Excerpts are taken from the book "The Grand Design -
III".
Preface
[paragraphs omitted]
I was born in July, 1933, in a rather remote part of County
Clare, in Ireland. Stories of ghosts and fairies and the banshee
(a female spirit who always seemed to be combing her hair
and in attitudes of mourning - at least that was my understanding)
were very much part of my childhood. There were fairy forts
and pathways and bushes which were "out of bounds"
for playing in, or walking on, or touching, or using in any
way - all taken seriously (I think) by young and old alike,
but mixed with orthodox Roman Catholicism in a curious blend
of wonder dominated and limited by fear.
[paragraphs omitted]
I got married we had two children, I progressed in my carrier
as a civil servant, my life fitted into fairy predictable
routines, and I dabbled with writing plays, all the while
telling myself that I would make a real go of it when I could
retire from the Civil Service at 60. I managed to write a
few plays and I entered them for occasional competitions and
sent them to some theater managements without success except
to a limited in the case of one competition where my entry
was considered meritorious enough to allow me to be considered
for inclusion in a panel of writers for television. However,
that, too, I put on the long finger waiting for the perceived
paradise of retirement.
Then in my early 40s, a new world opened up for me, which,
as it evolved, made my ambition to become a playwright (even
a famous one!) fade into the background and lose all its significance
for me. Until I came to write this I had forgotten that a
trigger point for me was seeing a book in a public library
entitled "A World Beyond", by Ruth Montgomery. I
borrowed the book and was fascinated by the scenario of the
life after death which it presented communication received
by Ruth Montgomery from Arthur Ford, who was well known as
a medium during his earth life, from which he departed in
1971. Shortly after reading that book I heard about guides,
which really turned life around, or upside down, (or downside
up!) for me.
I had grown up with a strong belief in guardian angels.
I found it a wonderfully comforting thing as a child. I used
to talk to them then, but I don't remember ever having heard
them talking back to me - just as well, probably, or I'd have
been terrified, given the exposure to ghosts I was experiencing.
But I thought of my guardian angels as my friends and there
was no fear associated with them - as long as I couldn't see
them or hear them! Later on, after my father died, I was terrified
of seeing him, much as I loved him when he was in his physical
body; such is the influence of conditioning.
Then at the age of 44, early 1978, I began to see and hear
angels; a matter of fact statement which covers a plethora
of mixed emotions. I was thrilled, intrigued, delighted, and,
at the same time, disturbed. All the doubts and the fears
of my conditioning came to the surface. Was it "good"
or "bad"? Was I imagining it all? Was it the devil
and all his cohorts of evil spirits playing tricks on me?
Was I simply going mad? Walking along streets with people
(in physical bodies!) all around me, I could hear other conversations
in the air. Sitting in trains, I got visions of other civilizations
and other ages. I looked at people sitting near me, chatting,
reading newspapers or books, gazing out the windows, or just
sitting silently, and I wondered about reality. Could they
see any of what I was seeing? It didn't seem so. Were they
the lucky ones to be unconscious of it all? Would I be better
of if I could go back to being the way I was? I didn't want
to be back there, but I found it very difficult to cope with
ordinary, everyday life. I wanted to get away by myself to
savour it all, and yet I felt I had to continue with my daily
routines as if nothing was happening. I was abstracted and
difficult to live with (more difficult than usual!). Yet,
strangely, people I worked with didn't seem to notice anything
unusual about me (I think!).
After a few months I realised that I couldn't go on living
in what seemed like a multiplicity of worlds. Since I was
on planet earth, I'd either have to leave it or be grounded
in the experience of it. Then it came to me that the answer
was simple - I could just ask my guides to control what was
coming to me, to let it happen only by arrangement. I asked
- and, miraculously, my life returned to "normal",
or sort of normal. Perversely, I missed the excitement and
wonder of all the continuing communication - but, at least,
I was able to function within the physical reality of my environment.
Now, though externally life had settled back into some kind
of normality, the internal change was enormous. Life had opened
up into a vast vista of never-ending, evolving consciousness,
which put all the happenings of day-to-day existence into
a totally new perspective. And yet it wasn't new. Somewhere
deep inside me I had known it all the time and the unfolding
process as I began to write down what was coming to me became
a joyful and wonderful journeying to the surface of my awareness.
The name Shebaka didn't mean anything to me (other than that
I liked the sound of it), which I found easier to accept -
at the time I think I'd have found it very hard to accept
a name that had historical associations for me. As it was,
no preconceptions intruded on my consciousness.
As I said in the preface to the first volume, when I started
writing I had no intention of publishing the material and
even when I realised that what I was writing seemed to be
assuming the form of a book, I thought that it would be nice
and neat - and safe - if publication could be achieved posthumously.
(I wasn't sure how I'd have managed that! Actually, though,
I thought it would be a good test of the genuineness of the
material if it was brought to public attention without my
having anything to do with it.)
Again I'm repeating myself in saying that the writing has
not been, in any sense, automatic. I am aware of Shebaka but
not in a visual or obvious way. It's hard to explain; I can
feel a presence and powerful energy flowing through me. Yet
the energy is gentle and totally non-directive. I write in
my own way and my own time and within the capacity of my own
vocabulary and my own style. Ideas, concepts, facts are presented
to me in a broad, yet unmistakable, way. I have to think a
lot about some of them before I can put words on them, and
sometimes I find it very difficult to express accurately in
words what's emerging into my consciousness. More and more
I'm being faced with the limitations of words and I can now
see more clearly why complete, unambiguous, communication
is virtually impossibly to achieve verbally. Yet we have to
deal in words within the restrictions of our earth existence,
so it behoves us to do the best we can as we can
[paragraphs omitted]
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