Monday, March 7, 2011

Where do we come from?

I want to discuss in today's post something I usually don't write about openly. Have a conversation with me for long enough and you will learn more about this side of my life. But yeah. In writing, on here, not so much. Main reason being, I think, is that it involves other people (or at least, energies) and I am deeply respectful that these are not my stories to chat about, no matter what the well-intended purpose. That and, it's just a matter of course - not something I like to mention because the work is very humbling and at times, overwhelming. I harbour a deep respect for all those things that are unseen, but at the same time, if I'm not candid about it sometimes (which is why I don't mind talking to people if they want to ask me questions) then I am doing a disservice to people who might be new to experiencing these things they have no other logical explanation for.

So today, I've felt the urge to write about this. I expect I might see my Follower number drop slightly, but so be it... ;)  This is me, too, as much as the LGBB, my stories about mullets and my memories of Ellanor.

One of my "other" jobs is, for want of a better explanation, like being a switchboard operator connecting babies to their parents - most often before conception has taken place. Sometimes, one or both parents has something to clear in their own pattern before the child decides to come (and in my experience, the child always decides!). Sometimes it has taken months, sometimes it hasn't happened - take me and Steve, for one example I know I can safely mention - and sometimes it's quite instantaneous.

It's beautiful work. Hard to explain, certainly hard to prove. So I'm not out to prove myself here. But I do want to explain a little bit what it's like for me, as some sort of caretaker on this physical plane, when I have these little kids about.

Years ago, I used to have dreams with the same pattern:  I would be a governess in a large, rambling boarding house, walking around with a lantern (yes, a ruddy great lantern! how very unsafe in an occupational health sense...), opening all the doors and checking on the children asleep in their beds in these rooms. Room after room after room, packed with children. I'd wake feeling like I had been up all night, as if I had spent it literally walking the halls of a rambling old boarding house.... checking all the doors...!

Sometimes, I would dream about the children actually going off with their parents - parents I don't know, have never met before in my life - and I can remember vivid scenes and how choked-up and happy I felt, knowing that those children had been well looked after until they got to go home with their mum and dad. These were bigger kids, of about 6 or 7, I'd guess. And I'd stand and wave them off, bus loads of kids and their parents (the scene would be kind of like I'd imagine it is when school children come home from camp and their parents are there to greet them and take them home).

These dreams continued, somewhat tantalisingly, between losing Ellanor and having Lolly. It was during this time (in 2004/2005) that I began to dread and then slowly accept that perhaps that was what I was put on this Earth to do. That perhaps there was to be no other children for us, because I had to do this job that was starting to feel enormous - rewarding, fulfilling even on some level, but really huge.

One memorable time, after I'd had the LGBB (for they waned after that and I don't have nearly so many - in fact, none in the past few years that I can remember), I dreamed that I had to park my car on the freeway and walk with other adults across a pedestrian bridge to go and work in a child care centre to help them. ....Huh?!

But slowly, the dreams slowed as I began to be more responsible to actually doing the work in my waking hours. It would take a few more years and would come after I had healed enough from my own trauma and by 2008, it started to really become something I could set aside time for, instead of being called out of bed at ungodly hours in the dead of night to go and sit with these energies and this work (it used to really scare me, I avoided it a lot of the time until I learned to master it and dissolve the unfounded fears).

These days, my work in this area is more practical. The dreams are rare now and the situations happen less often but I usually have more of an idea who I am helping, although sometimes even that happens only after the fact (if at all).

One time, I think I actually captured one of these little people in a photo. Check this out:
Click on the photo, look in the mirror on the left

That mirror reflects the back wall of the kitchen and the kitchen bench. There was nothing on the bench at the time, certainly nothing of any great height. It was kind of cool for me to see what looks very much like the face of a young child (a bit older than my child at the time), as I don't ever see these kids. I just hear and feel them.

Take, for instance, what is going on around here lately. I am again being touched on the leg by unseen little people (or possibly just the one). I'm hearing them come stomping up the hallway on toddling little feet. Steve hears them too. He just says it's weird. I don't think it's weird. A tad unnerving, hell yeah! But after this long, I don't find it weird. In fact, I find it something close to as normal as I'm probably ever going to get, frankly! *I'm laughing now, for poor Steve* I know that pretty soon - and soon could mean months - I am going to learn of someone who is trying to have a baby. And I'll be given more information, if it's required, and I'll be working with one or both the parents to see this baby come into reality.

Anyway, the last time this happened was about twelve months ago or a bit less. I wrote about it at the time on my private blog, wondering if this was a child of ours. I was going through some angst about this and that, and the age-old concerns of the infertile couple:  "Am I not getting/staying pregnant because of something I am doing or saying or who I am or because I can't sort my shit out or because I have fought with my husband for 6 months straight?" At that time, I was the only one who had been hearing footsteps (always thinking they were the LGBB but finding her tucked up asleep in bed, or otherwise hearing them when I was home alone), until this one night when Steve heard them too.

Those footsteps turned out to be a little someone who I had been looking out for for nigh on two years - long story, won't go into it all now, as it's not my story or my child to talk about anymore, but I had originally assumed this was a boy who was waiting to come to us (because he hung around so long!) - and who is now about to be born.

Well, it happened again the other night. The footsteps. Steve heard them, came out of the living room and asked if I wanted to go and see if Lolly was okay or did I want him to. I told him I was on my way down to see what she was up to. It sounded like she'd tried to get to the loo and was still half asleep, because those steps were pacing between her room and the toilet, then up the hallway to us and back down to her room again. I never expected to find her, fast asleep, all tucked up in bed. When I told Steve, I think he wasn't even surprised anymore! Which is kinda cool for me - I feel not so alone because he hears them now too!

So. That coupled with the little nudge I got yesterday, which I actually thought was the dog or the cat bumping my leg but when I looked around they were nowhere in sight, leads me to believe I am looking after another little kid again.

I realise at this point many of you will be very challenged by what I'm saying here. That it seems too unbelievable and there is no way for me to prove it (apart from get you to talk to Steve about the footsteps he hears these days and to some of these past parents who've had an awareness/understanding and dialogue with me about what's going on for them and for me, mind you!). But the fact is, for me, this is fact. These things actually happen. I appreciate many people will find that hard to believe, much like anything that you can only take someone else's word on. Healthy doubt or scepticism is a good thing.

I'm more interested in asking:

Does anything like this happen to you?
If so, what is your understanding of the process?
Are you too afraid to talk about your work, for fear of sounding crazy or being misunderstood? Hey... come sit by me, then! And you can email me if you don't wish to leave a public comment here. I'd love to hear from you.

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