At first I panicked, wondering frantically if I had done or said anything that might have offended him. I couldn't think of anything, but I found it hard to dismiss the thought. Then common sense took over, and I realized how selfish I was being to expect him to be with me all the time.
He'll turn up when he's ready, I thought. Perhaps he's busy. I'm sure I'll see him later on.
Well, I waited. All that day I expected that he'd turn up, then the next day, and the next. But he didn't.
He had disappeared without any warning or explanation of any kind. My dancing Scotsman had deserted me. I felt lost, alone, and so let down. I thought this must be the end, the end of my work as a medium.
What I had yet to learn was that often, before new growth can take place, the gardener must till the land. And a good gardener always makes sure before he begins his work that the land is fertile. He would not plant a forest of young trees without first inspecting the ground to make sure that his trees would gain nourishment to enable them to grow tall and strong.
Two weeks passed, and it now seemed that my dancing Scotsman had gone forever. But the space in my life that he had occupied was slowly being filled. My mystery figure, the unknown spirit entity, was making his presence felt more and more. At first his “presence” had been spasmodic; now I “felt” him constantly, always there, drawing closer.
I began on Wednesday evenings to do more and more trance work.
While in trance, the medium chooses to vacate her physical body, for just a short time, leaving an empty shell or vessel, which a spirit entity may then use. Able to use the vocal cords, the spirit entity can then communicate “through” the medium to the other members of the group or circle, often telling of their own earthly life experiences and expounding their philosophical views and ideas about life, both on the earth plane and in the spirit world.
Basically there are three stages of trance: light, medium, and deep. The first state, light trance, is possibly the most interesting from the medium's point of view, as she (or he) is aware of everything that is happening, even though unable to interfere or stop it in any way.
In the first stage of trance, I was able to watch and listen with fascination as some unseen force seemed to manipulate “my” body as a puppeteer might operate his doll.
In the second stage of trance it is possible to be aware of some of the proceedings but not all. And in deep trance, the third stage, the medium is totally unaware of any action that takes place. This is why we always made sure we had on a tape recorder at all times during the evening. I have always hated to miss out on anything and found it infuriating to have to listen as, at the end of an evening of trance work, the rest of the group discussed with interest the events that had taken place. Only after listening to the tape could I join in and feel part of it all.
I was never very keen to go into trance. Not, as some of you might think, because I was scared, although on reflection I am surprised that I wasn't. But I was always concerned that my trance state was real, not my imagination working overtime. I certainly didn't want to fool anyone else. But more important, I didn't want to start fooling myself. I gained so much knowledge and insight through trance work, but at that stage in my development, going into trance seemed to me to be such an unnecessary thing to do.
So I always fought against it. Mick would sit with me and gently, patiently, talk me through my doubts until, once I was sufficiently relaxed, a trance state would take place.
During the short time that my dancing Scotsman had been with me, he had always been a gentle spirit guide, a quiet and sensitive teacher, always leading me by the hand in a calming and reassuring manner. This new entity, who, I began to suspect, was to take the Scotsman's place, was a different force altogether.
I didn't like not knowing who he was, and that made me a little nervous. But I was more curious than afraid and began to look for little signs or clues as to who the mystery man was. And I sensed more and more that I would not have to wait much longer to find out.
The date was February 10,1982. My daughter, Samantha, was not quite twelve years old. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I was driving home from Doncaster along a straight country road, when it happened. I got my final clue. A huge bird seemed to come from out of the blue and flew straight across the hood of the car. My foot hit the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt, with me inside shaking like a leaf. I'd really thought I was going to hit the thing.
What was it? I thought. An eagle? No. It couldn't have been, we don't have eagles in this part of the country. But it was. As soon as I'd thought those words I knew that I was right.
I tried to picture it in my mind but only got the image of its underside, which had been grey.
I drove home, puzzling over what had happened, knowing that this incident definitely had something to do with the still unknown spirit entity who I now felt often, at my side. But what it meant I still didn't know. I just couldn't figure it out.
Samantha was waiting for me outside the school gates, and I picked her up and drove straight home. The rest of the afternoon was spent in the garden with my daughter, and it was only as I was getting her ready for bed that I thought again of the earlier incident with the eagle. She was sitting on my knee, sopping wet with a large towel wrapped round her, having just come out of the bath, and she was recounting the events of school that day. As I rubbed her dry I listened intently, making the odd comment here and there.
This was our time, my daughter's and mine. A time for chuckles and cuddles and talking. A bedtime ritual I indulged in thoroughly. That precious hour of closeness, nice soapy smells and warmth.
So I nodded and smiled as I listened attentively to her chatter. Then she said, “And we've been doing birds, Mum, as well.”
“Birds? What do you mean, you've been ‘doing’ birds?” I replied.
Samantha explained how they had been discussing various types of birds in her nature class that afternoon.
It crossed my mind, as I tucked my daughter into bed a short time later, that birds seemed quite relevant today to both of us. And was it my imagination, or did I really hear my unknown “spirit being” chuckle at this thought?
This evening, Wednesday, was my “development” night. So as soon as I'd put Samantha to bed, I got ready for my visitors. There were five of us that night. Besides myself, Irene, Paul, and Mick, I had decided to invite a woman who was a regular visitor to the Friday discussion group.
Adele Campion was a lady who, on first meeting, conveyed the wrong impression. She seemed quite dour, rarely smiled, and had extremely strong views on many subjects. Some may have called her pigheaded; others more kindly would have described her as strong-minded. I liked her, and for many reasons.
I found her openness and candor refreshing, and even though it was well hidden, she really did have a great sense of humor. A little dry, perhaps, but lovely all the same.
Later on, both she and her husband, Phil, became good friends of mine, and at a time when friends were very thin on the ground. If I ever needed help or advice, these two kind people were always on hand.
On this Wednesday evening we five sat in a small circle, not really knowing what to expect, Adele least of all. Mick had requested she sit quietly and not interfere in any way, no matter what happened.
We had begun by asking, as always, for protection and for God's guiding hand. And then we sat and waited.
Slowly I became aware of that now familiar feeling that precedes trance: a sensation of being weighted down by a tremendous but unseen force. My body became a dead weight, but my head felt light and almost weightless.
As usual, I struggled to try to retain control of my senses, and I felt, rather than saw, Mick's reassuring hand in mine. “Just relax,” he said, his voice soothing and calming. “Let it happen, and don't try to right it. We're all here to help, just let yourself go.”
It took a while before I was able to do as he said, but gradually I let go of my inhibitions, and the trance state was complete.
No sooner was I “out” than I was replaced by the first spirit entity waiting to communicate.
Being only in the first stage of trance, I was able to see and hear all, and as I looked on I was amazed at the transformation my body was making. I watched in fascination as my physical body began to move, slowly at first, as if someone were trying it on for size. Then, quickly becoming used to it, “he” stood up.
It seemed not to be my physical self any longer, being much taller and quite broad set, giving the distinct impression of a male form rather than female.
He stood high in stature and straight, his shoulders set back and his arms folded across his chest. It was no longer my own physical form that I was looking at, but his.
His very presence was electric and tremendously impressive, but the thing that struck me most about him was the power and energy that seemed to exude from his very being. He was tall and broad, dark skinned, with shoulder-length black hair. And he had the most startling and beautiful eyes. Standing straight and proud, bare chested, with his arms folded, he looked around the room.
Then he spoke, in a voice strong and vibrant with energy, and all became clear.
“My name,” he said, “is Grey Eagle, and I am Apache.
“From now on you will know me as guide, teacher, and mentor to your medium.
“Together we will work in spiritual harmony, she and I. Your medium will learn many things, and her progress will be great.
“We will achieve much.
“My little flower is weak and exhausted from her many earthly trials. She needs water, food, and sustenance, which I, as her spirit guide and protector, will give.
“Which I will always give.”
Now there are many strange and unaccountable things that happen in the course of a medium's working life. And I would surely lose faith in myself and in my guide if I were to pretend, for the sake of credulity, that they did not.
My new guide had, I had noticed, referred to “his little flower, his rose.” But it took a few minutes after hearing this before I realized, with some surprise, who it was he had been referring to.
His little flower? His rose?
Yes. His little flower was me. And yes, Mick McGuire did surely watch as I “ate” my words, for as he had told me just a few months before, my spirit guide was indeed an American Indian.
Grey Eagle spoke more. His English was good, with only a slight, undefined accent. His voice held a special quality, firm and strong but at the same time gentle. I was drawn toward him, compelled to listen.
“We know each other, she and I, and yet she will not remember me.
“We who are of spirit have been waiting.
“The time is now.
“We have asked of her a great service.
“She will do well.”
So many other things were said that night, as Grey Eagle explained his presence and the need for spirit guides. He also told us of how the dancing Scotsman had been sent on ahead so that the ground could be prepared for the work that was before us.
My guide has often, since that first visit, referred to himself as “the gardener.” And once or twice I have been chastised by him, but gently, if I have thought to make decisions concerning certain people around me whom I have to work with.
Two or three years later, when I had set up a healing organization and had begun teaching the art of healing, I remember having problems with a particular class of students, and I decided that perhaps one or two of them were possibly not suited to the work. Maybe, I thought, it would be better for the class as a whole if I asked the more disruptive element to leave.
Grey Eagle, gently but firmly, reminded me, “I am the gardener,” he said, “and I will do the weeding.”
A few weeks passed without incident, and then within days I had phone calls or visits from more than half my students, all telling me that they were leaving my group for one reason or another.
I was left with a handful of students, and some of them were probably not the ones I would have chosen to stay.
But Grey Eagle knew what he was doing, and all of these students went on to do very well, to learn and to develop spiritually, and to become fine healers.
At first I was in total awe of this amazingly forceful man and wondered why he should want to work with me. After all, I was a novice, a mere beginner, even though I did undoubtedly have a certain talent.
The five of us, Paul, Mick, Irene, Adele, and I, continued to meet each Wednesday evening for my development. Now there was a sixth—Grey Eagle—always present, always teaching. Only I could see him, but all of us felt his presence, his power. It was impossible not to. The very air was electric, and we were all inspired by his strength. Paul said that in thirty years’ involvement with spiritualism he had been privileged to meet many spirit guides. But none of them had been as powerfully impressive and commanding as Grey Eagle.
We began, as he had said we would, to work together, and initially I was, or tried hard to be, the perfect student.
Samantha, now almost twelve years old, was well aware of my involvement with the spirit world, although I was careful not to overload her with too much information and would wait for her to ask her questions, as and when her curiosity was aroused, and I would always try to answer honestly. As a child I was afraid, fearful of those in the spirit world, as I know them now to be, afraid of the unknown, the unknowable, for there was never anyone around who could help me to understand. As my child grew and had similar experiences, for she, too, had the gift of “sensing,” though in a much, much milder form, I was able to help her understand those experiences and to take away the fear.
When she asked, I would talk to her about my development and my experiences when in trance, how I felt, what I saw, but I never allowed her to witness trance work, as it would have been far too scary for her to watch, especially when I did my spirit rescue work.
Spirit rescue is necessary only if, when a person dies, usually in an especially traumatic way, that person refuses to accept his or her new state of being. I discovered, as Grey Eagle taught me, that there are mediums who devote their time and energy totally to this kind of work, and in the early days of my development Grey Eagle knew that this would be good experience for me as well as for those in the spirit world who needed this kind of help. So, for a while, as I met each Wednesday evening with Mick, Paul, Irene, and Adele, we too devoted our time and energy to spirit rescue.