t know the significance of that visualisation.
It is interesting to note that of all these sessions I went to, no one actually got anything of importance for me from the psychometry exercises.
MY LIFE IV
CHARISMATIC CHRISTIANS
To say I was totally confused at that point in my life is an understatement. On the one hand I was practicing my Catholic belief, with probably a lot more dedication than most of my age, yet it seemed that I was also dabbling in the ways of Satan. My very deep rooted feelings of guilt resulting from these new developments weren’t helped by my family, who couldn’t understand why I just couldn’t follow the Catholic doctrine and just stop this ridiculous new interest.
I had to find some guidance, someone who knew what they were talking about and someone who wouldn’t hammer more negative energies into my already guilt-ridden soul.
Who to turn to?
Because of my Catholic background I decided to share this newfound information with my friend, a Catholic Priest from my parish. He was horrified to hear where I had gone and of the claim that I was psychic, suggesting I visit a certain Catholic family who were in the throws of starting up a Pentecostal style community within our parish. The father of the family had developed either a cancer in the eye or was going blind some years earlier, and so put his life into God’s hands, saying if he were to be cured, he would serve God in whatever capacity he could. He gained his sight and true to his promise, he and his wife started a Charismatic Spiritual Community in the Waitara area, a community dedicated to improving Catholic Christian Spirituality.
I agreed to go and visited them the following weekend. On arrival I was treated with respect and courtesy, after all our families were regulars to the Church and my younger brother and one of their sons were good mates. They had no idea why I had visited them, so after formalities, and a cup of tea, I informed them of why I was there and immediately sensed their fear as if I were about to give birth to the devil himself. I told them that if what I had done was wrong, if I had any anti Christian entities around or in me, then they had my full permission to exorcise it from me. And I meant it. They said what I had done was very wrong, without specifying where, how or why, and I later realised it was more fear of the unknown that was driving them, rather than a proven malevolence.
They laid their hands on me and prayed openly and loudly, his hands getting heavier on my head and hers getting heavier on my shoulders, as the prayer volume increased. The pressure was so uncomfortable, that I literally slipped out of the chair. Finally they told me I had been exorcised and was to keep away from the Spiritualist Church, as it was a satanic centre and to forget about such dangerous practices. There was no discussion as to what was happening to me, other than I had somehow created or caused this ‘silliness’ to happen, and I had to stop entertaining it immediately.
There was no improvement; in fact I started getting stronger feelings as more events occurred. I was getting quite worried that the seeds now sown were permanent, and no amount of praying would remove them. And pray I did, every afternoon after work at the local Catholic Church.
FATHER ROB, MY SAVIOUR
I returned to my friend the priest who had sent me to this Charismatic family, to say that I was having troubles getting rid of this ‘evil’ and needed a stronger exorcism, preferably a priest that was aware of such things. He suggested I visit a particularly good Franciscan priest at Wahroonga who had made a study of the occult. I made an appointment to meet this man a couple of days later.
It is important to mention that the secular priests, the ones that most people know and who reside in most towns, have a different understanding and certainly less training, than those in certain Orders. The Franciscans are such an Order.
Father Rob was a very big man, in both build and nature. I was immediately impressed by him, and told him my story. From the incident at the North Shore hardware store, the happenings at the psychic phenomena evenings at the Enmore Church and some other incidents that have been lost to time. He didn’t seem at all perplexed, and in fact listened to me with a very understanding and open-minded attitude. He made reference to different beliefs, philosophies and ideologies and it was then I noticed the books on his shelves of his very small cell. There were the entire works of Edgar Cayce, The Aquarian Gospels of Jesus the Christ, the Predictions of Malachi and Mother Shipton and numerous other occult books. When we had finished chatting he asked if he too could come to the next night at the Spiritualist Church. I was initially shocked that a priest should want to visit such a place, but organised with Ian to bring Rob along for the next session Rob was available for. I didn’t tell Ian that Rob was a priest, but an interested friend.
On the particular Tuesday night that Rob and I were to go to Enmore, a fellow priest at the Franciscan Priory at Mt. Alverna, who had previously been diagnosed as having cancer and who had been receiving chemotherapy, had been informed that his cancer had stopped and that there was every reason to believe the cancer had been cured. After a special mass of thanks, the priests had celebrated with a few glasses of some alcoholic beverage, so that when I came to pick up Rob, he was running late.
We arrived almost a half-hour late at Enmore and quietly joined the circle. Rob was dressed in civilian clothes and no one, other than me, knew him to be a priest.
Ian seemed a little pre-occupied on our arrival and I wondered if he might have sensed that Rob was a priest. At the break half way through the proceedings, Ian called me aside and asked how well I knew Rob. I explained that he was a Catholic Priest and that he had come as an observer. Ian said that if I vouched for him he would let him stay, otherwise Ian would ask him to leave.
Ian had sensed that Rob had been drinking and as alcohol was a banned substance during these meetings, I could understand Ian’s concern. I further explained to Ian about the reason for the priest’s celebration, our being late and Rob’s reason for the alcohol. Ian agreed it was OK for Rob to stay.
As the night progressed Ian and Rob became quite talkative and I had hoped for a hands across the waters scenario to come out of this encounter, but sadly it never happened. I think Ian’s Protestant past prevented this from happening.
During the second half of the evening, where again the light was dimmed to just a very low light blue, we did the transfiguration exercise where we were again encouraged to concentrate on the face of someone opposite us. Ian said we might see the face of someone from Spirit that may have a special message for us personally or someone near to us. Rob seemed to be trying with unusual enthusiasm.
It was during this exercise that Rob described to the group the face of a woman he saw who seemed to be dark or scarred on one side of her face. She seemed to be framed in an oval formation with white on the top and white on the bottom. No one in the room could connect with this person, and it wasn’t until we were on our way home, after Rob described more of what he had seen and sensed, that I realised it was one of my great aunts, now in spirit, who had been a nun. The white on the top and bottom that the priest had seen was part of her religious habit and not a part of a picture frame. She had suffered a stroke that had paralysed one side of her face some years before she finally passed into Gods Kingdom.
Rob’s message to me from aunty Regis was,
“You’re doing very well and are on track. You are very special, with a very special calling, and you are very, very safe. Remember God is with you as I am with you.”
It was then I remembered the message I got from the big psychic lady on my first night at the centre.
“I can see a very special Guide around me, a woman of great spiritual experience. You knew this woman when she was in the physical world. She doesn’t want you to be concerned and she will give you a sign soon to show that what you are doing is right.”
Now this was a sanction that I couldn’t deny. A Catholic priest, with a message from a Catholic nun, and a family member I trusted, telling me I was on track. If they were getting it wrong, what chance did I have?
I visited Rob at Mt. Alverna a couple of times before he was transferred interstate. I have never heard from him since, but have heard recently that he had been working somewhere back in NSW.
It wasn’t long after that I moved to a village in the Mudgee district of Central Western NSW, where I set up a holiday camp for disabled and disadvantage city kids with the aid of the priest who had first suggested my visiting the Pentecostal family and the Franciscan priest.
Years later I found that my ex wife’s sister was married to Ian son. Ian had apparently returned to New Caledonia. In hindsight, the Pentecostal Christian I mentioned actually got it right. Their praying over me had worked; it was their expectations that were wrong.
MY LIFE V
MAITREYA AND MY FIRST CONSCIOUS TRANCE
JUNE 1985
At this time I was living at Peacefields Wollar in Central Western NSW, a holiday centre my family and I had created as a respite centre for the disabled and disadvantaged children and their carers of NSW.
It was initially started with the backing of the Catholic Church and registered as YouVac, being Youth Vacation. However, because of conflicts involving the Church’s insurance suppliers, the change to State Government policies on hostels and the cutting back of Federal Government funding, an independent committee consisting of my family and friends was created.
This meant abiding by the new rules concerning insurance, beds per room and strict regulations made it extremely difficult to manage the Hostel enough to make ends meet.
After six years of struggle, the committee finally agreed the place had to be sold.
We had received interest from a couple of charities, but due to our isolation, none came to fruition.
Unexpectedly, we received interest from a couple who claimed to be affiliated with a well known inner Sydney Wayside Chapel, well respected for it care of the poor, mentally ill and those less fortunate than most.
They sent a request to our committee asking permission to visit and arrangements were made for the first Saturday of the following month.
Both the committee and myself made it clear that they would have to provide blankets, sheets and food as was the standard requirements of any guests.
We were informed that there were three persons coming.
On the Saturday a month later, a car arrived around five and a couple in their late fifties, rather hesitantly, got out and made their way towards the hostel. They seemed unsure and unsettled and I assumed they were expecting something far more up market. They kept looking back at the car, as if expecting a third entity. I thought they might have had a pet, as the committee would have warned them not to bring dogs onto the property.
The woman was first to speak, introducing herself and her partner as members of the aforementioned Sydney Chapel.
However, they said they weren’t here on behalf of the Chapel, but were an alternative Occult group wishing to start up a new ‘foundation’.
As I started to walk them towards the dining area of the hostel, the woman indicated that they were waiting for the ‘founder’ of the group, and as if on cue, a third person emerged from the car.
She was in her late sixties or early seventies, very long grey hair down to the middle of her back and wearing a very thin cheesecloth Caftan, enough for me to know she was braless and only wearing extremely skimpy, flesh coloured, panties.
Her slow and deliberate approach was very theatrical as she gazed the rural scenery with an air of superiority. The couple introduced her as Maitreya, and that she planned to turn the Hostel into a Temple to the Goddess when she bought the place.
She ignored my greeting of welcome, offer of tea or coffee, and instead slowly walking down the horseshoe veranda, inspecting the bunk bed rooms as she passed. The couple took up the offer of the coffee and told me she was a very powerful witch who had put serious curses on people and that she had been banned from the Sydney Wayside Chapel, the very organisation I was lead to believe they represented.
Being winter, the evening approached quickly and so again I stated that the hostel didn’t include sheets or pillows, only two blankets per bed and that they had to provide their own food. I added that the food I had for myself was basic camp food of sausages, mixed vegetables and potatoes left from previous camp groups.
The ‘witch,’ who had completed her inspection of the hostel, insisted they had been told all food and bedding would be prepared for her, though the couple indicated they knew to the contrary. I offered what I had in the form of the aforementioned food, excused myself and set about starting the fuel stove the campers used for cooking.
If I thought the day was already prickly and uncomfortable, a new shock affronted me.
As I was helping the couple with the evening meal preparation, the ‘witch’ asked my marital status. I told her I lived alone and was dedicated to the ideals of the hostel and I wouldn’t expect anyone to be willing to live this existence with me.
She looked with total disdain at the food we were preparing and left. As she seemed to be shivering, I assumed she had gone to get changed, as she was definitely not dressed for the frosty night to come. as we finished our meal
She returned some time later, as we were completing our meal, shrouded in three hostel blankets declaring it had been decreed by “the Goddess” that I was her ‘appointed partner’ and that we would consummate the ‘marriage’ later that night. The couple made their excuses and quickly left the room. She then added that once the marriage was consummated, the hostel would be hers.
I told her that I didn’t own the hostel, that I had no intentions of taking up her offer and as an extra, that she would have to find something to cook owing to her rejection of what we had offered.
It sure was developing into a very cold night in more ways that one.
I left her and joined the couple who had now retired to the hostel’s recreation room where they had already started to prepared the open log fire. I suggested to the couple that they, and the ‘witch’ if she chose, could grab pillows and blankets and could sleep there in the warm room as it was going to be a very cold night.
About ten minutes later came the first of the Banshee screaming sessions. The ‘witch’ was in the centre of the U shaped hostel court yard, pacing up and down as she chanted some incoherent babble. I glanced at the couple who were ashen, and asked what was going on:
“She’s casting a spell.” The woman said with a fear that even had me shuddering.
“She is powerful.” The man said. “We have seen what she can do.”
“She’s cursing the building.” The frighten woman said. “You won’t be safe here tonight.”
Much to the begging of the couple for me not to do so, I found myself standing at the open recreational room’s door.
Was I fearful? Absolutely. Yet somehow endowed with a strength beyond my natural humanness.
The evil woman had grabbed a bucket, loaded it with handfuls of soil and water and was busily splashing the mud onto the external walls of the hostel, while her incoherent chanting grew ever louder.
As soon as she saw me, she stopped the chanting and mud slinging, with her gaze fixed firmly on me. They weren’t just her eyes, but were those of dark spirits who had gathered around her.
I began to feel the life force ebbing from me, as her powerful magic showed me just how vulnerable I was..
It was then that I felt a massive rush of power overtake me, and I blacked out.
My next recall was shivering uncontrollably, in the kitchen drinking a strong coffee the couple had made for me and without a clue as to what has happened.
They said I had stood still at the door for at least fifteen minutes as the ‘witch’ began throwing the muddy mixture at me, blabbering some new strange incantation in a low and menacing voice.
They said initially I just stood there motionless and swaying slightly, and covered in mud.
Then, as if in a trance, I began slowly raising and then stretching out my arms, while slowly shaking and vibrating. As the vibrating increased, so too did they have a feeling of something huge building around the hostel.
Next, and without warning, they said I brought my outstretched hands together creating a thunderous clap that shook the hostel. I questioned that the hostel shook, but both agreed that they felt there had been an enormous energy had vibrate through the whole complex.
The ‘witch’ stood mesmerised in the courtyard for a short time before racing off towards the couple’s car, where she stayed till morning.
I went to bed immediately, after excusing myself to the couple, and contrary to their fears, slept soundly.
I awoke the next morning to find the three of them had gone and that the couple had left a donation of $10 for their stay. I never heard of, or from, any of them again.
To say that next day was a strange one is an understatement. I had no recollection of what has happened and only the account of the couple, the ‘witch’s’ fast fleeing to the car and a status of knowing something extremely extraordinarily weird had befell me last night..
As I washed the mud off the walls, cleaned out the bucket and generally tided up after they’d gone, I had this feeling of elation, like I wanted to cry with joy.
Instead I finished off my chores, grabbed the Altar wine my friend the priest had left for when he would say a Mass during his visits, and filled up a very large glass. I headed up to a spot that I’d often sit at as the sunset and as if struck by fever, shook uncontrollably as I bawled my eyes out.
I had no doubt that whatever had overtaken me was of the Purest of Energy, I still had no clue as to where it had come from, what has instigated it and whether I’d ever find out.
As the afternoon’s chills began to creep over me and I made my way back to the hostel, a voice deep within my mind, as if in the most distant corridor of my consciousness clearly said:
“Well done good and faithful servant.” The words were as clear in my mind as if someone had physically called to me from across the paddocks. It came from a quietly spoken ‘Thought’, deep within my psyche and it said:
“I am Mary Of The Cross and I will come again to you soon. You have much to experience before my return. Be patient, be peaceful. Much is to be exposed to you in time. “
MY LIFE VI
HISTORIC NOTE
MARY McKILLOP (1842-1909)
Mary McKillop or Mary of the Cross, as she preferred to be known, was canonised as Australia’s first Catholic Saint on the 19th February 2010 by Pope Benedict XVI.
Of Scottish decent, Mary was born in Fitzroy Victoria Australia on the 15 January 1842.
Though the amazing story of Mary and her battle within the Church to reach the poor amongst Australia’s early settlement, including care for Aboriginal children, can be found via the Internet, my encounters are of a more psychic and spiritually personal nature.
After the Maitreya encounter, and the ‘visiting voice’ that followed that night, I would spend the evening sitting on the hill in the summer, or camped up in my very small, one room abode dedicating myself to whatever God had in mind for me.
The process was a simple one that combined my Catholic type praying and a form of meditation where I would put up my question, and then ponder over what I thought God would say to me in reply.
I actually based this process on a song I had written in 1982 and that I have put at the bottom of this page.
Most of the time, I could already determine the answer and I knew I was answering my own questions. However, things started to become rather disconcerting when I would have contradictions in reply, different to my own projection, that ended up happening.
There were some rare occasions where the ‘voice’ from the Maitreya encounter night would return, but simply to say, “Be patient, be peaceful. Your time is coming.”
To which I’d sarcastically reply, “Yeah, right.”
The priest friend that I had mentioned previously, who had helped immensely in the building of the hostel, would regularly visit the hostel to see how I was faring. After all, it was an isolated place and my transport was basic, allowing me only to travel short distances.
I mentioned my ‘quiet times’ and the ‘voices’ that sounded like variations of my departed Aunt’s, and he was horrified, indicating his belief that I was ‘dabbling in occult practices.
He intimated that the reason Catholics repeated words over and over while praying was to prevent the interference he believed I was receiving.
I can just imagine what he would have thought had I told him of my encounter with Maitreya.
Much discussion between us over the years, I think, left us a little more learned in the position of the other, and in my case, much stronger in my convictions. Suffice to say that he left the priest hood a few years later.
Unconvinced by my friend’s warnings, I continued my evening practice and began to see that the most beautiful of people I had known, now passed, coming to me with simple and peaceful messages, couldn’t possibly be working against God’s law, especially those who had been religious in their time here.
Cautiously and carefully I began to embrace my own interpretation of this new encounter, yet still with no inkling that I was developing as a conscious psychic channeller.
MARY OF THE CROSS
On a summer’s night in November 1985 and still at the Hostel, I entered my state of meditation with the genuine feeling that it was going to be just another night where nothing happened.
I would usually separate the meditations into the first part where I’d do the ‘What Will Tomorrow Bring’ questions and answers, and then immerse myself into a deeper state of concentration to await any ‘voices’ different to the usual.
MY ENCOUNTERS WITH MARY OF THE CROSS:
NOVEMBER 1985
“I was held in a deep state for almost 15 minutes as I waited for the Message section that followed the first part of my usual meditation. This delay was quite unusual and I could sense that there was something special coming.
I felt a glimpse of a nun come to mind in strong head to toe regalia: I don’t see physically, but rather have the imagery as a thought.
The feeling was very weak and I assumed it was my great aunt Regis, who I have mentioned previously and was the one who had visited me at the Enmore Spiritualists Beginners Group encounter.
I became confused when I heard the familiar voice of my great aunt slightly stronger than the other voice. Who was the first voice?
Regis assured me this new ‘Voice’ was a highly evolved soul and the initial teacher I had been waiting for.
As I differentiated between my great aunt and this other Messenger, the voices began to become more individually different. She spoke very gently and quietly as my great Aunt did, yet with a different authority and I had to concentrate on her voice for fear the fragile connection would be severed.
I could sense either an Irish or Scottish accent as She told me this first encounter was an exercise in concentration and was a preparation for what would come at a much later time.
As if for my doubting mind, She said She would soon be recognised by the Church for her work amongst the poor in Australia.
She said she would be happy being named Blessed, the first step towards Canonisation, in the hope it would give courage to others to follow in her footsteps.
However she added, though it wasn’t her wish, it was inevitable that she would be made Saint.
She then confirmed she was the same ‘Visitor’ I had had the night after the Maitreya incident by simply stating, “I am Mary Of The Cross.”
MY LIFE VII
MY PERSONAL ORDEAL
It was during these latter years at the Hostel that my personal life took a painful hit.
I fell in love with a beautiful woman and her seriously disabled five year old daughter.
Initially assuming her stressed life was because of the many hospital visits she had to make for her daughter’s medical care, it soon became apparent that she, the mother, was suffering a serious mental illness.
As the Hostel lurched towards it’s demise and with the environment not being good for either her or her daughter’s health, the decision was made to leave my dream, and home of the past eight years, to start a new chapter of my life.
With the money that was given to me from an original agreement with the Hostel Committee, I bought a humble little miner’s cottage in nearby Gulgong.
Assuming a commitment to our relationship would bring a more stable state of mind for my partner, we decided to marry, and at her request, I stopped my meditations and interactions with Mary Of The Cross and other Sacred Souls.
Eventually, as a result of her fearful and corrosive mind, fed by Evangelical Christians and feminist friends, and just prior to Christmas 1994, she took ther daughter and left me and our fourteen year old fostered son for a relationship with an alcoholic at the local caravan park. The alcoholic had been recommended to my wife by one of the Evangelical Ministers.
The hurt and pain from the scathing rumours my wife’s friends were spreading, and the confusion the psychic woman’s message had given me ( See ML 7), soon had me returning to the meditating and channelling I had been doing previously, and it was during one of these meditation sessions that Mary Of The Cross’ messages started in earnest.
MARY’S DECLARATION TO ME
1994
“I am Mary of the Cross. You will have known me as Mary McKillop the founder of the order of Saint Joseph and know as the Brown Joseph nuns.
I have been coming to you Peter for many years and have been your strength in times of pain and discomfort, though not as clear and obvious as I am appearing to you now.”
You must accept who you are and who you have always been; a pure vessel of the ‘Holy Ones’, a pure Spiritual Channel of Truth, Peace and Honesty.
You can no longer act as a separate identity because you are, and have always been, One with Us the Messengers. Some call us Guides, some the Holy Spirits and others Guardian Angels. We are your Spirit Friends and Representatives of the Kingdom of the Creator.
From now on you will no longer speak of matters of importance from your own resources or knowledge. Initially you will need to think of Us before you speak, and We will be there. Later, after you move to another location, it will become automatic as your thoughts will be Guided by Us.
As an Oracle, all that you say relating to Spiritual Knoweldge will be from Us. Initially you will have doubts and uncertainties as to whether this is your ego or imagination. However, the more you believe We are the source, the stronger will become the ‘Feed’ of Purity and the more you will be respected on both sides of the veil.”
Much will unfolding in your life over the next 30 and more years.
Nothing you try to read, groups you try to learn from or mystics teachings based on past information will be any use to you because you are being started with something totally new and way ahead of others that will follow.
Through you, and later through many others, God will develop a totally new Spiritually based movement. This Spiritually Guided system will start when Highly Evolved servants of God, here in Heaven, commune directly through the minds of all human kind.
You, and those that initiate the early development of this Movement, won’t be recognised for what you do. However, after your physical time on earth has ended, the Message process will become the accepted norm in a totally different human world: The days of praising the messenger as opposed to spreading the Message will also die away with the old.
My friend, this very special Plan of God’s means there will be upheaval and heartache for those that choose to hold onto the old materialistic world.
It has to be this way, because what is being unfurled needs to be bedded on a much firmer foundation.
Don’t be in a rush to make tomorrow happen today, there is plenty of time.”
Finally, as I was coming out of the meditation, I distinctly heard her say:
“Remember, consistency and persistence is the mother of this Miracle”
MARY MCKILLOP ENCOUNTER
12th April through to the 15th of July 1995:
MARY’S MESSAGES TO ME
April 1985
1st Message: “Channelled information will always be tainted by the channeler, that can’t be helped and is of no fault of the person channelling or the Quality of the Source.
As an example, especially when it comes to meditation groups, what may be a Message from Us concerning flooding, may relate to the receiver accepting all messages, possibly received from different sources, on face value and then jumping to conclusions, with the resulting prediction of a flooding disaster of an apocalyptical nature that never happens.”
2nd Message: “It takes extreme concentration, and a stillness of mind, to ensure the messages received are not misinformation, and an awareness that Messages are aimed to either prevent an occurrence, or to have people prepare for what is predicted, where possible.
We are not in the ‘game’ of sensationalism: Why give predictions that no one can do anything about.”
3rd Message: “As a general guide for meditation sharing groups, Our Messages are from a Spiritual perspective more than from a physical or material one.
For this reason we suggest you discuss what you receive, and where there is an obvious and major difference, that you leave the matter alone and not go any further with it.
In time, We will clarify whatever that difference may be.”
4th Message: “It is Our wish that you unite spiritually as one voice when involved in Our Circles. To do this we ask that you restrict your activities in these Circles to matters of a Spiritual nature, not a material one.”
5th Message: “You have no need to concern yourselves with earthly or material matters; trust in Us is your salvation.
We are not here to help you with storing provisions, building bunkers or to generally protect you against any future doomsday disasters.
You don’t need to fight for any particular matters of justice; we are responsible for taking care of all of this, so please leave those concerns with Us.”
6th Message: “Peter, this material world is not for you. Your world will be like those of Us of old, such as Myself, who trusted in God’s providence and whose sole purpose was to link humanity to God, the Creator of all things.”
7th Message: “Soon you will join or create gatherings in your new home town who will believe your truthful story and who will be on a similar spiritual journey searching for their own personal Truth.”
NOTE: These new forming Circles were what Jesus called Churches. “When two or more gather in the name of the Creator, so will It be, and the Power of the Holy Spirit will be on you.”
Churches were never material structures, organisations or centres of worship.
8th Message: “In time your son will leave to start his life down in the city and your wife’s hatred will have you unfairly charged in a criminal court. However, the court case will be dismissed due to your wife’s mental instability and inconsistency in her story. It is then that you will have the opportunity to move far away so as to restart your life as a teacher of this new Spirituality. Remember this; you will NEVER be alone.”
MARY’S WARNING OF THE TIME TO COME
9th Message: “The world will soon fall under the spell of the Great Lie. No one will be free of its evil. It is at that time We ask you all to set time aside regularly for meditate and contemplation in a natural environment. In that time of reflection, We ask that you call upon your own personal Guides to verify or to reject what is being told to you by those that seem to be the voice of authority and truth.
Remember you have free will and choice and We can never override that choice. However, those that follow Truth will know that the Choice we offer, is beyond what any individual can discern from the manipulated messages that are to come.”
WHAT WILL TOMORROW BRING
Pete (c) 17.7.1982
VERSE
What will tomorrow bring, snow or sunshine?
Sky’s blue a frost is due; tomorrow will be fine.
VERSE
What will I find to eat the cupboard’s almost bare?
Look hard and you will find something will be there.
VERSE
Where is the love I seek, I’ve waited for so long?
Go out and search awhile, soon she’ll be along.
CHORUS
It’s been a long and lonely trying time I know.
But isn’t that the way you know that it was going to be.
Patiently hold on a little longer, don’t despair.
All those dreams you wanted for so long will soon be there.
VERSE
Who can I speak to when a problem’s hard to share?
I’ll gladly listen, speak your mind – I’m always there.
MY LIFE VIII
HOSTEL’S ENDING1986-87
NOTE: For those of you not reading these My Life accounts one after the other, there may seems to be some discrepancies relating from one particular account to another.
For that reason, reading them in sequence is suggested so as to puts them into their proper perspective.
THE MUDGEE EXPERIENCE
About six months prior to the closure of the Hostel, the regional Federal Disability Services District Officer asked the Hostel committee for assistance to accommodate four intellectually disabled men after they had been left homeless.
The local Disability Work Shop in Mudgee had applied for, and received, approval to build a group home for their disabled workers on the condition they abided with the Federal Governments Disability guidelines.
These guidelines, stated that the work place and living quarters were to be governed by separate committees.
Right through the application period they were told they would not get the Federal Government grant until those two new committees were implemented.
The very day the four men were to have been housed, the Workshop has still not introduced the separate committees.
Approaches had been made to the Workshop Committee, by the Disabilities District Officer, to incorporate our Hostel as the accommodation wing of the Mudgee Disability Services with our existing hostel Committee running the accommodation side.
They refused, and as the stalemate carried on for months and our resources dwindled, our committee had no choice but to terminate the Peacefields Hostel project.
With the assistance of the Disability District Officer, and with an understanding this arrangement would only be till further accommodation could be found, the four men and myself moved into a very large old home that had once been a stage coach stop-over hotel situated at the southern entrance of the town and currently an agency for small tractors and farm vehicles: We lived there from mid 1986 to late 1987 as no agreement had been made with the Workshop Committee and the Government representatives.
For the first few weeks we sorted out room choices, met the neighbours, arranging finances and investigating the general support we could receive through the Disability District Officer on a short term basis.
One of the residents, Ray, refused to sleep in the front room that he had originally chosen after a number of incidents that had him racing into my room in the dead of night: He could not speak properly and in panic mode he was totally voiceless.
This room ran parallel to the Highway and I was told it was the bar of the hotel in the 1880’s. It was so cold, even in the summer, that at times you could see breath vapours in the air, and it was totally uncomfortable to even enter.
One night while the guys were away visiting family, I began to experience a very strange sensation, as if I had knowledge of pending doom, but without any good reason. This was coupled with the strong feeling that I wasn’t alone. I went from room to room in a self induced state of alertness, but there was no one there, just a very uncomfortable feeling that had the hairs raised on the back of my neck.
On returning to my room, and unable to sleep, I had this very strange impulse to light a candle (black-outs had been happening off an on at the time, hence why we had candles) and then to enter each room, one at a time. The first room I entered was the one that adjoined my room, and the same room Ray had refused to sleep in.
Being as I was not quite shaken of my Catholic beliefs, I prayed a traditional form of prayer for protection and proceeded to follow what I can only call a strange hunch.
Recollections of my encounter with ‘the witch’ at the Hostel flashed through my mind and I wondered what weirdness was to befall me this time.
Almost unconsciously, as if some other force was within me, I placed the candle onto a small cupboard, and with my eyes closed, began to slip into a deep state of tranquillity: This was the exact same sensation I had experienced at the Hostel.
Unlike at the Hostel incident, I remained conscious of all that happened, though some instances are a little vague. This is my best recollection from that time:
As was the case at the Hostel incident, I stood at the doorway of the room for what seemed a long time, before noticing that, without my instigation, I started to slowly raise my arms out from my side to an upward motion in a broad, slow and expanding semi-circle.
As my hands reached high above my head, they joined as if in a prayer action. A deep emotional strength began building within me, while at the same time a tingling sensation starting to extend from around the back of my neck, head, out through my arms and up to the palms of my hands.
Slowly my hands began to open as my arms lowered to a positioned outstretched in front of me. The intense energy created a violent vibrate, starting from my hands, arms and then through my entire body.
Suddenly and without warning or awareness on my part, my hands came together in a thunderous clap that had me believing it shook the building. To say the least it scared the living daylights out of me.
What initially caused me confusion, directly after the event, was whether the instigation of this incident was internal or external: It certainly wasn’t from me.
Thankfully, I had the recall of the older couple’s description of the similar event at the Hostel concerning the ‘Witch’ to ease my mind.
Instantly I felt a total change in the energy of the room, and within myself.
The earlier feelings of uncertainty were replaced with a total calm that had me fainting into the chair that sat in the corner of the room: I became quite giggly, as if stoned.
The room itself seemed somehow brighter, even though the candle had been the only source of light, and it was actually weakening, not strengthening as the wick had almost burnt away.
My own scepticism was working overtime and I really thought my imagination, and my little grey cells, were past the point of sanity: There was nothing that I’d ever read, or experienced previously, that came close to explaining for me this phenomenon.
Obviously, it was this Power within me, but not of me, that removed the lost souls from the old hotel who had been trapped there for so many years. And it was this event that became the proof, beyond doubt, for me to follow this uncharted road I was about to begin. I knew It could be trusted.
The following Monday the guys returned from their weekend away and there was a noticeable change for the better in how they interacted with each other.
I had said nothing to them about my encounter, and was totally amazed when Ray asked if he could move back into this newly healed room.
Much later, and well after this incident, I learned that there had been a number of sightings of ghosts here, before we moved in, including a story that the previous owner, a well respected business man from the town, had moved out and left the place abandoned. He was said to have died not long after: I have never been able to have his confirmed.
The place had been on the market a very long time prior to us renting, yet within months of the ‘release’ the interest began to increase and the place sold and the old place was converted into a very warm and enjoyable restaurant.
I was fortunate enough to have been invited to visit the place by the new owners not long after it opened.
With the sale of the Hostel, and the money I had been entitled to from the sale, I bought an old miner’s cottage in neighbouring Gulgong where two of the remaining disabled men joined me.
They remained with me till they too gained placement in Government assisted accommodation, one back in Dubbo from whence he had come and Ray back to family, east of Mudgee
MY LIFE IX
ENDINGS AND NEW BEGINNINGS
It was around 1984, while visiting Sydney promoting the Hostel to different organisations and church groups that I was approached by the mother of a disabled daughter asking if the Hostel accommodated individuals or only groups: We accommodated both individuals as well a groups.
She arrived a couple of weeks later and thoroughly enjoyed their couple of days, relaxing with the animals, the country air and me.
We kept in contact and as we grew fond of each other, she began regular visits to the Hostel, sometimes with her daughter but mostly on her own.
Pretty quickly it became obvious that there was more to her stressed state than from her disabled daughter’s condition and eventually she admitted that she had been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder.
Being as the new laws concerning the treatment of mental illness were still not fully known by the populous, I assumed that if under the care of a psychiatrist, and regular medication, her condition would slowly improve.
It wasn’t till some time later that I found our from her family that she had been diagnosed with five different conditions from five different psychiatrists and that her moods could become quite volatile .
We broke up off and on over the ten years I’d know her, which included the last days of the Hostel project, and so I was alone when I moved with four disabled people into a rented home in Mudgee (that story is in My Life VII.)
After I bought an old mining cottage in Gulgong and the last of the two disable men left, she returned, and finally in 1991 we married.
I gained part time employment with a Federal Government run home for abandoned children to the age of 15/16 further west of Gulgong in a town called Wellington, so this meant I would be away from her, enough to give her more personal space.
I also reasoned that now with a regular doctor just up the road, my wife would get help stabilising her medication, but I was wrong.
Noting that her taking of the medication was hit and miss again, I visited our doctor to explain how her mood swings, without the medication, was affecting our life and that she was convinced that I was plotting against her while I was away working.
It was then that I was told that under the latest Australian law concerning mental illness, the husband or de-facto partner of a clinically diagnosed mentally ill person has absolutely no rights when it comes to that partner’s choice of taking their prescribed medication, input to their medical professional when the person status is deteriorating and absolutely no support, especially in rural Australia.
The doctor suggested we contact a marriage guidance counsellor and that she would bring this up with my wife at her next visit.
The marriage guidance team suggested we look at adopting a child as this would give more meaning to my wife’s life.
In discussion with the manager of the Children’s Home it was suggested we try giving weekend care to a then 12 year old boy as he always missed out on getting weekend fostering.
Peter, the youngest of five, had been abandoned by his mother, along with four other siblings. When her husband had been admitted to palliative care with cancer, she left the older girls in the care of family and friends, leaving the two youngest boys to fend for themselves in the street: Peter was not even six years old.
Peter’s brother, who was a few years older, was rebellious and the reason both boys weren’t fostered out on weekends. Under the then law, siblings in care could not be fostered out separately.
This part time fostering of Peter turned out to be so good for Peter that the Government Agencies based in Dubbo, near Wellington, agreed to allow Peter to extend his stay with us full time, subject to continuous review.
As time progressed, it became obvious that my wife was having increasing schizophrenic episodes and the doctor could not intervene.
It was just before the Christmas of 1994, while we were visiting her family in a wealthy Sydney suburb, she informed me that she would be leaving me.
Her sister, who was in the middle of a messy divorce, suggested I visit a psychic woman she had known for many years and who had been ‘brilliant’ in helping her through her troubled relationship.
I moved out of my in-law’s place and stayed with my parents, who also lived in Sydney, for the rest of the Christmas.
On the day after Boxing Day, I phoned the psychic’s number my sister in law gave me, basically to see if this was the right number and to make an appointment for earlier in the year.
A young woman answered and made it clear that this wasn’t the appropriate time to be phoning, being the Festive Season.
As I profusely apologised and was about to hang up, another woman’s voice came onto the phone. She was older and had a stillness that immediately effected my tumultuous state of mind.
After asking me a few questions, some that didn’t seem relevant to why I had phoned, she booked a time the next day for a psychic session.
The next day at 10am, I arrived at her humble but very likeable home that just happened to be two streets away from a home my wife owned and used as income.
June, that was the psychic’s name, welcomed me at the door, but waited a few moments just staring at me, before ushering me into a small room that she used for her psychic readings.
I had only been to one other psychic, previously mentioned in the Page relating to the Enmore Spiritualists, and was shocked at what I saw here. It was like a multi religious Shrine, with statues, paintings and photos of the Blessed Virgin and Jesus, along with the Ying Yang symbol and Buddhist references.
As she lit a number of taper candles, I began to stumble out my apologies for disturbing her Christmas.
She turned abruptly from what she was doing, and staring powerfully at me she said,
“I have been waiting for you.” She pointed skyward and added. “They have sent you to me.”
I sat in stunned silence, perplexed as to what that meant, as she continued lighting the candles.
After settling into her chair, she explained that she would start with a silent meditation and that the next voice I heard would be from ‘Them’. I had this overwhelming feeling to say nothing, even though I had more questions now that I did when I first entered the room.
‘They’ started by confirming that my marriage was well and truly over, that my life to that point was now complete, but that I had five more years before the new life would begin.
“You will loose all that you own, yet you will be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams.
It won’t be material wealth, yet you will have all your needs fulfilled.”
As I was recalling a statement Mary McKillop had said to me in a previous time, ‘They’ said it word for word through this woman’s mouth:
“You will never be left wanting for the basics of life: All your needs will be met.”
The message continued on that my son Peter would move out to stay with friends in Sydney and then I would be free to move:
I would be moving to Queensland, Maryborough, where the whales birth.
I would be doing a lot of writing, including at least one book.
I would instigate meditation groups, psychic circles and travel around Queensland doing psychic readings.
Most of my work would be well recognised but that I wouldn’t.
The circumstances of my moving to Queensland would result from a psychic reading that I would give someone in the not too distant future.
As June slowly slipped out of her trance state, I clearly heard her say ‘Thank you Mary.’
Later, as I shared and confirmed what I knew to her, I mentioned my ‘visits’ by Mary McKillop, but June insisted that the Mary she referred to was the Virgin Mary.
My marriage ended in divorce and me being charged with domestic violence, which was kicked out of court when my wife didn’t show.
Pete left and stayed with friends and is now married with kids of his own and keeps in regular contact with me.
He is still extremely angry that being a prime witness to my wife’s actions and because he was under eighteen years of age at the time, he was never allowed to give his side of the story to a court of law, police, doctors or other authorities.
My wife was given half of the money from the sale of the Gulgong house as it was deemed the matrimonial home, and because the house she owned and rented out, was in her name before we married, I got nothing from its sale.
I left Gulgong penniless, jobless and with no idea where I was going.
I cover the actual move, my new life in Queensland and June’s accuracy in future Page.
NOTE: I have tried many times to track June the psychic medium down to thank her for how she saved me, but to no avail.
On The Light Path, The Road Forward 