My Journey
I have been developing my seership over twenty years, driven by a pressing need to "pierce the veil between the worlds" and to connect with something greater than myself. Even from a young age I knew that there existed another world, the Otherworld, and I also knew in my heart that talking to animals was possible. I was and still am a great lover of the natural world and as a child spent many hours in woods and fields trying to get as far away from human civilisation as I could, seeking communion with trees, plants, animals and the Otherworld ~ the Great All That Is.
I developed my seership through many years of commitment and with one question written very large upon my heart, "Why can I not see? I should be able to see!" This intense desire lead me to spend hours in meditation; hours of an evening sitting in front of the fire, staring at the flames; more hours than I care to remember sat up in bed first thing in the morning, listening and writing to what came through me. I had an intense desire to connect to the Divine, and was shown time and time again that the Divine was within.
I did not think of seership as my calling at this point but it arose from an intense curiosity which then, as I gradually reaped the rewards of patient effort, led to a tremendous way of being in the world.. a coping mechanism if you will... a way to always bring myself back to centre; of answering inner questions; of resolving life's issues, of restoring equilibrium when circumstances or events had thrown me off-centre. What started as 'trying' became easy. And it grew and grew.
One of the most important facets of this learning was the development of my total trust in my energy body. I became accustomed to strange events, sightings, sensations until all of these things became the norm. I began to be acutely aware that the energy of our awareness runs throughout our bodies and even that it extended beyond our bodies and that with each different thought a different energy was felt in the body. I had begun to realise that intention, energy and thought were inseparable.
I also became aware that not all the thoughts, emotions and sensations that my body felt or received derived from me. How many times have we all walked into a room and felt that we could cut the atmosphere with a knife or felt an instant knot appear in our stomach as a particular person approaches us? How many have felt instantly drained by a particular person's company or found that it drove us crazy sitting next to a particular work colleague in an open plan office?
Growing up in my family we had had lots of animals and as soon as I was in a position to, I began to surround myself with animals again. I began to realise that animals receive information with their energy bodies all the time. They do not say to themselves, "Oh, I am just being silly." They have total trust in their sensibilities and rely on them wholly to survive. We, as human animals, feel others' emotions, intentions and frequently others' thoughts but so often dismiss what we feel. It is as if we believe we have to dampen down this sensitivity in order that we can live and survive in the modern human world.
It was not always like this. Throughout most of our evolution as humans we have lived acutely aware of these heightened senses. Communion with nature, plant life and the animal kingdom was central to human life. This heightened sensitivity, this 'sixth sense' is still a part of us. It is who we are. Without trust in our sensitivity we would not have survived.
As far as actually communicating with animals was concerned, I cannot say that as a child I was hugely successful. My intense desire to be a tremendous Dr Doolittle seem to do nothing but frighten creatures away. At least I had no success with wild animals. Rabbits did not come out of their burrows to discuss the weather, no matter how long I sat unmovingly outside their homes, neither did they ask whether I would mind being their friend. That was my hope and it was no doubt influenced by the imagination of such great authors as Beatrix Potter and A A Milne.
For many years as a child I felt that I had another invisible family which I belonged to. I would try on many occasions to connect with them through the realm of the imagination. This was always frustrating and dissatisfying as I felt that I should have been able to touch and see them with my physical eyes.
I was also an avid reader of fairy stories and folk tales and devoured any books that would transport me to the realms of magic and mystery. This seeking led to a great quest for knowledge which welled up in my early twenties just after my son was born. It was around this time that I bought a book called Natural Magic by Marian Green. Finally an adult if somewhat stern explanation for my world view! I was once again given permission to know that all things in nature had a divine essence and awareness and that trees were not just 'biomass' to which my education had reduced them.
This seeking led me to explore the world's mystery traditions including: Taoism, Native American Shamanism, Christianity, Sufism and the Qabalah. I now have come to rest at my hearthstone - the Faery Faith which is at the heart of the sacred mystery traditions of these isles. I learned the Art of Pathworking (often called shamanic journeying) and meditation which led me to become a "walker between the worlds" and to develop my seership and mediumship and my ability to communicate with animals.
I suppose that beneath this desire to commune with the Great All That Is, exists the desire to belong, to feel part of the whole. The desire to reconnect to the natural world is something that I see a great many people yearning for. They seek a sense of completion, a sense of Home. Without feeling a connection and sense of community with the All That Is, we are lost, uprooted, incomplete and confused.
When I was twelve years old, my parents bought me a pony. Knowing nothing about horses, they bought a cheap pony from a family friend with a badly fitting saddle thrown in. Of course, we were only told nice things about her.
I loved her.
I loved her despite her fear of vets and the way she would rear vertically in her stable as soon as the vet arrived on the stable yard.
I loved her despite the way she would attempt to throw herself at any well-meaning person and try and smash them against the stable wall whilst the vet tried to save her life.
I loved her despite the hours spent trying to catch her.
I loved her in spite of the hours it took to persuade her to allow me to place my hand behind her ears to remove her bridle.
I loved her despite her rearing and shying at any flapping object we would encounter down the lanes.
I loved her despite her terror of tractors or any passing farm machinery which would cause her to try and climb onto the top of hedges in order to escape.
And I loved her when only three months after I had had her, I fell from her onto the road and broke the neck of my femur and was told that I only had a forty percent chance of ever walking again.
It was this accident which changed the trajectory of my life in so many ways. The door of pony club and competition shut firmly.
I spent time walking her, feeding her, hanging out with her in her field, grooming her, talking to her. We became best of friends.
