About four hours ago, in that half-awake half-asleep stage which seems to facilitate projection almost as well as hemi-sync did years ago, I focused on the destination of Israel/Gaza.  I’d made a half-hearted attempt about three days before but found the level of anger and paranoia amongst the recently ‘dead’  to be so high as to make any efforts at assisted transition out of the question.  This morning the area’s vibration, although still floating in fear, was almost workable.

    In the misty dusty lower astral space I came across a young woman cowering and whimpering in a self-manufactured corner.  I sussed that she’d been chased and shot in that music festival that was initially subjected to the surprize attack by Hamas insurgents early on.  She tried to ignore me, worried that I was one of ‘them’, but I persisted, telling her telepathically that I was there to take her to safety.  How did she know I was a truth teller, and not someone out to kill her or take her prisoner?  I waved my arms to show her my lack of weapons.  Not sure that worked.  Let’s be honest this young woman was a mess, so rattled by trauma and terror she couldn’t be sure of anything, least of all me and my claims.  I repeated that I could take her to heaven right now.  How did she know it was the right kind of heaven?  How did I know?

     Knowing just how astral plane reception centers worked, the greeters and helpers always at the ready, I knew she’d get to her ethnic/religious comfort zone soon enough after the speediest processing imaginable, with nursing, therapy and the illusion of sleeping pills and pain killers easily available.  Projecting, without any fanfare or healing lights, some unconditional love to her heart chakra much as you might attend to a five year old’s cut leg and taking her hand, made the almost instant transfer and a greeter came to meet us.  We exchanged glances and friendly remarks and I immediately knew she’d been busy.

     The next situation that developed in that misty dusty twilight that is the nature of the borderland area between this world and that, was a group, maybe five, of Hamas fighters, who quickly made it apparent that they were not in need of any help from me.  Reeking of pride and determination they planned to assist their brothers in the ongoing struggle any way they could.  Yes, they knew they were dead, but felt so energetic they wanted to keep moving.  I could tell they were under some illusion that their anger and hatred might power more killing of IDF soldiers.  I could also suss that they’d already had some frantic tumbles with them, at least the dead ones and were on the lookout for more.  The phenomenon of dead soldiers continuing to fight has been noted by mediums and psychics for at least a century going back to world war one and further, so I knew when to back down.  After reassuring them that I was some kind of non-denominational angel that rescued anyone in need, an explanation that was not accepted by all, they moved off, as did I.

     Then I came across some children playing ball, enough that a count was postponed. Eight, maybe ten.  They imagined they were still in the ruins of their neighbourhood and had cleared a space from the rubble to play in, amazed that they could actually move it.  In the five to nine age range I figured.  Kicking and throwing thought-formed balls. It seemed as though I was the first person/adult to pay any attention to them, so that alone got up their curiosity and they gathered around chattering away in what I figured was Arabic. I sensed the lives of deprivation and poverty leading up to their transitions and thought to manifest some candy.  At the last second I realised that it ought to be candy from their culture and not the sort of stuff I lusted after as a six year old in Scotland.  Piles of it tumbled out of my hands and onto the ground.  Of course they leapt after it, reminding me of the wheeling seagulls at the lake where I live going after the breadcrumbs I’d brought along.  A energetic joyous feed.

     That of course got me in tight with the group and a suggestion of parks, carnivals and what sounded like full tilt fun went over well and off we went, me creating a bubble thing that they travelled in.  It was something I glimpsed for a second or two before our arrival at a reception center where they charged off cheering and crazily laughing as only kids can.  The greeter nodded to me knowingly and off I went.

     My next encounter was with a youngish man, maybe twenty-three or so, who was doing his best to hide in some self created shadows that I think seemed like bushes to him.  I greeted him with a friendly Hi!, hoping to overcome what I sensed was a terminal shyness and timidity, one that preceeded the sudden terror at the music festival, something that a friend had encouraged him to attend, if only to meet girls, and which now he fully regretted.  There was also a measure of shame at his perception of his own cowardice that had followed him for years and was now reaching some kind of boiling point.  All this in a second or two.  When retrieving one’s sympathy/empathy can create a merge between your astral body and that of the retrievee, giving you all kinds of intuitions, some of which can be used to gain access into the blockages created by their fears and doubts.

    I bent over to lift him up into a standing position from his crouch and he did not resist.  I think he was projecting the memory of the kindly older brother who’d always looked out for him until his passing from illness some years before.  Maybe he even thought I was him for a moment or two.  Come, I said, let’s go get you cleaned up and fed, you look starving.  He accepted my hand and the transfer was quickly facilitated.  We arrived at a reception center and were met by a middle aged man, who wasn’t really middle aged but knew that a kindly older male was required.  Was it his long deceased brother? They hugged with obvious affection, so it may have been.  I thought I might have heard the name ‘Avram’ but these details quickly fade and now I can’t be sure.

      I was beginning to ‘lose my focus’ and returned to the consciousness of my bedroom and the familiar noises of Cynthia as she made some coffee in the kitchen.  I attempted to store my memories carefully, suspecting that by lunchtime I would be able to type them out as I’m doing now.