Good Morning, Kim and Peggy and all,
Well, I do not know much more, if any, then you guys but let's see if we can find some understanding together.
I believe the wordings vary between spiritual groups/people as to what certain entities and even the name borderland entails... so that does make for some confusion. But we will give it a go and loosely allow for this variation of nouns... perhaps concentrating on the resultant effect these beings have on mortals living on this planet at this time. (when all else fails anyway. LOL)
Once again I am learning right along with you, haven been content to help shield and support the active participants in the collaboration of human /celestial alliance. So off we go....
Kim wrote:
Even after living a crazy life of being in a spiritually gifted family, I still consider myself to be a feral child in knowing the right way to approach spirit and shielding and grounding myself. So, please more explanation in this area. I consider myself a healer and would love to be a student of a Reiki master, but my life is so full of children and family, it simply hasn't happened yet. Every morning when leaving the house I ask spirit for a bubble of protection around myself. And have asked in meditation for protection from anyone who wants to harm me.
Let's think a little more about this shield building as a protection around ourselves and others. Thinking/asking/believing you are protected is a good way to begin. And your shield will be even stronger when you actively build it with Divine Energy. You see, as children of God/ Universe we are imbibed with certain energy abilities...energies that we create with our heart/ mind that "work" for us. So to some extent we can and do protect ourselves with our own energies, yet, these can be strengthened 10 fold when we actively draw through us the energy of the Earth (Gai or Urantia as she is known here.) and the Divine Energies that permeate all things. ( Paradise energy) The process of doing this is often described as grounding... but one can draw energies from either space at any time by asking visualizing in some way, using as many senses as you can as you allow this to happen... By doing this, you actively use spirit in the result you are desiring, open heartedly allowing the Source Energy to flow through you, magnifying your own "reach".
This is well worth the time and effort because as both you know from your spiritual healing work, anytime you allow yourself to be an instrument of healing/good for the Divine you are blessed just as much as the objects of your healing work. Does that make sense?
So taking the time to actively build strong protections and shields is well worth the effort in many ways.
Kim wrote:
Beginning with the message, "A Task At Hand." I'm confused as to what exactly the borderlands are. Is it a dimension separate from, 'the packets' of earth bound spirits roaming around? Or all part of the same thing?
Well to be honest, I am confused on this as well. Some people believe there is an ethereal (not sure that is the right word) mist around the earth that contains all these unresolved thought forms.. some may call it the borderlands? Some think the borderlands are in fact the lower reaches of the mansion worlds or the hells, where passed over beings find themselves with much unresolved shall we say karma.
I do not know the rightness or wrongness of any of the thoughts on this subject.. But for our own beginning work let's assume that these left over energetic thought form beings are at the very least actively existing among the spirit/misty realm around our planet. These thought forms can be created I suspect from strong, sometimes even deliberate emotion, related to some event in the original individual's life.
I'll give you a for instance here...
George mentioned Virginia Jamieson... This was a thought form he actively helped to release many years ago... when he was brought to a place in the ethereal by Bzutu to help release a thought form, thus allowing Virginia Jamieson, a young woman who had been murdered in the early years of the 1900's, to move on. I am posting it below so you can see one method a thought form was released. From what you read earlier Chris is doing this on a large scale and in his own way with guidance from his TA and Celestial Teachers.
Anyway, poor Virginia had her throat cut and thought dead, dumped in a sewer leading to an ocean bay. This is where George found her if you read the story. This was NOT Virginia that he found floating in the bay as he worked in spirit, but a powerful thought form that was preventing her and those who murdered her many many years ago from progressing in the realm after death.
Now according to Chris, there are different levels of the Borderland... But maybe we can look at that later...
Kim wrote:
I'm also confused about the definition of 'elementals', the name of those negative energies in the borderlands. Are elementals only animalistic energies, or does it also include former humans stuck in their anger, fear and pain? My experience with 'elementals' is they are the inter-dimensional beings who are basically caretakers of nature. I could find nothing on the internet referring to them in the negative sense.
I believe you are right in that Elementals are basically caretakers of some form of nature. For instance, Earth, Air, Fire and Water. While they are not negative entities of themselves, they can be used, forced to do the will of nefarious powerful humans. In the end this kind of misuse of energy backfires on those who use a beneficial energy darkly...in other words, it will bite them in the "you know what" in this world or the next. Why is this? Well, I am thinking it is because the only spiritual currency that exists in eternity is Love... everything else is like a shadow that disappears and fades with changes in the environment. Not that these people will not or cannot improve their spiritual circumstances after death...no, but they will have a bit of work to do in understanding and moving on.
There are many indigenous people have some stories of "elementals" stealing their children... for instance a water elemental may be blamed for a child who drowns. Perhaps it is/was simply a way of explaining something that is beyond understanding???? don't know. But I do believe that elementals are neither good or bad. They do have a job to do and they do it as a part of the unseen Earth landscape. So they should not be feared, but respected and certainly not used for evil intent.
Truly, the Earth is ripe with energies that can be sensed when one attunes our human senses to that effect.
Anyway I will stop there... not sure that helped at all... but as you guys said earlier these are open discussions in the hope that with lots of imput and shared experience we can be better aware of our own ascencion scheme and ways in which we can improve the situation of future children of the earth.
Below is the Virginia Jamieson writing mentioned above.
Part of Chapter Eleven
of the book “In The Service Of 11:11.”
Virginia Jamieson
Note: In 1973 there had been a serious disagreement with the Midwayers of the then 11:11 Emergency Platoon and me about a certain project – a healing. I wanted to go ahead, they tried to stop me, but I was stubborn and went ahead anyway. There were dire consequences resulting from my stubborness, and for quite an unbearably long time I saw hide nor hair of the Midwayers. I missed them, and asked to be given another task – for things to be as they once were.
* * * * *
It happened in an immeasurably small fraction of time. Drifting off to sleep one moment, Barnard 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 ABC-22 stood a group of some ten, perhaps twelve Celestials of widely varied sizes.
The rookie 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 Celestials 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. ABC-22 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!” ABC-22 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,” ABC-22 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!” ABC-22 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 Celestials 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 Celestials seemingly fading into thin air. But ABC-22 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 Celestials 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 Celestials 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 trunk 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 boot 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 moment 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 ABC-22 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
love,
Sandy