My Akashic construct

This is a forum for those who want to share the Akashic Construct, and their experiences of it. The AC is a structured meditation designed specifically to enable contact with celestials, and also humans for the purposes of teaching or healing.
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atsguy
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My Akashic construct

Post by atsguy »

I am new here, i already posted a little bit about myself and my experience with 11:11. I felt it was time to start learning more and it led me here.

I just ordered my Cd, and hopefully will be getting it soon. I think it would be cool to use this thread as a log, at least since i am just starting the meditation.
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Post by memawlaura »

:D Atsguy,

Take a look at others posts and as you begin using the ACCD you will discover you can help many and that many can help you. I wish you well on your journey of knowing.
Love and Peace Always,
Memawlaura

It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.
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Post by blue nova »

Hello atsguy :hithere

Keeping a journal of your meditation experiences is a great idea.

Meditation has soooo many wonderful benefits....it has many medical benefits :D

I'm excited for you atsguy.

Hugs,
Anne
~*~* Live in Om! *~*~
.. ~Swami Rama Tirtha~
...............
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Post by SheraX »

:cheers:

Enjoy. :)
Conquer the angry man by love.
Conquer the ill-natured man by goodness.
Conquer the miser with generosity.
Conquer the liar with truth.
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Post by atsguy »

I havea question...i have read on the 11:11 website that people have visitors in their Akashic workshops...like patients if you will

like this one

( link lost )

i dont really understand this, did the astral body or the soul of the person come into the other persons akashic workshop? And he helped heal her in his own mind?

If this is what happened than i think it will be really good for me, i live right next door to a very busy and big hospital, one of the biggest in my town.
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Post by George »

Hi AtsGuy,

We don't really know how it works, and it's not always the same. You can go to them, they can come to you, or you can be 'physically' transported to faraway places.

I had a two-way trip from Oz to San Fran, another from Oz to Bavaria -- soul 'lifted from body.'

Chapter Eleven

Virginia Jamieson

Shortly after his induction into the platoon, a much younger Barnard came up with a hare-brained notion. He thought he might try to slip into the Half-way Realm and, with the Guardians’ assistance, actually stay there. It seemed like such a good idea at the time to become invisible at will, never to feel hunger, or become sleepy. Above all, it seemed most profitable to be able to remember everything and live forever, just like his Spirit Companions did.

For one who was constantly seeking knowledge for its own sake, a flawless, ‘photographic’ memory would be worth more than all his worldly possessions, even with his firm’s check account thrown in. He earnestly approached the Guardians to obtain their help in carrying out the nutty plan.

At the time, Barnard had been squeezed through the wringer of life, backwards, sideways and doubled up. He was still licking his wounds months after the event. But with only a vague show of compassion, the mortal was told his dumb proposal was off the menu, “You are human. You cannot be like us.”

Ahbecetutu’s somewhat condescending rebuttal made Barnard wonder if Spirit Guardians were endowed with real emotions, even a sense of humor. Who would even dream of wanting to permanently enter their time-frame if there wasn’t an occasional good laugh to be had? Theirs would be a sad, sad lot. In the years of inter-species cooperation that followed, Barnard learned they did have emotions and a great sense of the ludicrous.

But many weeks after the shocking Jennifer Sutton interment, it was George Mathieu who seemed to have permanently misplaced his sense of humor. He felt isolated, and was missing his best Friends. Then, they made him experience something he could not have foreseen in his wildest dreams.

* * * * *

It happened in an immeasurably small fraction of time. Drifting off to sleep one
moment, the rookie found himself standing on a concrete pier in the very next instant. There was hardly a hint of color in all he saw; the dark but tranquil bay, the somber, misty night-sky, the concrete pier with its steel safety railing. To his left a distant modern city, at his right, some eight paces away, stood the noble Warrior. Behind Ahbecetutu stood a group of some ten, perhaps twelve Entities of widely varied sizes.

Barnard wondered why they were so hard to discern, but he marveled at their vastly different sizes. “You brought many friends, Bzutu,” the human remarked, “a crowd. But they’re hard to see and so are you.”

Something was different about this trip, but the mortal did not know what it was. He had seen other Entities before, though never so many at the one time and never before had they looked so vague.

There was no answer from the Warrior. No introductions. Ahbecetutu shifted his weight, observing his mortal student patiently at all times.

“This is not one of my lucid dreams, is it?” Barnard asked.

“We are here,” came the Guardian’s reassuring answer.

“You said you would guide me,” the human reminded him. “I asked for something worthwhile to do to make up for my willful behavior. I asked for something important to do, so you know I can be trusted again. This can’t be it! Are you playing a joke on me?”

“This is it,” came the somewhat loud and abrasive response.
Barnard looked around. There was nothing to do on this cold, wet and lonely pier but a spot of fishing. What a stupid idea to come here at night, he thought.

“Get about your task, then!” Ahbecetutu sounded somewhat impatient. He sounded like his student should already know all of what needed to be done.

Barnard looked back at the gentle swell of the bay. There was nothing much to see. Only a solitary seagull circled in the mist and semi-darkness, perhaps fifty meters away — hovering now — circling anticlockwise — hovering again.

Something came to mind. “A sentinel marking a target?” the rookie asked. “Ah! Is there a school of fish down there?” he wanted to know, but no one answered. “We never brought our fishing rods, nets, scuba gear...”

He was quickly convincing himself the entire effort was meant to be a joke. “Somebody might inform that bird it’s jolly night-time now,” he suggested. He laughed and looked at the group. None of those present appeared to share the mortal’s feelings for making fun. They were a solemn looking lot. Barnard didn’t mind about how they felt and shouted at the bird, “Eh! Feathers! Go home! Time to go to sleep!”

Then he looked down. There was indeed something in the water, right below the hovering bird. As if on cue with his realizing this, the gull drifted away.

It was hard to make out what this object might be. Mostly submerged, the lapping swell momentarily pushed it into view, then out of sight again for many long seconds.

What could it be? he wondered. A dead pig? “You all brought me out here for a dead pig?” He felt deeply insulted. “That is so unkind.”

“Get it now,” Ahbecetutu ordered.

The human hesitated, unwilling to touch the pig, afraid to disobey his Superior, he stayed planted on the spot. “I think I’ll go home now,” he suggested meekly. “Better that I go home, you Guys.”

“Get it now!” Ahbecetutu insisted in the gruffest of voices.

Entirely guided by those back on the pier, it seemed, Barnard hovered out with ease, grabbed a limb and slowly dragged the dead body back to the pier. He marveled at his own strength and fitness as he clambered back up onto the pier, lifting the bloated, heavy load from the dark waters with notable ease.

Still feeling belittled and disgraced, he unceremoniously slammed his morbid catch against the steel safety rail. He stepped back and viewed the distasteful blob of a creature. “Oh, my God! It’s a woman!” he cried out.

She moved ever so slightly and without a moment’s thought, Barnard dropped to his knees beside her, pinning her shoulder against the railing. But she would not open her eyes and the mortal knew he would sense nothing from her closed eyes.

“Spit it out!” he suddenly urged her. That message had seemingly come from nowhere. That was inspired, for sure, he concluded. That came from all those Entities over there. “Spit it out! All of it, woman!” he urged her on. It seemed to be the right thing to say to her.

A small stream of water shot from her mouth. “All of it! All of it! Now!” Barnard kept urging her, shaking her by the shoulder.

Suddenly, a great stream of water gushed a distance of some meters and the fat and bloated body of a woman, formerly seemingly overweight and scarcely recognizable as human, turned into that of a slim young lady. As she took on her appropriate shape, so did many bruises on her body become evident. Her skin toned up somewhat and there was a deep slash mark across her throat. She felt so very cold.

All the mortal’s inhibitions seemed to be left behind in another world, another reality. He felt only tenderness and charity towards this poor, naked little victim. Above all, there was a pressing urgency for him to get her to liven up.

“Spit it all out, girl!” he told her again. But there was nothing more to spit out. “Look at me now! Look at me!” he insisted. Her head had lolled forward like that of a well-worn rag doll. “Open your eyes, lass! Look at me!”

Slowly, she raised her head like a fearful, cowering dog. She was breathing, unaware of there being no need for her to breathe.

“I’m George Mathieu Barnard. And you are now free,” he informed her. They are not my words! he thought. They were not even my thoughts! “Who put that in my mind?” he grunted, but there was no answer.

Their eyes met at last and all the young woman’s emotions became his. He sensed the horror she had suffered long ago — all of her fears. He felt the love she had given to many in her short life, the bitter lessons learned by her. Her hopes and plans. Her needs and wants. Her slow progress in another time. All of her emotions became those of the Guardians’ understudy, but he could not gather a single fact.
“Who did this to you?” he sharply demanded to know. “Who killed you?”

With that question she whisked away, upwards and at great speed. Barnard was left kneeling on the concrete pier, looking at his empty hand, which only a moment before had held her shoulder to give her support.

“Wow! She flies faster than anybody can!” He stood and turned to all assembled. There was great admiration in his voice. “Can she ever hike! Brilliant!” He felt so excited. Then doubts entered his mind and he turned back to the Guardian. “Bzutu, this was not a lucid dream, eh?” he asked.

“It is not. And we are here,” his Superior answered.

“This was urgent and important, like you promised me?” George asked.

“It is so. Go home, George Mathieu. It is done,” said the Guide.

Barnard noticed the other Entities seemingly fading into thin air. But Ahbecetutu was still by his side. I can’t leave now! Leaving now would be very wrong, the mortal thought.

“Go home. It is done,” the Guide told him again. “What takes you so long? Go home. Time to go to sleep.”

“Not likely,” the belligerent mortal answered. He stood fast and held onto the railing. “I don’t even know her name,” he complained. “All her emotions became mine. We were so close, we were as one. I must know her name to find her again, later.” A powerful bond had been formed, so quickly, and the mortal was concerned about never meeting her again.

Though all the other Entities were now unseen by him, Barnard sensed they were still there. And he sensed their disbelief of the abject contempt for authority of such a willful human.

“I’ll wait here till the cows come home,” the rookie promised the Guardian, “you know me, Bzutu.” Barnard squeezed the cold railing for dear life. “I must know her name.”

Tempers were rising. Barnard could feel it. It bothered him greatly not to be able to see the other Entities to gauge their feelings more clearly. But the Warrior was in charge, no doubt of that, and he was visibly embarrassed by the student’s tenacity.

“So stubborn you are,” the Warrior complained.

At last it showed, as in bright sunshine — a yellow, flat wooden arrow pointing due west. Attached to a square wooden post, its deeply routed black lettering read VIRGINIA ST.

“Fine,” the human mumbled. “Virginia it is. Might she have been so fortunate as to have inherited a surname as well?” he asked. “Yes?”

Quickly it appeared. A round-edged and enameled metal plate with raised white letters on a dark blue ground. Stuck to a building and facing south, JAMISON Ave.

“Virginia Jamison?” he queried. “Oh, I see. Put an E in there. Virginia Jamieson!” He was delighted to know her name. “Gosh, what took you so long?” he asked jokingly.

“Will you go home now?” came the loud, blunt request.

“Where are we then?” he asked in turn. The answer came, but he missed it in part. It sounded like, “... frisco...”

Many summers of diving on the coral reefs, it seemed, had affected his hearing in everyday mortal existence. Coral deafness, apparently, is just as troublesome in the Half-way Realm, he mused. “What’s a frisco?” he asked. A mental picture of an ice-cream in a cone danced before his eyes. Vanilla flavored, George presumed. Ridiculous! “You’re messing with my mind,” he reproached the now smiling Guardian.

“San Francisco!” the Warrior informed him.

“You were messing with my mind, Bzutu,” Barnard accused him. “You do it all too often. I know you do.” He stopped to think about being so far from home and he glanced back at the mist-shrouded city. It suddenly looked so different, so old. “What’s the use of my being all the way out here?” he asked. “I belong in Australia. There are thousands and thousands of psychics in this big land who could set the lass’ soul free. Why did you transport me all this way?”

“Your request,” sounded the immediate response. “Urgent and important. You are not a Specialist. You come to learn many things, very fast. Go home now! So persistent you are.”

The mortal gripped the railing more tightly still. He glanced back at the city. 1903? 1908? Ah! 1911! Prohibition! “It’s long ago, but someone now knows this Jane Doe’s name,” he muttered. “That is San Francisco! No, it isn’t. It was!”

The Jamieson girl’s soul must have been listed for urgent release, he thought. “Why and how did she die, Bzutu?” he asked. “It seems such a waste. She really wasn’t much more than a child, this one.”

The rookie had pushed the Guardian too far. The Warrior’s patience had run out entirely. The rail Barnard had clasped suddenly ceased to exist. He was now observing a smartly dressed Virginia Jamieson, being kicked and punched around in an upstairs room. She was roughly tossed into a wide, deep chair. Then, while she was held from behind by the hair, a small sharp knife cut her throat. She passed out but she stubbornly refused to die.

Next up, the boot of a black, vintage model car opened up. It was parked in a deserted street in the industrial quarter, the lower part of the town. Rain was bucketing down on the city and street lights were few. Four eager hands removed a heavy, round and patterned man-hole cover and the same four eager hands took a rug from the trunk of the vehicle.

Head first, Virginia Jamieson’s naked body slipped from the rug and splashed into the raging stormwater torrent below. Somehow robbed of all conscious fear, and just before the iron cover slammed back into place, Barnard slipped in after her. She struggled weakly, then washed away.

“You didn’t bleed to death, Miss,” he told her unemotionally. “You... actually drowned.” He was coldly, casually informing her of the precise circumstances of her demise.

He followed the body through the lengthy cavern. One of the rusty bars was missing from the grille at the end of the tunnel. Unaware of the fact she was now quite dead, Virginia Jamieson’s sleek little body slipped through the gap and washed into the bay. Barnard climbed back onto the pier. He was back in the precise spot he had started from. “So, that’s how it was,” he remarked, expecting to be told to urgently head off for home. But no one had waited for him to return. He was alone.

At least, so it seemed.

In a mere skerrick of time he was back in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed and wondering why he could feel so good, so suddenly, and after such a troubling experience. Less than fifteen minutes had elapsed since he had initially closed his eyes to enjoy a night of undisturbed sleep, just before the Guardians spirited him away. This is what he had asked for many long years ago, only to be told he was not allowed to share their time-frame. “You did it!” he told the Guardians. “That was great!”

He was wide awake now, feeling pleased. Weeks of bother and depression caused by the Jennifer Sutton interment had been taken from his mind, so quickly. Again, he had given Ahbecetutu a hard time, but there were things Barnard needed to know.

Had not the Warrior told him, “You came to learn many things very fast.” Barnard mumbled sarcastically, “Not a Specialist... So persistent you are, George Mathieu... Yes, a damned-hard-to-get-along-with nuisance, Bzutu, or I’d never learn a thing.”

The Guardians must understand why their student is so obstinate, he thought. They would know more about me than I do.

* * * * *

The Essence, Soul, or Astral Self of Virginia Jamieson had been dormant, resting in ‘Frisco’ bay for a long time. A diminished personality, but all the emotions of experiential living were contained in the ‘ethereal package’ that had now been set free. An awareness of self, and a realization of the passing of time, had surely been missing. So much, at least, was obvious to Barnard.

She might have been what some call a ghost — an accident of disorderly dissolution of the component parts of a highly complex human creature. How this long-forgotten aspect of the young woman could take off, seemingly unassisted, was a mystery to him.

More of a mystery was the pathetic, self-satisfied feeling now marinating his soul. His ledger, he felt, was again completely in the black. Barnard was truly delighted the debt had been discharged in full. A debt to Whom? he wondered. Of that he had no idea. There were still so many questions.
George
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Intent is ALL that counts
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atsguy
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Post by atsguy »

that was amazing George, thanks for the Virginia Jamieson story. i find it amazing that the midwayers or guardians can do this.

i hope to do many healings if possible and if they will let me...
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Post by atsguy »

I just got my cd in the mail, i started listening to it just going through what you need to do, its seems very simple and i hope to make great progress with it...wish me luck
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Post by George »

Hi Atsguy,

According to the Midwayers, there is nothing new about the Akashic Construct. There is something meditation/visualisation like it used on every inhabited world in the local universe.

It doesn't take luck, tho, just perseverance.

I'll post you another if I can find it.

God bless...
GMB
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Post by George »

even this was a healing . . . of a kind:

Chapter Fourteen

“You Must Let Go.”

As the principal of a very large girls’ school, placed in that position of authority by the order to which she belonged, Sister Eugenie could hardly be seen as a crackpot. She was efficient, and the attained level of education rose dramatically under her guidance, whilst she still managed to teach her own class full time.

How nuts could the woman be?

She was in her middle fifties when she so greatly embarrassed George, in her late thirties when she proclaimed to her class the voice of the Creator could be clearly heard.

If she was listening to the voice of her own Spirit Self, her statement could hardly be said to be totally untrue. Sister Eugenie, George presumed, had achieved that difficult, but attainable, balance. That balance where Spirit and mind have gone into a most profitable enterprise together. Time and Eternity were pooling their individual resources to realize a common goal. George would be witness to the reality of the existence of the end product of their combined labors.

He just didn’t know it yet.

* * * * *

He had had enough for the day. At three-thirty in the afternoon, he did not want to remain in his factory. He wanted to go home, play with his children and talk to the Spirit Guardians.

“It is the old story, Bzutu,” George suggested to the Guardian. “If the mountain will not come to Mohammad, the Prophet himself must go to the mountain. So, here I am. Got you, at last. This planet swarms with mortals in plague proportions, and there are no more places for you to hide. But good Spirit Guardians are hard to find.”

A little humor might cheer him up, George thought. What a dumb, optimistic assertion that turned out to be.

It had been a lengthy job finding Ahbecetutu, thirty minutes of diligent searching in a trance. He felt the Guardian might have been busy elsewhere, and he had gone to look for him instead of waiting for him to make his presence felt. Wherever it was, George had now arrived. They could be anywhere at all. George could only just make him out. But the ancient Sentinel was clearly not enthralled, neither by his presence, nor by his jokes.

“It was only yesterday, when we jumped from the trees and scuttled about on all fours,” the mortal reminded the Spirit Guardian. “How rich do you expect our humor to be, Bzutu? Give us time to evolve. Meanwhile, give us a little credit for trying to be entertaining,” he suggested.

The look on his face told of his feelings as the mighty Warrior turned to face him and seemed to sigh. The spear, that most deadly looking weapon, was switched from his right hand to his left. George so hoped he did not want to poke it in his direction. That awesome, shimmering, business end of the spear still worried him, each time he faced the Warrior.

“So many wake-up calls,” he reminded Ahbecetutu, “What are they about, my Friend?”

“We guide you,” came the mind-to-mind answer.

“Have you popped the details in my mind already?” George asked.

“It is done,” the Guide’s answer came.

“I’m only human. I have concerns about what I am in for next, Bzutu,” the mortal admitted. “Even our own shadows make us jump, you know. Now... that would never happen to you, would it now?”

Even before he had said it, the Guardian was smiling. At last. But it was mostly to make his pet mortal feel good, George figured. As always, the Spirit Warrior was reading his mind. Only George’s fickle, spur-of-the-moment flashes had ever surprised him in the past.

“You spoil all my jokes by picking my brain,” the human complained. “And I still don’t know what those wake-up calls are all about. Can’t you let the occasional cat out of the bag?”

“You know very soon,” the Guardian’s mind told him.

George nodded, pensively. He knew it was probably best not to know, and just let it happen. Ahbecetutu knew he was just another curious human. The Spirit understood the concept of apprehension, he did not comprehend the feelings that came with it. Fear was to be dealt with, apprehension about the future was such a waste of time, energy, emotions.

“I will try to have a little more faith,” George suggested. “I know you Guys will always look after us.”

“Ever”, came the instant mind-to-mind reply. Ahbecetutu’s attention was needed elsewhere on the planet. Duty called. He needed to send George away.

“Give everyone my love,” George told him quickly. “Their favorite pet vertebrate greets them all. Now quickly tell me the winners of the first three harness races for tonight, old Friend,” Barnard suggested jokingly. “Please, Bzutu? I like to win.”

“We guide you!” came the impatient, spoken answer.

“I’ll split my winnings with you,” the mortal laughed.

“Sleep. We guide you.” Ahbecetutu was gone. Or George was back. Whichever. It was hard to say where in time and space the two minds had met.

“Okay! Okay!” Don’t try bribery, he thought. This Warrior can never be bought. And do as you’re flipping well told, when you’re told and how you’re told.

* * * * *

That very same night, George was looking the Spirit Guardian in the eyes. He could see him as clear as day now. Standing right beside him, he appeared to be quite pleased with George — the Warrior’s very own mortal apprentice. This was much better than a few days ago at San Francisco’s bay. Excellent perception!

And no doubt, the large group of Entities surrounding someone’s deathbed were lending their minds to the entire procedure. George could never achieve this level of observation by himself. That was obvious.

He eyed the group cautiously. Not until that night did he ever see so many Spirits in one crowd. Some were no bigger than a four-year-old child, some were much bigger than the human. There were two of most of them, but not of all. They were clever! Here was millions of IQ in mind power gathered in one place. Smart as they were, they weren’t looking down on a mere mortal. These twelve, perhaps fourteen or more Spirit Onlookers had respect for all creatures.

Some of them seemed to be standing inside the stones of the wall, just to be able to surround Sister Eugenie at the head of her bed. She was dying, and clinging to life, both. And if you didn’t know that it was Sister Eugenie, no one would blame you, but George already knew it was she. She knew someone had arrived, though her eyes were closed. She didn’t know who it was that had come to visit her. Suddenly George had doubts, and he reached out momentarily to touch Ahbecetutu’s shoulder.

“We are in Bavaria?” the mortal asked.

“We are all here,” the Spirit Guide answered. Moments later George glimpsed the rolling green hills, some barren, harvested rye fields, then a view of the convent from the outside. Next up, he was back inside the room. He needed to think. If it’s midnight on the other side, late Spring on the bottom of the world, it must be daytime in Bavaria and late Autumn on the top of the world. The rye is already harvested.

It all seemed to fit.

“This is not a lucid dream, eh, Bzutu?” he asked, just to make sure. “And this is ‘now’ time? Professor Willis said I must know where, and when in time I am.”

“We are all here,” the Spirit Guardian repeated. “And this is now.”

George walked closer to the bed. He needed to take in the material scene. This time, he felt unrushed. There was a young sister, dressed in all white, to Sister Eugenie’s right. One would call her a novice, he thought. There was an old nun close to the patient at her left. These two had long been friends, but she would not hold the dying patient’s hand, and Sister Eugenie needed that. Pumped full of morphine, all her powerful beliefs had become uncertainties. She knew she was dying, but she was now afraid to go on with it.

George wondered what was killing her, apart from old age. Instantly, he could see it all. A worn-out body. And a network of intrusive tissue had invaded her body, more so on her left than on her right. Stacks of it! Of herself, there was nearly nothing left. Triggered by a shortage of trace elements and a defunct immune system, for sure, it looked like cancer, but it was the wrong color. It was white. Cancer was black, and pale brown if it was benign, but likely to turn malignant in the future. He had seen both, and many times.

He turned back to the Warrior. “Bzutu, is that cancer of the lymphatic system?” he asked.

“It is so,” the Guide answered.

George needed to know more. “My body and brain are in my bed?” he suggested. “The rest of me is here, yes?” he asked. “That will explain things for me.”

“It is so,” the Spirit Guardian answered him again.

Someone was looking after his body, he felt sure of that now. It was being cared for on life-support. It meant his Spirit Self, mind and soul, complete with identity and personality, had made the trip halfway around the globe. Sister Eugenie would recognize him for sure.

“Pretty clever of you to get the lot of me transported out here,” George complimented Ahbecetutu. But the Guardian didn’t want to confirm all that.

“Go about your task,” Ahbecetutu ordered. George’s questioning, it seemed, was holding up the procedure for the entire congregation.

“You have to let go now and die,” the Guardian’s apprentice told the nun. “You’ll be fine. It’s easy. Just let go.” Strangely, she was unaware of any of his Spirit Friends being present. Spirit Entities have no souls, perhaps, George thought. But the woman didn’t trust George either. She had been hanging in there for days with the stubbornness of that powerful mind of hers.

I will think in German and let her read my mind, he thought. Forgive me for neglecting that language, he prayed. But it was so easy! It was still there, all of it.

“Remember Jéjé Barnard,” his mind told her. “You must remember Jeanne Colette Barnard, the shy girl with all those brothers.” That wasn’t helping much. “You taught her for many years, Jeanne Colette. In the Netherlands. Remember? Try to remember.”

They were getting nowhere fast. Some fool had drugged the old dear right out of her loving mind. They would be there for ever and one more day at the rate it was going.

It seemed crazy for him to be talking someone into giving it all a miss. Generally, he was convincing people to hang in there. This was one for the books.

“You’re holding up all spiritual progress in the whole universe, Sister Eugenie,” he told her. “A bus-load of Guardian Angels is waiting to take you home,” he suggested. But she didn’t trust him, and still didn’t know him.

“How old are you?” he asked.

She wasn’t sure. Eighty-seven or seventy-eight. She got that all muddled up. That would be eighty-seven, George guessed. She had worked in the Netherlands until she became forgetful, then she had returned home to her convent. At least, she knew that much. Alzheimer’s disease, cooking with aluminum pans, perhaps, had played havoc with her brain and mind. The morphine was doing the rest.

“You know me,” he tried to convince her. “You know me very well. You know me, and you know you can trust me. I’m telling you, there are many Guardian Angels waiting for you. All you must do is let go.”

He looked at the group and smiled nervously at them. He had no idea what, and who they all were. They might feel insulted by being called Guardian Angels. But they sure weren’t complaining, or talking to him.

“You know me,” he carried on. “You made a total exhibition of yourself, hugging me inside that examination hall.” He thought he would probably blush if he could.

Suddenly, there was a glimmer of recognition in her mind. She knew what she had done on that day, so long ago. She knew, but it was faint. Again and again, his mind took her back in time to the crazy thing she had done. Again and again, he told her she was safe. Time after time, he urged her to let go.

Then, she did let go. Hallelujah! At last. In a blink she was dead. And the ‘Essence’ that arose from her body was quickly surrounded by those diverse Entities that had waited so patiently. It felt so good to watch that happen. The next moment, just like that, all of them were gone.

“It is done,” said the Warrior.

“She is fine now?” George asked, uncertain, and searching the Spirit Guardian’s mind through his eyes.

“It is so,” the Guide answered. “Go home, George Barnard,” he advised.

“You must be kidding! Under my own steam? You can’t just leave me here!” He doubted very much if his Spirit Self could drag his soul around at the speed of thought. He would need lots of help. But Ahbecetutu was gone. And George woke up the following morning, in his own bed, but with a lot of questions and few answers.

In his mind he heard Ahbecetutu say, “So, you don’t think we are doing a good enough job, eh, George Mathieu? That’s okay. We can handle a little criticism from a poorly informed mortal. Now see if you can do better. I’ll bring some of my mates around to witness your imminent failure. Oh, well, you did it... Just your luck you happened to know her, I guess.”

It was hard to ignore the fact that her stubbornness had kept her from moving on.

* * * * *

Who was Sister Eugenie? More to the point, what was Sister Eugenie? If this woman actually witnessed a preview of her own demise, way back then in that examination hall, every aspect of her crazy behavior can be explained. And why not? This universe is a treasure trove of ostensible impossibilities.

But that is only a theory.

All George Barnard is sure of is that he now knows a whole lot less than he thought he did. A theory is what he has and, sadly, nothing more.

Spirit Guardians like Ahbecetutu can’t dish it all up for us on a plate, fax us the details, or stick it all on the internet. We are evolutionary creatures, and must find out these things for ourselves. Supposedly, that’s half the fun.

Chances are that many of the voices the nun claimed to hear belonged to the likes of Ahbecetutu, or Andrea. But how would she know if she never managed to get a good look at the Guardians? If she never managed to reach out and touch them?

Fundamentalist teachings, religious dogma, would quickly override those visions. She might very well have crossed herself or thrown a fit if she saw Ahbecetutu in her convent. This armed Warrior of the Half-way Realm is truly awesome to behold.

As a species, we are distrustful, prejudiced. Those who talk to the Spirit Guardians of the Half-way Realm are shunned by others, often insulted, and called ‘Walk-ins’ — mindless creatures who will let any Spirit control their actions.

But Spirit Guardians don’t have puppets. They have students, and charges they protect. Their code of behavior is ethical, moral, also complex, but well-structured. And they care for all aspects of the complex human creature.

They are ‘all ways’ vouched for.

This one, and the Virginiia Jamieson one were lengthy and unusual healings. Much was known about my future and this 11:11 effort, so it became important for me to experience the full gammut of what is possible.

Most healings were over with in minutes.

God bless......
George
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Post by Maria L »

But Spirit Guardians don’t have puppets. They have students, and charges they protect. Their code of behavior is ethical, moral, also complex, but well-structured. And they care for all aspects of the complex human creature.
Thank you so much for sharing, George. And, as always, your stories are educational and entertaining.

Love and Light,
Maria
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Post by atsguy »

Well today i was just practiciing with part 1 of georges cd. I finished with it and i then decided to just try and reach deep alpha...

so i relaxed myself even more, on my bed and started counting from 5,000 to 3,000 in tens. At one point i felt so relaxed and easy going...but i still feel like i needed work. I tried to visualize myself going up a hill, then going down, then flying in the sky to a cloud, and then getting in an elevator and going down to "my level"

But i just wasnt feeling it...Can someone explain to me what is the akashic construct supposed to look like? And how is it sopposed to feel?

is it just like with the visualization of the rose bush, and the tress in the garden
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Post by George »

Hi Atsguy,

Patience and practice will get you there. 8) LET it happen, don't try make it happen.

If you are really curious, spin the entire disc whilst sitting on a kitchen chair.

God bless........
George
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Post by George »

Maria writes:
Thank you so much for sharing, George.
You are most welcome, Maria. Stick around :) there's more where that came from.

Hugs............
me.
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Post by atsguy »

thanks george, i will know when it happens.
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Post by George »

Sometimes a person struggles, and when they finally have "a breakthrough" I hear.

"Gosh, that was easy! I expected it to be difficult!"

Yeah Right! That expectation WAS the barrier!

God bless........
George
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Post by atsguy »

I think this was really significant, i didnt enter the akashic construct...i am still trying to calm myself and learn how to relax really well...i figured i needed a little bit more help with the relaxation and visualization so i started doing the part 1 for more than a week now...

Today i was listening to it, and i got to a point that i noticed just a wave of color come into my vision, it was really strong...all the colors of the color spectrum could be seen and i could notice my visualization of the rose bush seemed more detailed in the background of the color. Also my body for the first time became extremely relaxed,,,incredibly it was as if i was inside it...hahah weird...anyway i think that is some progress, considering i am the kind of person that has thoughts and body movments coming in out of no where...hahah
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Post by atsguy »

I had something happen to me today. Well its about 7:23 right now, and at about 7:00 i wanted to go to my stillness meditation with Georges help of course heheh

Anyway i decided i wanted to do the akashic construct today. So first i turned of all the lights, and layed on my bed and decided to first relax my body and mind a bit. So i started focusing on my heart to calm it down a bit, and just saying to my body to relax. Then i started doing the body part relaxing bit, by telling all my muscles from my head to my toes to just relax and let go. Then i started counting 5,000 all the way down. When i got a point, i would say about 4,740 or something i noticed it became harder or i wasn't getting the numbers. So i realized i was in Alpha, then something happened. I noticed that i started getting these bright flashed of white light. Almost like someone turned on the light inside my eyes. It was one flash, then another, then 2 more times. i got a little excited, and lost it but just one more flash was able to go through...and i dunno i lost my trance and just couldn't go with it anymore...dont no why

anyone else experience this before?
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Post by blue nova »

Hello atsguy,

ahh the lights....to me, it is a sign that i am getting deep and that all is well... :cheers:

(((Hugs)))
anne
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Post by atsguy »

I think it shows i am on the right track. i spoke to a person who is a very experienced in meditation and this is what he had to say.

Yes, I have had a lot of experiences with "the light in the head". It is a common experience of meditation. You can find mentions of it in many places where meditation is discussed.

This light seems to be related to an activity of the pituitary gland, which is associated with the third eye chakra.

You will eventually be able to sustain the light after you get through the initial excitement about it. You can expand it and merge into it and learn to attain various states of consciousness - love, bliss, divine intelligence, etc.

Thanks for sharing and keep up the meditation.

Best wishes,

Blake


Still no images of my place in nature or the akashic construct. I still gotta keep on trying!
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