by Linda Tucker
The pain from the electrical charge must have been too much for her. Thank heavens she finally releases her paw. She’s shaking angrily and looking in the direction of the pickup truck speeding around her boma fence to the shockbox on the far side. She steps back and clears a patch of grass. I don’t know why, but this seems significant.
She’s starting to coat the pads of her paws, and perhaps the cool earth acts as a kind of balm. It’s thick and almost dry, claylike. It seems she’s using it as a fast-drying coating, like gloves—because, having covered her paws, she’s returning to the carcass. Where are Jason and the team? I’m trying to assess their progress, praying for them to please, please switch off the shockbox. She puts her paw back on the electrified carcass. Seems the caked mud cuts the current, because she suddenly manages to drag the carcass clear of the electric fence.
Moment later I hear Jason’s voice crackling through the radio to confirm that the electrical charge has been disabled. But by this time, Marah has already dragged the carcass, under her four quarters, to her three hungry cubs.
Jason returns shortly, together with the team, and we review the situation. She seems content now. She has stopped that angry flicking of her tail and is feeding together with the cubs in the interior of the boma under their favorite clump of trees. Phew! Everyone sighs with relief.
It’s day’s end, and we decide to head off to the local restaurant in search of our own supper. We all feel thoroughly shocked ourselves—not an experience any of us would like to repeat. We drive off together, all five of us—Xhosa behind the wheel, me beside him, with Jason chatting to his team, all squeezed into the back of the Land Rover.
It is only a twenty-minute drive along a dust road that follows the Tsau River, but the road is so corrugated that every bolt in the Land Rover’s chassis and every joint in our bones seems to have rattled loose by the time we arrive.
The nearest and only restaurant is Jos Macs—nowhere else in a hundred-kilometer radius for locals to meet. Located in the middle of the African savanna, it’s the only local watering hole, for humans and animals alike. Since the grueling public participation meeting some months back, we’ve paid many visits to old Jos. It’s not a place for the fainthearted, but mostly, the ghosts of that challenging day have been laid to rest.
It occurred to me recently that, in defending the lions’ case, we ourselves have been forced to become fugitives. We’ve been on the land for nearly ten months, yet this very morning, as Jason and I searched through our clothing for clean Tshirts, we realized we haven’t even unpacked our suitcases. The lions’ premises are immaculate, of course, and despite our financial constraints, we haven’t spared any expense in ensuring the maintenance of their camps and fencing, but we ourselves are still camping in one room in the ramshackle old farmhouse.
Our colleagues, who’ve generously come to assist over the months, sleep on foam mattresses on the floor. I can’t help smiling to myself, visualizing the indignities that some of our esteemed advisors have been prepared to put up with in order to willingly offer their services. Despite the meager circumstances, we continue to have many lively gatherings around the kitchen table, which help lighten the tensions.
We walk through the reeded, cavelike interior of Jos Macs—dense with smoke and alcohol fumes and blaring music—onto the wooden deck, perched on long, stilted, wooden poles, which stretches out over the Tsau River. It’s beautiful there on the deck, under the vast canopy of ancient jackalberry trees; any variety of wild animal may find its way through the tall reeds of the riverbank below and suddenly reveal itself. The shrill of the cicadas and other nighttime melodies reach us, although their melodious notes are no competition for the raucous blare coming from the humans’ quarter inside the pub, where the television is tuned into the sports channel. Gathered at the bar, locals in safari suits hang over the counter, beers in hand, and tipping back shooters (shots of mixed liquors). Under cover outside, the billiards table and dartboard that were cleared for our public meeting are back in action. It’s a place for carnivores, with “freshly shot” specialties and no vegetarian dishes available.
The colloquial nickname for the lowveld is slowveld, and that certainly applies to Jos Mac’s kitchen. Our group settles around a long, wooden table and, having learned from experience, we place our order immediately. Then we start sharing theories on what occurred earlier with Marah. Based on the afternoon’s evidence, the scientists are analyzing whether or not Marah could possibly have an innate understanding of electricity. Jason estimated that the team must have taken five to seven minutes to reach the transformer. By which time, amazingly, Marah had assessed the situation and acted.
“Okay, so tell us again exactly what you saw,” says Thomas, running his fingers across his brow quizzically.
“I saw Marah pull the carcass off the electric wire after coating her paws with clay,” I recount.
“So, we’re saying she deliberately made use of a tool—clay coating—to aid her predatory behavior?” Thomas postulates.
“Perhaps. I’m saying she deliberately cut the electric current, which suggests she may understand how electricity works.”
“Some of the charge must have been transmitted through the water particles in the caked mud,” Thomas points out, skeptically.
“Sure, but the insulation must’ve been enough to relieve the pain, and cut the full electrical charge,” observes Xhosa, perhaps feeling the need to leap to my defense. “Because Marah went back to the carcass after coating her paws and pulled it away from the wire without hesitation.”
“They’re sun creatures; of course they understand the nature of energy,” I explain. “What happened was amazing, whether you give it scientific credence or not.”
Personally, I don’t doubt what I saw. It reminds me of how diligently Marah conveyed the warning about the electrical charge to her cubs, by use of telepathy, that first day after waking up in her new boma in the Karoo. I describe that event for the team now: how Marah tested the electrical charge first; then communicated telepathically with her cubs to prevent them from getting hurt.
“Certainly was amazing,” Jason agrees. “She definitely communicated the danger to her cubs, so they didn’t get the shock treatment.”
“Do we accept that she somehow got the message across? Telepathy? Maybe,” Thomas pontificates. “But that doesn’t prove she understands electricity.”
I can see Xhosa is about to take up the cause again, and I decide to leave him to it. He is discussing how we humans used to believe we were the only creatures on Earth capable of utilizing language, ritual, and tools; then we discovered that animals did all these things, and more.
I’ve long since stopped trying to put animals into human constructs and concepts of intelligence. Shamanic techniques had given me a glimpse of the higher abilities of the other creatures on our planet, and it was mind-altering.
Based on Maria Khosa’s training, my understanding is that electric shocks are even more offensive to White Lions than they are to humans, precisely because these creatures function at such a high frequency and intelligence. Being a creature of pure light energy must be continually testing in such a dense and base environment. Yet Marah continues to shine her light, unfailingly. Much as I value the stringency of scientific methodology, sometimes I simply let doubting Thomases exhaust themselves in their circular scientific debates, as I drift into my own space. I’ve spent too much time in the debating societies of Oxford and Cambridge to be diverted by intellectual conundrums any longer. The real world is calling, and I’m tuning into the night sounds, allowing myself to enter the arena known to shamans as dreamtime, where I can meet with the lions on their terms and speak the language of souls.
There have been many unusual incidents over the past few months that led me to appreciate that “survival” in Marah’s world functions on a higher level than humans give her credit for. Admittedly, on the everyday level, there is Marah, the lioness, held captive in a boma after many years of i
mprisonment, disadvantaged in all her natural predatory instincts. But on another level, there’s an extraordinary creature, a great sun-being of pure light and love, who is able to employ technologies and frequencies way beyond normal human comprehension.
I glance momentarily at our assembled group. Xhosa has his intellectual’s thinking cap on and is vigorously engaging in an increasingly heated debate, but I don’t believe it is my task to convince anyone. To me, it’s clear my work for the White Lions entails two levels of comprehension, which function in parallel. The mundane practical level involving bureaucratic obstacles, legal procedures, and numerous man-made challenges and threats on an ongoing basis. Contrarily, there is the level of magic introduced to me by Maria Khosa and the lions themselves. And in the magical world of the lions, everything is possible!
I feel the force of Nature all around me. Magic’s natural and Nature’s magical—that’s the primary law of the shaman! Maria illustrated this for me in real time. And living with the White Lions themselves, magic is my daily reality. The distant healing I witnessed between the traumatized lions held captive in the canned hunter’s stronghold and our own lion family was one example of Nature’s miraculous workings. But there have been many others. Over this period of waiting and watching, it is gratifying to realize I can truly communicate with Marah. Telepathy is the transmission of a mental image or word without making a sound. I’ve always known this. But what I didn’t know—until Maria showed me—is that telepathy functions on the love vibration. This is not something I feel necessary to convince anyone else about. It simply is. I originally discovered this ability in my communications with Ingwavuma. But I do believe most of us have experienced this in one way or another. Even the densest doubters. For example, one might think fondly of a loved one who’s been away for some time, or who’s living on the other side of the globe; then a moment later the phone rings—and that loved one’s on the line! Telepathically, they’ve picked up our positive thoughts, which created an instant connection, and they responded to the mental message. Telepathy’s able to cross time and space in an instant, and the frequency on which this silent message travels is that of heart-consciousness. In fact, working with Maria Khosa taught me there’s an entire technology of love, which links all of creation in an intricate web of intercommunication. Most importantly, I believe forces of darkness cannot tap into this interconnecting web of love. Only by transforming themselves into love can such forces gain access. And in so doing, they have, after all, transformed themselves!
At first I didn’t see the immediate application of this kind of higher wisdom in my daily trials and tribulations. Then I discovered how important such knowledge was to me, especially at times of greatest need. Recently, there’s been a concern that our phone lines are, in fact, being tapped. At first our team thought this far-fetched, but then we all agreed there was cause to assume it was true. We started to take it seriously after an associate, who once worked for the Special Forces, instructed us in due diligence. This man pointed out that radical right-wing operators, once equipped in surveillance techniques by the former regime’s armed forces, haven’t lost their skill in post-Apartheid South Africa.
Not that there was much one could do about it. That’s where the other level of operating becomes important. Maria’s training showed me that sinister forces are ill-equipped to tap into my telepathic lines of communication with the lions or with people I love, since these negative entities can only break into the codes of love by themselves becoming love. Applying these methods may be a different way of approaching life—but, as always, the golden rules apply.
“So, how does one know one’s receiving a telepathic image, rather than simply a thought process?” I hear Thomas address a skeptical question to me, and I drag myself out of my reverie.
“It hits you here—right between the eyes,” I respond. “And here, in the heart.”
More accurately, in my experience, telepathy reaches us through that invisible entry point known as the third eye and through the heart chakra. To best receive a telepathic transmission, we have to develop and open both these chakras.
“So what verification’s there to confirm we’ve received the message correctly?” Thomas asks.
“Well, firstly, it’s important to stop doubting oneself by using words like verification, quantification, proof, and measurement,” I explain. “To telepathize, you simply listen internally.”
I’m watching Thomas’s quizzical eyebrow.
“Seriously, Thomas. Stop your rational mind doubting for a moment—and that in itself’ll allow your intuitive mind to receive messages more clearly, without interference.”
“How?” he challenges, sounding more dubious than ever.
“Well, best way of testing is to practice it, of course. See how it works. But beware: as long as you limit your mind with restrictive rational thoughts—like you’re doing right now—you’ll prevent telepathic transmissions coming through.”
Based on Maria’s teachings, I know the White Lions are the greatest masters and mistresses of telepathy, precisely because they’re beings of pure love. And I’d witnessed Marah employ telepathic techniques on many different occasions, not only with her cubs but also directly with Jason or me. Her transmitted mental images were so powerful that she was able to enter my dreams and convey transformative symbolic messages of love and hope at those times when I most desperately needed them. More incredibly, she was able to enter other, unfamiliar people’s dreams. Reports of dreams of this kind are shared with me so regularly that I’ve been gathering a whole dossier of records sent to me by readers and supporters. And I realize part of her purpose is to deliver profound archetypal wisdom to humanity at large.
Jason stands up from the table to buy everyone another round, while we wait for our dinner to arrive. I’m not ready to go into this debate at great depth, since in some ways the activity of endlessly deliberating on the merits of ancient shamanic knowledge demeans the profound lessons learned from Maria Khosa, which have long since proven themselves to me. But I provide our team with some examples to help clarify.
“You know I’ve been gathering records of White Lion dreams sent to me by various people? Well, it’s interesting to record just how powerful these dreams are—so powerful they can change the dreamer’s life,” I explain. “For me, White Lions entering people’s dreams is part of their telepathic powers of communication.”
“How so?” interjects Thomas.
“Well, the White Lions can reach humans in dreamtime and deliver a message that these same people might take no notice of during waking hours.”
“Maybe these people have simply read your book,” concludes Thomas, adding, “So now they’re hooked on your idea of the spiritual importance of the White Lions.”
“Maybe, Thomas. But, in fact, what’s so fascinating is many of these people were previously completely unaware White Lions existed. Then, after their life-changing dream, they made contact with me through the Internet or some other means. Generally, I respond by sending them a photograph of Marah. And that’s where it gets interesting. They often write back, saying they recognize this specific lioness as the same unknown majestic presence who visited them! She’s usually described as a light-being of sorts, filled with love and compassion.”
Thomas looks more skeptical than usual.
“Yes, Thomas. Strange, agreed, but true. Offers us intimations of how vast and significant Marah’s mission is, certainly much greater than I can fully comprehend.”
Personally, I believe that all animals come to Earth with a greater purpose than we humans give them credit for. Maria Khosa once explained to me that not only the King and Queen of animals can telepathize, but every wild animal species, to a greater or lesser extent. Knowing this helped me understand how even household pets attempt to communicate with us telepathically. To me, it’s deeply saddening that we humans tend to be too “busy” or distracted in our man-made worlds to hear their insistent messages.
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sp; “Okay, so there’ve been some scientists, like Pavlov and Sheldrake, working on animal responses,” continues Thomas, “but how’d you go about proving their intelligence in the way you’re describing now?”
“Personally, I don’t need validation,” I respond. “If I ever doubted animal intelligence, I just remind myself: they’re the ones who learn our human language, while we’re unable or unwilling to learn their dog, or cat, or bird language!”
“Yup, that speaks volumes!” quips Xhosa, waxing poetic as usual.
Supper still hasn’t arrived. I need air, so, with my juice in hand, I excuse myself and take a stroll from the wooden deck into the surrounding land. Outside, the magnificence of the bushveld wilderness presses in, with every imaginable creature living its existence in an intricate tapestry of magic and wonder. These lands are truly magical. I can feel their primordial power; there’s a consciousness in every single object around me, animate and inanimate.
It’s not that I feel superior or arrogant about participating in these intense rational debates. Rather, it’s that I’ve observed how the arguments tend to go around in circles while missing the mark entirely. My training has taught me that the key to understanding is to open your heart; it’s that loving heart-connection that bridges divides in this world. And intellectualizing simply won’t get there.
Fond as I am of Thomas and his interesting and complex character, in some ways he’s typical of the scientific mindset that tends to fear matters of the heart and soul. He’s afraid of trusting his instincts, following his heart, and believing in his dreams, because, scientifically, he believes he is stepping beyond the boundaries of acceptability. I observe that he tends to be physically quite fragile and sickly, probably a result of this inner conflict. Having spent so much of my life in academic pursuit, I sympathize with the need to rationalize everything, but I also recognize that rational thought is only half the story. I’d share this observation with him—how psychologically unbalanced it is to attempt to justify our entire existence by man-made, scientific constructs alone—but I worry that pointing this out may be so close to the bone, it could leave him deeply wounded.