The Eagle and the Rose

by Rosemary Altea

  I have mentioned that we in the RAAH work as a team, and it has been with the help of that team that we have been able to ensure that Mark has had a visit from one or more of us every week. One of our healers, Joan Mould, visits Mark with me regularly and takes on the responsibility of visiting him when I am out of the country.

  Although he is still in a wheelchair, Mark is now talking and receiving speech therapy. He is doing remarkably well and is easily understood. He goes to college once or twice a week and is learning to use a computer, and he writes out all of his own Christmas and birthday cards.

  About four years ago Mark was taken into the hospital for a thorough assessment. Although the surgeon was amazed at Mark's progress, Liz and Bob, Mark's parents, were told that it would be impossible for Mark to improve further, that he would never walk again, as part of his spine had crumbled as a result of his accident. The X-rays they had taken showed this clearly; therefore it would be impossible for Mark to stand and support his weight. However, God moves in mysterious ways. Mark is now learning to walk again and is doing very well. Not just a step or two, quite a bit more than that. His balance is a bit of a problem at the moment, and he needs some support, but as he grows stronger and builds his confidence, who knows what he may achieve? He has already beaten all the odds.

  There have been many people, friends, carers, doctors, and the like, who have given help to Mark and his family, and Mark has been given encouragement by many, not least his mother, a brave and courageous woman who has quietly battled to attain a good quality of life for her son. Mark, too, has battled and is winning this battle.

  My organization is just one small cog in a wheel that just keeps on turning. But that one small cog, with God's help, can from time to time produce miracles.

  Before including their story in this book, I asked Mark and his parents if they would like to add anything to what I had written. Knowing that this book would be published and knowing that their story would be read by many people, some in the same situation as themselves, Bob and Elizabeth Hornby asked me to add this comment:

  “Rosemary, you gave us hope when everyone else gave us despair.”

  It can take but one man, one voice, to rock the world.

  Mark is still laughing, and to me, this is the greatest miracle of all.

  The Power within Us

  Accepting my role as a healer was difficult at first, but understanding that God and the universe create that power, that healing energy, makes it easier for me to pursue that role.

  Discovering that power, and the meaning of that power, took many years, and still I know there is more for me to learn.

  I am fortunate. Grey Eagle took me by the hand and led me gently to the place where I am now.

  It was 1983. I was actually here, in one of the most fascinating countries of the world, mythical and mystical Egypt—a place I had longed for some time to visit.

  I was in Egypt to do some research into the lives of the ancient Egyptians. I needed to discover, if I could, how they were able to tap into those unseen energies that some of us refer to as psychic power.

  I had read of the goddess Isis and of her abilities as a healer, and her story had intrigued me more than those of the many others I had heard about the ancient gods and goddesses of Egypt. In visiting her country, I hoped to come closer to her and to her spiritual beliefs and perhaps achieve a greater understanding of my subject and of my work as a medium.

  I spent three weeks exploring ancient temples, old ruins, burial grounds, and museums. But it was not until after visiting the Pyramids, and actually exploring inside the largest of the three at Giza, that I was to experience for the first time that well-known psychic phenomenon, astral travel.

  Astral travel… the ability of the etheric body to leave, to vacate, the physical body and move, travel, through time and space, in exploration. To travel through space, to go where there are no physical barriers and where anything is possible.

  My trip inside the Pyramid was disappointing, and I came away with the distinct feeling of being let down. Goodness knows what I expected to find or, more to the point, what I expected to feel. There were no shadows or ghosts from past times, no unknown voices whispering their stories. I saw no lights, felt no energies, and as I stood in the center of the Pyramid there was, for me, no tremendous surge of power such as I had imagined there might be.

  It was as I was climbing back down the steep narrow passages on my way out that I asked Grey Eagle what, if anything, he thought I had gained from this experience.

  He gave me one word: power.

  I didn't understand him and was more disgruntled than ever as I came back out into the sunshine. It had been an exhausting day, and I arrived back at the apartment tired and hungry, determined not to think too much about the day's events until I had had a good night's sleep.

  I woke in the middle of the night to find myself standing between the two single beds. Although it was dark in the room, there was a glimmer of light shining through the crack in the bedroom curtains that enabled me to see quite well. Everything looked and felt quite ordinary, and I experienced no weird sensations of any kind. Only moments passed before the thought flitted across my mind: What am I doing here? and automatically I turned my head, looking over my shoulder to where my bed was.

  I wasn't shocked or surprised, only mildly intrigued to find myself peering down at the still and seemingly sleeping form occupying the bed I had only just got out of—the form I instantly recognized as me!

  Another thought skimmed through my mind: This must be what it's like to be dead. I chuckled at the idea but knew it was nearly right, and then my curiosity got the better of me. I'll explore, I thought—and no sooner the thought than the deed.

  As with the Pyramids, I cannot tell you what I expected to happen, but this time I knew that something would.

  I've heard many people talk about the speed of light, but to me it had always been a meaningless phrase … until now. I was aware that I was moving (to say “traveling” would be more accurate), and I was also aware of the tremendous speed, but it was all so natural and so easy. I wasn't flying or floating, and no effort at all was required, yet here I was traveling—astral traveling.

  Within a short space of time, and time of a different concept from that I can put into words, I found myself in a large, brightly lit room, surrounded by people. Everyone was chattering, lively and seemingly enjoying what appeared to me to be some sort of party. I felt welcome and warm, not in the least nervous or afraid, but excited, very excited.

  It wasn't a dream, as some of you may be thinking, nor was it an overactive imagination. I gazed around me and knew for sure that this was real.

  I could fill a book by just recounting the events of that one night. But that, maybe, is for another time. All I can do here is give you just a small glimpse of the probabilities in another world, in another dimension, and in another time.

  The people I met that night seemed to be real and of solid matter, flesh and bone, so to speak. They were of varying ages and dressed as one might expect to dress for an informal party.

  Shaking hands with them was exactly the same as shaking hands with someone in our world. I felt myself to be solid also, with just the same physical form I had left behind.

  Probably the one thing that impressed me the most about my visit into this other realm was the colors. Everything was so fresh, so clean and clear, making the colors stand out beautifully. I don't mean just the color of the sky or the grass or the flowers in the gardens. Even the colors of the women's dresses seemed to hold more clarity.

  Many times I had read about other people's experiences into the astral planes, and I have been asked lots of times by clients or patients, “Do you believe it?”

  Before that night, I was able to answer only that I thought it might be possible. Since my first experience I have been astral traveling many times, and I have always had that same clear vision and knowledge of what is happening to me.

  One t
ime, quite soon after this first experience, I woke one morning early. I was at home, in Yorkshire, England, and automatically I searched for the bedside clock, hoping that it wasn't yet time to get up. It was 6:00 A.M. Oh, good, I thought. I've got a couple more hours. I snuggled down in the bed again. But then I felt that old familiar feeling that told me something was about to happen. This time, though, as my body began to shake and the feeling inside grew like a volcano about to erupt, I determined that I would put a stop to whatever or whoever it was that seemed to be taking me over. Gritting my teeth, my mind screaming out to Grey Eagle for help, and with great effort I managed to retain control of my body. Forcing myself into a sitting position and breathing a sigh of relief, I plumped up my pillows and lay back, now fully awake and alert. I looked again at the clock, which now said 6:15 A.M. precisely. Only seconds later, however, I was regretting that I had put a stop to what I now felt had been an opportunity to go traveling. I knew that Grey Eagle had been with me and still was, so a little hesitantly but determined for the experience, I said to him, “Okay, let's go. But just remember, I don't want to go too far away.”

  I relaxed my body, and before I knew it that feeling began again, like a motor starting up somewhere deep inside me, and I started to shake. This time, feeling safe with Grey Eagle beside me, I allowed the energy to grow. Then I was moving, so fast that I could feel the “flesh” pulled back from my face and my teeth bared as a force of great magnitude drove me forward. On and on I went, seemingly through a long dark tunnel, until finally I found myself standing just inside the entrance to a passage. For just a brief moment I had the sensation that I was a small child around the age of seven years, and I seemed to be blind in one eye; but that feeling dispelled quickly, and I was me again, full and able-bodied, appearing flesh and bone. It took a moment for my mind to comprehend the scene I faced. It seemed too incredible, and I was so excited and amazed that it was all so really real. I looked out upon a marketplace, with market stalls and cobbled stones and people, many, many people, milling about, shopping, chatting, laughing, shouting, just like any ordinary busy market day scene with lots of hustle and bustle. But there were some differences. All the people were dressed in Victorian-style clothes, and the buildings were obviously of the same era; in fact, it was just like stepping into a Dickens novel … with two exceptions. First, everything was clean and spotless. The women's dresses were not muddied and soiled as they should have been. The marketplace was free of litter or any kind of rubbish. Second, the colors were like none I had ever seen here on the earth plane, so bright, so clear and defined.

  I stepped out of the tunnel and began to walk slowly through the crowd, turning first to smile at one, then to say hello to another of the people there. None responded to my greetings (did I walk through their world as if a ghost?), but it mattered not to me, for I was so involved in the experience, so thrilled.

  As I walked on, my eyes were drawn to a row of shops to my left, and my amazement grew to incredulity. My jaw must have dropped a foot at least as what I saw registered in my brain. A sign above a shop doorway, a sign that read “Rosemary Susan Edwards (Lacemaker),” stared back at me. I knew that I was here, I did not recognize the place, but I knew I was not dreaming. I knew that I had come here via astral travel, and I knew that there was something here to learn. Maybe I had lived here in another life, maybe another time. This was something I had to think about, but one thing I knew for sure was that the shop sign connected with me in some way, for my maiden name was Rosemary Susan Gail Edwards.

  Without realizing it, as these thoughts were swimming around in my head I had continued to walk, through the crowd to the edge of the market square. Now I found myself approaching a small arched bridge. On either side of the opening to the bridge stood two ladies. They were dressed totally differently from the others I had seen, and I felt they did not belong somehow. They were very tall, quite large boned, with blond hair pulled back severely from their faces. They wore plain pale gray dresses tied with a cord around the middle.

  With some enthusiasm, for my instincts told me that these two would acknowledge my presence, I went forward onto the bridge. The two women followed me, one on either side, and as I walked I asked them, “Tell me, please, can you tell me where I am?”

  The lady on my right, in answer to my question, replied, “I'll give you a clue: you are on the A twenty-one.” (In England we have “A” roads, “B” roads, and “M” roads.)

  Without realizing it, I had placed my hands on the parapet of the bridge, and as she spoke, the lady placed her hand gently but firmly over my right hand. The shock of feeling flesh on flesh—for this was the first time throughout this experience that I had had any sensation of physical contact—threw me off balance. I stared down at her hand on mine and panicked.

  “I want to go back,” I called to Grey Eagle, and the next thing I knew I landed with a thud, back in my body, in my own bed, staring at the place I had come from.

  Over in the corner of the room, close to the ceiling, I could see what I knew to be the entrance to the tunnel I had just traveled through—a circular moving mass of energy, perfectly round. The only way I can think to describe this energy is for you to visualize a swarm of bees, varying degrees of gray in color, making the buzzing sound that a swarm of bees makes. This is what I saw and heard, and with absolute certainty I knew that somehow I had come from there. I looked at the clock: it registered 6:30 A.M. The whole experience had taken just fifteen minutes—fifteen minutes, that is, if we gauge time by our standards. But I have learned over the years that time in the spirit world is not measured in the same way that it is here on earth.

  I cannot begin to express the excitement I felt about this experience, and I could hardly wait to tell my friends about it. As fantastic as it seems, it really happened, and I have been on many other astral journeys since that time.

  Do I understand it? No, not entirely. Do you, the reader? I doubt it very much, but although we may be puzzled as to the way some things work, that doesn't mean they don't happen. Seeing is not always believing, but experiencing things firsthand is. I believe!

  It would, of course, have been unthinkable to leave Egypt without visiting the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens, so I flew down from Cairo to Luxor for four days.

  Never have I visited a more fascinating place, and I discovered there, through my research, just how important the ancient Egyptians considered the afterlife to be. So many of their beliefs tied in with my own that I felt a compatibility grow between us, stronger than time and space, born of a likeness of mind.

  It was in Luxor that I began to understand what my guide Grey Eagle had meant by “power”—his answer when I had asked what he thought I had gained by visiting the Pyramid.

  I had been staying at the palace of the old King Farouk, which many years ago had been turned into a hotel. My bedroom was large and comfortable, and the view was magnificent. Tall French windows opened onto a small balcony overlooking the river Nile, and across the river, almost close enough to touch, were the great and mysterious-looking hills, behind which lay the burial grounds of the ancient kings and queens of Egypt I had come so far to see.

  Often during my short stay in Luxor, I had stood on the balcony outside my bedroom window, looking down on the river below. It fascinated me to watch the boats, some large, some small, and most of them in need of repair. The “floating hotels,” which took tourists on their trip of a lifetime, looked as if they would sink if one or more of their passengers sneezed too hard. But it was the little sailing boats, the feluccas, that really drew my attention. I decided that come what may, I would have a trip on one of those before I flew back to Cairo.

  Now this sounded like quite a simple thing to organize, and listening to the young boys who sailed the feluccas, I should have done it on my first day. They wanted only the tourists’ money, my money, but what they didn't tell you was that there was no wind, and no wind meant no sailing. For four days all the little sailing
boats lay idle, by the riverbanks. The young boys became more and more desperate, pestering any and every tourist they saw, making it impossible for visitors to take a quiet stroll along the river.

  Then came my last day in Luxor, and wind or no wind, I felt I had to keep my promise to myself. The two boys I approached, both of them only in their early teens, couldn't believe their luck and hurried me aboard their small vessel before I changed my mind. For twenty very boring minutes one of the boys pushed the boat along with the aid of a long pole, while the younger of the two pulled us along by grabbing hold of the many boats moored by the side of the river.

  “This won't do,” I eventually grumbled to myself, and asked the boys if they would put up the sail and try it that way. After all, there was nothing at all exciting about being pulled and pushed along the Nile.

  With exaggerated patience, the older of my two “sailors” explained in broken English the uselessness of a sail without wind, adding with polite assurance that if he could make the wind blow, of course he would, but alas, he could not.