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Several years ago, my sister had a telepathic experience with a blanket that belonged to one of her five small boys. She noticed that Child #4 was constantly carrying his blanket with him, even when he was pretending at sword fighting or excavating holes in the yard. It would be over his shoulder, and on the ground nearby, or tied about his waist, and she was concerned because he had really not shown such clingy behavior with a blanket before, and certainly not for some while.

She began to pray about it, and one day was surprised to hear the blanket tell her, through words in her mind, that it stayed with him on account that it didn’t like being in the dark in the closet…where he had put it more than once when he decided he was done with it. So it had asked to stay with him, and the boy had given it permission to tag along.

I don’t know whether the blanket itself was in some way afraid to stay by itself in the dark closet, or whether perhaps these were the boy’s feeling projected onto it. I do know this incident started a change in our thinking…for the better. It confirmed what I had always felt – that even “inanimate” objects deserve respect and compassion.

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A Word About Riley

Riley has visited me occasionally, on a mental level, ever since I was fourteen. I’ve known about him since the age of twelve.

He began making more personal visits around Christmas time. These occured at first on a somewhat physical level, at which I could sense where he stood or sat, feel his touch, and see a faint energy outline of him, but the visits were not as “physical” as having a friend walk through the front door of my home and hug me. I will tell more about these visits another time.

When I was 16, I had what I thought was an impostor of Riley come visiting for a while. He kept this up for some while, as I was convinced it was him, and only later found out it wasn’t precisely the same person. It turned out he had multiple personalities, and they took turns visiting. (Not that unusual.)

Riley has the strongest, most overwhelming presence I’ve ever felt. I don’t think he’s aware of how imposing he naturally is. But he’s very kind. As he knows a good deal more about energy healing than I do, I have learned much from him.

October 28, 2009 –

Ed. Note: I am coming back to this post on October 7, 2015, due to Life (including a move and financial struggles), which kept me from blogging. So I am making an educated guess at what I meant to say in 2009.

I recall Riley instructing me in how to form the Energy all around and through us into a malleable ball, which I could hold between my palms, and “insert” into my body where I wished. The Light seemed to do the rest.

There was a deal to learning where to place things for most benefit, and in learning to combat the inevitable setbacks due to both demonic interference and poor communication in my body amongst its different systems and parts. At first, I just followed Riley’s instructions about where to place the ball of Light, and how, and I felt sure he was influencing its working by adding some of his own energy and intentions to the mix. (I found that Riley and I are so well-connected that he couldn’t keep from adding his own intentions, whether he would or no.)

As the Light penetrated various areas, I felt a sleepiness come over my whole being, and had to struggle to keep awake enough to keep working. Riley aided me more as I became overwhelmed by the sensations of falling, floating, and general disorientation which resulted from so many changes so rapidly.

Over the next few days, we had several sessions, in which I learned to handle the Light balls more easily and deliberately. Riley began to teach me how the brain communicates with different areas, and that it is not so much physical as spiritual (energy). He told me about which parts influence what functions and thought patterns, but I have since forgotten, as I moved on to other things, and didn’t practice enough. (If I think of it, I will ask him again, so I can write it down in another post.)

Riley also showed me about the structures of cells and particles, and showed that when all is in order, there is a strong Light core inhabiting each one.

Unanswered Questions and Promised Sessions –

  • How does Riley show me the brain parts so accurately – are they the same on everybody?
  • Is there a physical core correlating with the Yellow Light core in the various body parts?
  • Are we changing DNA as we change the parts with Yellow Light?
  • How does the brain/body/spirit/soul decide which body part(s) in which to store certain memories – and how do I prevent bad memories from being stored?
  • Does TTouch activate the Yellow Light cores?
  • Why and how do memories stick, even when they have been consciously shunned or dealt with?
  • How does the Yellow Light purify the body and heal it of these memories?
  • Is all physical pain associated with memories and/or sin (not necessarily personal)?

There are several unanswered questions remaining, even after all these years. But a few I can answer now, from studying and experience in energy healing.

We do indeed change the DNA as we heal with the Light. As to how the body decides where to store memories (especially negative), it generally chooses the weakest part, or an over-stressed part. Different people have different propensities for certain diseases, therefore.

TTouch is one method which tends to influence the strength of Yellow Light Cores, and the Light’s spread. Two others are The Healing Code, and The Emotion Code. The Healing Code works by negating “bad” energy, and allowing “good” energy to replace it. The Emotion Code works by finding places where negative emotions have nested, and releasing them from the body.

Other Health Truths Riley Taught Me-

  • Carbon dioxide in the joints is a symptom of a hurtful or bad memory. This is why “popping” the joints while doing “Light” work is counter-productive – the symptom disappears, but the problem is still in there, and will continue to emit toxins, carbon dioxide, and pain  in order to make its presence known. You deal with the problem, the pain goes away.
  • All four shoulders and hips hurting is a sign of a mental break-down.

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As I’ve stated before, Jem is a Spiritual Assignment. Perhaps you have one or more of those, even if you don’t communicate telepathically with them.

I actually had been praying for Jem off and on before I “met” him. I think he could feel my prayers, though I don’t believe he knew it was me. Anyway, he didn’t have a reason to know who “me” was.

Since then, Jem and I have had many adventures. We’re not the only ones who have shared in these adventures. Other people pray for him and work spiritually with him, and sometimes a bunch of us work together. (That is an experience I hope you allow the LORD to give you sometime…many Christians coming together in spirit to accomplish a definite goal, and communicating through the Spirit just as if we were side-by-sid).

We have had some rough times, we have had some good times. He has helped me to become a better mother, and I have helped him to become a better father.

Jem has learned to battle the demons in his life.

At first, though, he was scared. One of the first glimpses I ever had into his spirituality, several years ago, before I knew him properly, was this:

I found myself in spirit in a room almost completely devoid of light. Just a little, an unholy, sickly diffusion of  sunlight, trickled down from somewhere, and shone into a pit. But not just any pit. A pit so deep, I could see no bottom. Down there was pitch blackness. Then I saw the diving board. It was an empty swimming pool, covered in dried, red and green algae, and rust. A nauseous feeling nearly overcame me as I realized this was his view of God…of spirituality in general. Not only was there nothing in him but a gnawing void, but when he thought about seeking God’s face, all he saw was a deep, dark pit which could kill him.

I did not know when I saw this vision who it belonged to. I was afraid for this person, but felt I could do nothing for them. Still, I said a prayer.

Now, I believe the swimming pool has been filled in. In fact, the building has been razed. Jem is now in God’s light, under His wing, seeking His face. He claims to be His child, and I have no specific reason to disbelieve him.

I have seen him slowly but surely learn to do battle with demons, and with his own sin nature. I have seen him grow in his love for his wife and daughters. I have seen him pray for others, and get results. I have even seen him try to share God’s wealth with his friends. Not all of them have rejected the message. In fact, most of his closest associates seem to have both ears open to the message.

I have also seen him continue to struggle with life’s questions. His mother died of cancer. He asked me once, shortly after he began to take the Gospel seriously, Did I think she went to God’s side when she died? I had to tell him, I didn’t know. I have no way of knowing. I pray she did, but if she didn’t…he must remember it was her own choice. She was a religious person; maybe she did find God. He still seems torn up over this issue; pray for him to find peace with God’s plan for his family and for the world, all of you who believe this is possible.

In many ways, I think Jem has become a bolder Christian than I am. He talks to people face-to-face. I usually don’t have the guts…especially if I know them well. One evening, as I was reading a Psalm to my son before bed, Jem sat in to listen, and noticed some papers edging out of my Bible’s cover. “What are they?” he wanted to know. “Tracts,” I told him. “What do they say?” he asked next. I showed him each one, beginning with the fake million dollar bill, with the Gospel written along the edges…it has “the million dollar question” on it: “Will you go to heaven? Here’s a quick test”…and proceeds to outline why a sinful person cannot enter God’s holy presence, without being washed clean by His holy blood. It’s message was Biblically sound, and often effective. Next came two size comparison cards, one pink, and one blue. They led subtly into the Gospel by way of optical illusions, and a discussion about the eyes, posing this question (paraphrased): What are your eyes worth  to you? God says they’re worth nothing compared to your soul. And so on, leading again into the unholiness of man and the holiness and love of God. There was, lastly, the penny with the entire Lord’s Prayer imprinted on it.

Suddenly he stopped me, though he had been intently listening, and urging me on. “Your neighbor Dee,” he said. “You need to use these with him.”

I stared at him, thinking of all the times I’d tried to figure out how to help this neighbor see something besides his own anger at the Catholic church. How exactly had Jem known about him, and his spiritual need, anyway? Dee’s anger was legitimate, from his perspective…I would have been angry, had I been him.

Jem, you’ve won this round. I’m still trying to find the courage to bring God to my neighbor in a way that makes sense to him. I pray for God to melt his shell, so to speak, and allow His light to flood into Dee’s life.

Maybe, Jem, next time you stop by, you can tell him.

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My husband and I fought with the sink-clog problem for several days. I continued to use a bucket under the drain, and washed the dishes in a large stock pot, as my drain plug doesn’t fit tightly enough to keep the water from drip, dripping constantly into the bucket. I found out the stock pot actually is not such a bad option, as it retains heat well, and I can fit lots of dishes in it.

I had warned Will about who was responsible for the clog. He has learned to trust me when I tell him spirits are responsible for household problems, but he still said, “I want to deal with it, myself, tomorrow.”  “Tomorrow” was a day he would be home alone, doing construction bids and other things.

I asked him once more if he wouldn’t rather pray together and try to get this thing solved at once, but he declined.

When I returned home, he told me he had fought for four hours with a snake, and while he had gotten much grease out of the pipe, the clog was still firm. I refrained from saying, “I told you so.” I didn’t have to. Will said, “You were right. It’s a bigger problem than I thought, and maybe there are spirits involved.”

Within a day or two, Jackal came by. I was not especially glad to see him, but made no attempt to run him off, either.

He hung about, watching the proceedings of the household without saying much, while his too-bright eyes took in the details. Suddenly, it was as if he sat down at the kitchen table. “So,” he seemed to say, “am I too big of a pain in the butt for you yet? Are you going to kick me out, and quit trying to deal with me?”

Mind you, his questions were not this clear-cut. It was more of an emotional sense I was getting, rather than words. But his meaning was all too clear.

“No,” I said, looking him in the eye. “Jackal, I would never have chosen you to get involved with. We both know that.” I thought of, but did not mention, the years I had spent avoiding him, knowing all too well his divisive reputation. “But,” I continued, “God assigned you to me.”

This seemed to him a hard pill to swallow. He didn’t want to be “assigned” to anybody. He knew that Jem had been assigned to me, to be prayed for and watched over, and had watched him growing in wisdom, understanding, and power, ever since. The problem was, he was afraid of the One Who’s power Jem held. He considered it to be in direct opposition with his goals…as well it was, and would remain.

Seeing his discomfiture, I seized my opportunity. “Jackal, it doesn’t matter whether either of us likes it. God gave you to me as a spiritual assignment, and I won’t throw you out or give you up, until He says so. You don’t have to like it, but that’s the way it is. If you ever shape up, and quit being a hemorrhoid, maybe we’ll be able to speak kindly to each other. Until that day, I’ll keep praying for you to see God’s light, and to have your own selfish will and power broken (it’s not your power anyway, we both know that), and…I don’t know, maybe God will catch you yet. He’s caught worse than you, I guess, and made them happy.”

I watched his eyes change. “Happy” was a bit of a new thought. It was something he wanted, but he could not mash “God” and “happy” together. They just didn’t pair in his mind.

I reminded him, “As it is, you’ll never be happy. You’re being used, and you know it. So what if you have contacts? Are they ones that are rooting for you?”

He didn’t answer.

“Of course not, and you can’t hide it. Jackal, you’re a pawn. You’ll stay a pawn, unless you start taking the Bible at face value.”

“The Bible is full of lies.”

“Is it?” I asked. “Have you ever read it for yourself?”

“Parts of it.”

“That’s a start. Besides, you’ll never understand it properly until you give into God, and He gives you His Holy Spirit. Then the Spirit can explain things to you that you have yet to dream of.”

Abruptly, he left.

Inwardly, I sighed in relief, yet…I knew he’d be back. We would have many more such conversations, if my experiences with Spiritual Assignments was a good prediction.

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The Indian is back.

It happened the same night Jem came by to spiritually clean house. No, I take that back – it happened early the next morning.

I was lying awake, with the sun just a mellow glow on the horizon, when I saw his grinning face near mine, and he spoke.

He said that he knew Jem. And that he and I – the Indian and I – were friends.

I felt friendly with him, to be sure. But what did he mean? I had never properly met him before – just my sister and brother had, in visions, and through his foot prints in the pasture.

I asked how this could be…and for what did he come this morning?

“You and I have known each other many years,” was all he said – and soon after, left.

I ticked off several names on the hands of my memory, and came up empty. None of them matched remotely the feeling this man carried with him. None bore the marks of his soul.

To this day, I do not understand the message. I know only that I have one more trustworthy person on my side, as a friend and spiritual companion, and that this is right.

A little later that morning, I saw, as it were, his spotted pony, standing in the pasture east of the house, and knew, too, that it was a happier form of my own darling pony, which had died when I was 11. I was happy for him, because he seemed so alive. His spirit, for the first time that I remember, seemed to smile.

Diamond Horse Pony, Barry Riding - October 1992

I went on about my morning, and when next I looked out east, the pony had gone, but I saw another horse I had once known.

This one was tall, a Hollywood-classic palomino, and he stood serenely, as if he’d been asked to wait while his rider attended to some business.

I remembered seeing him when I was a child, many times. I had never been close to him, and certainly had never owned him, but when I mentioned him to my sister, she finished describing him with the same thoughts I used, then said:

“I used to see him when I’d come home on the bus, standing near the road.”

I wait for my Indian friend to speak again.

Palomino[1]

Courtesy of: http://www.horsenorth.ca/images/pagemaster/Palomino.jpg

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It started this time with the kitchen sink.

For the last three weeks, it has not been draining well – for me. When my husband uses it, it works fine. This was my first tip-off. And when it completely stopped one evening after I washed dishes, I knew it was serious. Just that afternoon, Will had done a sinkful of dishes, and the water had formed a whirlpool going down.

We had each put down powdered lye, as the usual plumbing issues involved grease. The sink had had at least one dose a week for the last two weeks, but it had prevailed nothing. Normally, we see results within minutes.

What sort of blockage could it be?

I got a plunger and went at the drain for several minutes that evening it stopped. The water turned gray, then black with dislodged crud, but never offered to move out.

It was late by this time, and I went to bed, leaving the sink a mess. By the next morning, the water had seeped out, leaving a sludge which coated both sinks. I wiped this out with paper towels, then tested the drain. As soon as I turned on the tap, there was standing water.

For financial reasons, we were determined to get the problem fixed quickly. That afternoon, Will took the trap off and tried to run a snake through. He went through much grease, then met with a corner – and could not convince the cable to continue.

We put a bucket under the drain, and I proceeded with the household as normal.

In fact, I proceeded to wash the smoke-dimmed wall back of the cookstove, and did a large load of dishes.

About the time I began scrubbing the wall in earnest, a loud voice spoke into my mind.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” it asked.

“You bet I am. I told you you’re not going to disrupt my life, nor run my household.”

“Do you want to fight?” it asked.

I considered a moment, then said, “You know what? If you’re determined to fight, let’s go ahead. I’ll take it to the end with you.”

 

Backstory –

As you can see, I know the antagonist well. Or, well enough.

I’ll call him Jackal. It suits him. I think he might even be pleased…but even if it makes him furious, “Jackal” is how you’ll get to know him here.

I met him properly seven or eight months ago, though I’d run into him before that. He claims to be a friend of Jem’s. He’s not.

Our first real confrontation occured while I was blogging one evening.

But before I tell you what happened, let me say that Jackal runs with demons. Not the friendly, irritating, shadowy kind that peek at you from corners, but the big, nasty, belligerant kind that don’t mind standing at your shoulder shouting obsenities. For a long while, Jackal thought he was in charge of them…that he was master, and they, servants.

Then came our conversation while I was using the computer. I was listening to a song he seemed fond of. Suddenly, the computer stalled, then the mouse pointer began running about the screen by itself, and I found it increasingly difficult to change pages, or even type – the letters were reluctant to appear on the screen, as if I had a bad connection with my wireless keyboard. Occassionally, a few of them scrambled after I had typed them, or chose different lines to appear on.

At last, I told Jackal, “You’re going to have to keep your spirits under control while I’m talking with you.”

I knew, though he did not, that this was an almost impossible thing to ask of him, but cockily, he proceeded to call them down.

They ignored him, and  in fact, intensified their nonsense by shutting out windows at random.

Looking stricken, Jackal mumbled, “I – I can’t.”

I sighed. “Then I’ll do it. In the Name of Jesus Christ, I command all of you to stop touching my computer, and other equipment, to keep out of my house, and to be silent while I am dealing with Jackal. Say nothing, and keep your hands in your lap.”

The atmosphere of the room calmed, and the computer cooperated the rest of the evening.

Jackal gave me a deeply questioning look. Stupified, really. “It’s my stuff,” I explained. “They need my permission, or at least a good reason, to touch it now. Besides, I have a power you don’t, and which is greater than anything you and your kind can dream up.”

For a moment, I felt sorry for Jackal. For the first time, apparently, the realization bit deep that he was master of nothing – not even of his own life.

I knew why God had allowed him to bother me, and why we had met in the first place. I was to attempt to show him the light of Christ, same as I had done Jem. Jackal was undoubtedly a much tougher nut to crack. I wasn’t sure the same tactics would prevail, or if anything would.

But that wasn’t my responsibility. God had given Jackal to me as a new spiritual client, and I was determined to do my part; God could do His.

Still, here he was, wreaking havoc in my kitchen.

To be continued…

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When my sister came to visit in May, we slaughtered a big bull for her to take back home for her family. (Don’t worry, this bull deserved to go – he had escaped being branded twice, mashing up two gates and one fence in the process, and nearly injuring two people. It was his time to go.)

My sister decided she wanted his hide, as well as his meat, so we salted it and rolled it to keep in the meat cooler until we could flesh it out.

It so happened that we didn’t get to it until the last morning of her visit. There wasn’t much on the hide, save for at the edges where fat accumulated, and a strip of meat down the center, so we estimated that we should have been able to flesh it in 45 minutes or an hour. Some of Christa’s biggest boys were helping, too, going at it with their own little knives. (She has five sons.)

We worked for an hour, and still had a long ways to go. Christa had a 10 to 12 hour drive to make, so we were running out of time. It was already 10:30 am. The thin layer of meat which the bull had used to twitch flies was quite stubborn about coming off; nothing scraped as easily as on any of the various deer, coyote, and goat hides we had done. We began to pray in earnest to the Creator for help to get this scraping finished quickly – for wisdom to know what we could leave, and what needed removed; for agility of hands – and for any spiritual enemies to keep their hands, and thoughts, off the project.

This prevailed for a few minutes, but it became increasingly obvious that we were dealing with strong, deliberate, and personal spiritual opposition. Soon the scraping was almost at a standstill, as we were unable to make anything come off as it should.

Suddenly, my friend Jem stood beside us. “You need some help?” he asked, with his hands in his pockets.

“Well…” I studied his face, the expression in his eyes. “If you want to help, we’d appreciate it. Yes!”

He smiled, and then I saw that three of his friends, and yes – his wife, too – were with him. He and his friends took up positions around the hide, standing like guards of something sacred, and began to pray silently. He had never professed to be a praying man – well, maybe in the most indirect way – but I felt their requests for us and for our work come like a calm after a storm, settling on the hide and on us. I felt an attitude of blessing which the Creator poured out through them, and felt so secure in Jem’s friendship.

His wife, pretty as ever, but distant-eyed, stood watching, and the look on her face was worth rubies. She, who had made fun of my home when we “met” the first time, calling it a shack, and demanding why she’d want to take up my invitation to be welcome there – she realized my sister and I wanted to do this work we had put our hands to; that we wouldn’t have traded places with her if we could.

She shook her head, unable to say a word.

She did not get too near the hide, until her husband put his arm about her and drew her close to him. I could see his love for her in his eyes.

The rest of the work went quickly, with laughing and much joking.

When I turned on the garden hose to rinse the hide, and wound up getting sprayed through the caprices of a faulty washer, somebody said, “You’re not wearing white jeans…” and stared until I met his eyes and laughed with him. “Not like you really care,” I said quietly.

Jem then asked again – as he’d done when I scraped my first deer hide, back in December – if I’d make him a pair of leather pants. Back then, I’d asked him, Didn’t he have enough of those? – to which he never replied. So now I gazed sidelong in answer to his smirk, and said, “We’ll see. My family’s  boots come first.”

His expression said, “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” – and then he and his friends were gone.

I rolled the hide again, and bundled it into a garbage sack while Christa got her belongings and family loaded, and she was on her way.

One of these days, I expect to see Jem for real. He won’t disappear so easily then.

Other Episodes with Jem –

How we met

How Jem became my brother…according to us

Jem’s Christmas present

Regarding Jem’s family

A conversation with Jem about cooking, and attitudes

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