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Better Really
Jun. 5th, 2019 11:09 amI was up twice in the night with the compulsive coughing. The first time I quieted it with a cup of tea and half an hour with a good book but the second time I stayed downstairs and passed the rest of the night asleep on the couch in a sitting position, wrapped up in a fun blanket with sleeves.
I'm much better really- and to prove it I've been mopping the kitchen floor and doing lots of other little houseworky jobs I'd been putting off till "tomorrow".
The good book was Ann Hillyar's Everyman the Pilgrim- a companion piece to her husband's two-volumed Between Heaven and Charing Cross. Together they chronicle the relationship between incarnate and discarnate members of a soul group doing rescue work on the lower planes of the astral. A century and more of scientific materialism has produced generations of souls who- having no concept of life above and beyond the daily grind- continue to live as surburbanites and slum dwellers and far, far worse when they no longer have to. "Summerlands? Not for the likes of us. We're 'umble folk." Souls in this condition are suspicious of shiny spirits from the higher planes (the worst are downright hostile) and more ready to respond to people with an earthy vibration- hence the need for mixed teams- with the incarnates making the initial contact (through a channel/medium) then handing the rescuees over to the discarnates who whisk them away to their hospitals/rehabilitation facilities. In Everyman the Pilgrim the rescue work carries on in the background while the bulk of the text is made up of channeled wisdom from a discarnate celebrity who prefers to remain anonymous. The man is/was a black American civil rights activist and I wouldn't be human if I didn't hazard a guess at his identity- and- no- I don't think he's Dr King...
My mother told her carer this morning that she preferred to stay in bed and listen to the horse racing. What horse racing? The TV was off, my mother doesn't have a radio. "Is it out in the field?" asked the carer- and my mother gave her a look as if to say, "Don't be silly."
I'm much better really- and to prove it I've been mopping the kitchen floor and doing lots of other little houseworky jobs I'd been putting off till "tomorrow".
The good book was Ann Hillyar's Everyman the Pilgrim- a companion piece to her husband's two-volumed Between Heaven and Charing Cross. Together they chronicle the relationship between incarnate and discarnate members of a soul group doing rescue work on the lower planes of the astral. A century and more of scientific materialism has produced generations of souls who- having no concept of life above and beyond the daily grind- continue to live as surburbanites and slum dwellers and far, far worse when they no longer have to. "Summerlands? Not for the likes of us. We're 'umble folk." Souls in this condition are suspicious of shiny spirits from the higher planes (the worst are downright hostile) and more ready to respond to people with an earthy vibration- hence the need for mixed teams- with the incarnates making the initial contact (through a channel/medium) then handing the rescuees over to the discarnates who whisk them away to their hospitals/rehabilitation facilities. In Everyman the Pilgrim the rescue work carries on in the background while the bulk of the text is made up of channeled wisdom from a discarnate celebrity who prefers to remain anonymous. The man is/was a black American civil rights activist and I wouldn't be human if I didn't hazard a guess at his identity- and- no- I don't think he's Dr King...
My mother told her carer this morning that she preferred to stay in bed and listen to the horse racing. What horse racing? The TV was off, my mother doesn't have a radio. "Is it out in the field?" asked the carer- and my mother gave her a look as if to say, "Don't be silly."
