Some of the psychic and spiritual books in my large collection have been around for so long I cannot recall when I bought them. Lorna Todd’s A Healer’s Journey Into Light is dated 1995, but I imagine it came into my collection some years after. There is a short section covering retrievals at disaster sites.
“Most of us who are helping humanity work very hard at night. We are not always aware of this, although we may sometimes be extremely tired in the morning. I don’t feel as of I’ve slept at all, we say. One of the most worthwhile tasks is that of aiding people to cross over into the light at death. This can be especially weary work if there has been a major disaster. The victims are confused, many refusing to believe that they have died. They look down at the carnage below them, still hearing the screams and noise. The rescue workers may even be trying to resuscitate their bodies, making them even more disoriented and lost. The problem is made worse by the fact that they have probably never given a single thought to the meaning of eternal life. We try to reassure them and help them to come to terms with their own divinity.
I remember the night of the Zeebrugge tragedy. I was assisting a dark haired young woman who was wearing long black boots. She was still struggling to get them off her feet, sobbing that the water had got into them and was dragging her down. For an instant I became part of her memory; I was the one in the black boots and it was I who was being pulled beneath the water. I knew exactly how she was feeling and was therefore able to comfort and love her. After a while she was taken from me and led gentle away to a peaceful place, where she could rest and recover from her shock. The next day I was yawning till lunch-time.”
In the spring of 1999 I finished the manuscript of what became my first afterlife book in 2004, Eternal Life And How To Enjoy It. It was essentially a guided tour of afterlife realities conducted by my then guide ‘Henry’ and one of the scenarios he described was a disaster retrieval with ‘me’ as the newbie.
“I got the call as we were chatting. It was like a brief, high pitched tone in the forehead in case you’re interested. It signals to all interested parties: a natural disaster in progress. I introduced Gordon to this type of work at his request. Basically, he read about it somewhere and his interest was piqued. Like many aspirants he said to himself: Hey, I can do that. But as the emotional pitch is significantly higher in these mass cases, it takes a great deal more equilibrium on the part of the rescuer, much more than is required in individual cases.
He was more than little overwhelmed on his first couple of tries. I told him to remain mentally focused but emotionally detached. This sounds good in theory, and aspirants always nod assertively, but when they are confronted with a tidal wave of burnt, maimed and dismembered bodies and the putrid odours of terror, it’s another story.
We flew over Central America looking for devastation. It was not hard to find. The storm had cut a rather large swath through several countries. The glow of helpers dotted the landscape. We settled on a flooded area that seemed particularly needy. Gordon spied an old car sinking slowly in muddy floodwaters. He was right: a small family had been living in it. I could see a devastated village just downstream and wondered how many bodies were hidden by the muddy water. He zipped into the car to check things out. I stood by ready to help. An obe’s energy, unlike mine, is that much closer to the earth vibration and thus more easily recognisable to the recently and very nearly dead.
He quickly discovered a mother and child huddled together in the back seat near to their corpses. The father was trying to squeeze himself out the window he’d just succeeded in opening. Sheer unmitigated terror had given him the superhuman strength he needed to swim to shore. Gordon coaxed the mother and child out of the car but not much farther. The woman would not leave her husband: she dashed about frantically looking for traces, with Gordon trailing her, quite patiently I was pleased to see.
Finding her exhausted man crawling through mud to some kind of safety, she hovered about him trying to help, and, I suspect, imploring him to come with her. Of course he could not hear and she could not understand why. Gordon wisely allowed her pathetic remonstrations to continue for some moments until she exhausted herself and collapsed beside her still-breathing mate. I could see Gordon was finding the accumulating anguish progressively more unbearable, and although he well knew joining her in wailing would accomplish nothing, he could feel himself slipping. I stood close behind, reinforcing his sense of purpose.
He bent down close to her face and tried to speak kindly. His thought was to pluck her and the child from the scene of devastation, but I think he could see how slim his chances were. The woman could not bring herself to believe anything: the flood, her death, Gordon’s appearance. She clung to her child and whimpered.
I told Gordon to stand back and went into my best impersonation of radiant angel in the Catholic tradition. The woman was immediately affected and took me to be some kind of patron saint of lost travelers. I could not stop her from grovelling at my feet, but after a few moments I managed to haul her up and get her to place an arm around my shoulder with the child still clutched in the other. As we lifted off for the nearest reception center, I motioned to Gordon to watch over the husband’s body.
This he apparently did, as he was still in place after I did the drop off at one of the tropical paradises being used for this operation, which I could see at a glance was a major one. I guessed at about five times the magnitude of the Iranian earthquake of a few months before. Before allowing me to depart the woman begged me to save her husband. Calling her ‘child’, which I sensed would be most effective, I counseled her to pray for the safe delivery of her mate. This seemed to mollify her and she allowed me to go.
I found Gordon with the injured and grieving man and I could see he was slipping. The thought had occurred to him that he actually wanted the man to die so that the family might be reunited and he felt somehow guilty for it. His subsidence into guilt was fashioning a vibratory entry for the man’s anguish and I told him if he didn’t stop he would soon be in a worse state than his charge. He asked if I would mind if he returned to my garden as he was sure he could no longer cope. I gave him a quick hug and off he went.”
About The Author
