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Posts Tagged ‘Hearing voices’

Despite the passage of time, the death of my Nanny still troubled me. (In Search of…Part One  here) Not being able to understand all the ins and outs of the situation acted like a burr under my skin and I desperately wanted answers.  Granddad’s passing seemed surreal because we were so far away. From time to time I would hear one or the other calling me in my sleep, waking me up enough to answer them before they fell silent. It was only after the incident on board the ship, where Granddad’s voice woke me that I recalled the number of times Nanny had been doing just that. I now know that she was trying to reassure me because of the deep hurt I still felt.  However, that realisation was to come later.

Mum tried to get us to church once we settled into our new home but it was hot that summer of ’72 and inside those timber churches it felt like we were descending into a fiery hell. At least it seemed that way to me. It may have been the way I was thinking at the time but I didn’t struggle when she finally decided it was too much. Fainting every Sunday morning didn’t seem like the way to go and my heart wasn’t in it anyway.

I have always been so very fortunate in that Mum never restricted my reading material. I was always happy to be able to talk about the strange things I ‘learned’ and my taste was eclectic to say the least,  everything from my school texts, English literature to autobiographies, fiction and thrillers and eventually into Science fiction and fantasy. I started reading Dennis Wheatley, a prolific writer of thriller and the occult. At the time, one which stuck in my mind was “The Haunting of Toby Jugg”.

In one sense it was a way of searching’ for answers.  It was a strange place to look but I was so focused on getting through school, where I didn’t fit in, that in another way they were an escape.   Another author I remember being introduced to was Dr T. Lobsang Rampa, a Buddhist monk who wrote many stories, beginning with one called “The Third Eye”. More questions followed the answers I felt I might be finding.

Books, films, I scoured them all, searching for alternate ways to explain what happened in life and death. I wanted a reason for the apparent randomness of events. Why did some people seem to sail through life without a care in the world whilst others had no end of horrible things happening to them?  What was the purpose to the horrors which occurred on a daily basis, to people, places and entire countries? How could I find an explanation for the debasement of human beings by other human beings?

If I made a mistake during this time it was that I kept my search to myself. In my self-imposed exile I failed to talk to anyone or I might have found others to talk to, broaden my horizons and perhaps find the answers I was searching for. Yet I didn’t and so the search continued. I wanted to help people, people who were unable to help themselves or had been badly treated in one way or another.  I wanted to do what they could not, whatever that might be.

Joining the police department after finishing high school was another culture shock. My rather quiet and staid upbringing was knocked on its head. In a sink or swim situation I grabbed the only lifeline available…. a wall, not of indifference but distance, between the events I saw played out daily and myself. It was the only way to survive being dropped into the human melting pot of behaviour, where the standards accepted by society seemed not to exist.  What I saw and learned served to give me even more questions. I was very empathic with everyone I met, the physical pain which would scour my body often left me feeling overwhelmed. I was an empath but hadn’t yet found the meaning for it.

PW 377. From a time long, long ago.

PW 377. From a time long, long ago.

Oh my, how things have changed.  There are times when I wonder what happened to this fresh-faced and innocent wanderer.  I wonder most of all how she managed to survive with the naivety I approached my entry into the police force. Since I’m still here I can safely say I survived. I learned and I survived.

I met my first husband whilst I was a police officer.  It was after our marriage that the ‘voices’ started occurring more often. His maternal Grandmother was a lovely lady and we had just spent a beautiful long weekend at her property out on the Downs, past Toowoomba.  So it came as a shock to be woken from a sound sleep hearing her calling my name. Once again I awoke as soon as I answered her. The next morning the local police knocked on our door, a request to call his mother. His grandmother had passed away during the night – at the precise  time I woke from sleep answering her!

This was the first funeral I attended. It was sad, more so because it was so totally unexpected and we had seen her just a few days earlier.  Yet people are strange creatures, what followed after the ceremony was much worse. In the days and weeks that followed I was surrounded by the scent of her perfume and awoken frequently by Nanny calling my name.

I started reading books by known psychics, Doris Stokes, Sylvia Browne and anything I could find on the afterlife, spiritual beliefs, practices  and occurrences. Suddenly all my strange encounters as a child which I had put down to an over active imagination (at least Dad had) suddenly made so much more sense.  I read everything from tomes about Angels to Paganism and Wicca. At the time I was ‘researching’ all the books I read were purported to be by respected psychics.  I neither advocate nor denounce anyone since they all had information I found useful.

They were years when I was restricted to reading. Venturing further afield and attending meetings was ‘outlawed’  and hence the urge to see for myself what these people had to offer, as answers, was increasing.  I managed to start my Reiki healing and the results from that, the amazing feelings which came with it, sparked an ever-increasing yearning to go further.

It would not be until my marriage ended over two decades later that I was finally able to seek out these new avenues for answers and experiences.

Next week – My foray into another world.

image fromartel-art.livejournal.com

Blessings, Susan x

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