I meant to add this post last Wednesday, but a severe bout of adrenal fatigue (aka M.E or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) stopped me in my tracks. It’s a pesky thing and I suspect I’ve had it for at least a couple of decades. I had it confirmed in 2011 via rather expensive blood tests carried out in a Californian laboratory – or it might have been Newton Abbott. Wherever.
I’m sure I’ll write about this condition in another blog, because, albeit rather pesky, it’s also quite fascinating. I’m learning a lot about myself in my efforts to co-exist alongside it. One day I hope to kick it (lovingly) into touch, but right now, the best thing I can do is befriend it and ask it to whisper its secrets into my ear. I don’t believe in all this combative talk, fighting cancer and dis-ease. I think we can learn a lot from these processes. At some level, they are allies, not foes.
Last Tuesday night/early Wednesday morning, I had a fantastic flying dream. (Groan – there’s nothing more tedious than other people’s dreams.) From a very young age, until about twelve years ago, I regularly dreamt I was flying. It’s always been the most exhilarating, liberating sensation. My particular style is to whoosh up vertically, like a rocket, head back, shoulders firm, just like Superman. Once I reach a certain height, usually above the tree line, I adopt a horizontal pose, darting about like an airborne minnow.
For some reason I was dressed in black Goth/Victorian garb and had a teddy bear tucked into my armpit. I was grinning, exceedingly happy. There were a few bumpy moments, especially when I dipped into a tea shop with a low ceiling, knocking over a stand of cakes during afternoon tea. I received a few disapproving looks and zoomed out of there. It’s like I was blowing away the cobwebs because I was out of practice, but I quickly found my form again.
Somehow it felt more than a dream. The following day I bumped into my very talented medium mate Marcus. I was pushing open the door to Pret a Manger – a mocha a day is my guilty pleasure – and Marcus flashed into my mind. Thirty seconds later, I turned around to see Marcus in the queue behind me, grabbing a sandwich. We both shrieked with delight. Literally a minute earlier, he’d also been thinking of me. We legged it upstairs and gassed away for twenty minutes.
I mentioned about my flying dream and he immediately tuned in and said it wasn’t a dream, but was more of a lucid dream or astral travelling experience.
90% of flying dreams are apparently lucid. This means you are fully aware and can manipulate what happens in the dream setting.
Astral travel is also referred to as an out-of-body experience. I’ve had plenty of those and can invariably differentiate between my dream state and when I’m out of my body. The idea is that we leave our body during our sleep – our spirit body leaves our physical body and we head off into other dimensions. For thousands of years the Tibetans have claimed that our sleep state is when everything really kicks off. The bit that we think is real, the awake time during the day, is merely our spirit idling.
I’d never heard of astral travelling until 2003 when I met (the late) Bill Harrison, who was a retired fire officer. I’d been sent to see him by my then boss, who reckoned Bill would be able to help me with my insomnia problem. What my boss failed to mention was that Bill was also a medium and a healer. Had I known that, I’d never have gone to meet him because I was terrified of anything psychic or paranormal. That meeting changed my life and set me on an entirely new path.
One of the first things Bill told me was that ever since childhood, I’d had recurring flying dreams. Of course this was correct, but then he explained that I wasn’t actually dreaming. I was astral travelling. I didn’t know what the heck he was on about and didn’t press him for an explanation, but since then, I’ve become a lot more au fait with astral travel. Almost all of us do it, but not many of us remember doing it.
Marcus, being extremely psychic, is closer to this side of life than your average person. He’s apparently bumped into me once or twice when we’ve been out-of-body and has parried with me that when I wake up, I’ll have no recollection of the conversation. Sadly he’s right. A ‘dead’ friend of mine called Tommo – more about him in later blogs – regularly comes through Marcus to talk to me. I’ve expressed a keen desire to meet Tommo when I’m on one of my out-of-body sorties. Recently he told Marcus that on one occasion, he saw me shoot out of my body and sail straight past him! I was off at supersonic speed, out into the galaxy. More haste, less speed, Rita.
On Tuesday night, there could have been a couple of reasons as to why I’d had such a vivid flying experience. Dream analysts reckon that flying represents release from mental or emotional stress. Holy Moly, I’ve had more than my share of that these past few months and so it wouldn’t surprise me if that was true.
I definitely felt incredibly optimistic, like I was letting go of something that was shackling me and making space for something more positive. Earlier that evening I’d been watching Paul O’Grady’s African Orphans animal programme. I adore him. I think he’s very real and honest and his obsession and love for animals comes straight from the heart. A couple of years ago I drafted a TV programme proposal which I pitched to several production companies. A couple of them are keen to help me develop it. Paul is the celebrity I’d like to front the programme. I would love to work with him and the flying experience felt like it was telling me that my idea would take off.
I have an instinctive knack for that ‘law of attraction’, ‘cosmic ordering’ malarkey. There are loads of books written about it but to me it’s always seemed quite simple: be very clear about what you want, make sure you’re not being greedy or trying to do something harmful, focus on it with considerable intent, have absolute conviction that it will happen and then let it go. Don’t cling to it too tightly or obsess about it. Revisit your goal every now and again but don’t become too bound up with the outcome. In my experience, when I’ve really wanted something and gone through this process, it invariably comes off. I don’t set a time limit on it either, trusting that it will happen in perfect timing.
Bugger, I’ve overrun my self-imposed 1,000 word count. I must get in touch with Nick, my IT chum who set up my blog, and embark on stage two of creating a blog. He thinks I write too much and wants to teach me further tools like Read More. Perhaps I should offer people the option to Read Less? He also commented that I’m cleverer than I look. Bastard.