I find myself in a dark room, a wooden floor creaks below my feet. A man with a thick dark moustache and dark eyes appears wearing a white shirt, a wool vest and a coat. A mop of thick dark brown hair curls and waves uncontrollably. A comb has tried unsuccessfully to tame the loose locks. 19th century, Ireland.
I hear arguments, voices yelling impassioned words at one another about property rights and jurisdiction. Voices that have continued on into the present day. A need for one to morally stand his ground, an impassioned plea that goes unheard.
Dirt and dust collect in the corners of this room. Your boots kick the dust up as you pace the floors, your anger reluctant to dissipate. This room is your cottage, a fitful state of penury. Although you have tilled the soil, seeded the land and shifted boulders, you have no rights to that which you toil upon. The taxes you pay as well as the rents for the land creates destitution, lack, and a bitterness that engulfs and overflows your entire spirit. You can do no more.
I see withered, diseased crops before me. Cartloads of pestilence. A shadow of fury and deep anger mixes with despair. A sense, a feeling of being utterly broken and ruined falls upon you. Anxiety is high, desperation and anger fuel your soul. You long for an escape from this misery, you search your restless mind as you pace the room. Tithing and taxes. You are finished.
A compulsive hatred of social class and the inequality that accompanies it. A need and want to change the system, be the man that you are. Rank feelings of disgust, loathing and contempt for those that control this base system. These feelings compel you to move your feet, to make strides forward, extend yourself and leave. You release what you have shouldered and what generations before you have been saddled with. With each pace forward in that tiny room, you prepare yourself for a new life. Your anger severs the foundation that was given to you at birth and creates a resolute feeling of strength that allows you to cope.
Under the darkest midnight sky you leave, never to return. There will be no traces of your desertion, no witnesses to see you flee. Your anger continues to provide strength and propel your feet forward. For you will walk with a decent stride to escape your fate. A ship laden with human cargo is your destination; your feet carry you here. Placid water stretches out before you and not a tear or sentimental thought is lost in these shores. You leave behind misery as you reach towards the coast.
As sunlight strikes the top of your head, I view your chakras. Light from the Great Galactic Sun flows as a conduit to your crown chakra. Sparkles of light move in this vast void, immense with lucid colours streaming through. Your third eye chakra revolves slowly and carefully. A need to analyse and think through all information that comes through here. “Sometimes all cannot be fully explained or accounted for within the confines of present human thought. Be open to that which is not in your realm of patterning and thought imprints.” At your throat chakra, I feel a scratchy rawness. You are heard and you make others hear you. An audible and intelligible voice. I see your lips moving and there are times when others hear nothing thus creating this scratchy rawness. Protect your voice. At your heart chakra, a glowing light penetrates beyond our vision of sight. Strong, luminous, a caring heart for humanity. Your solar plexus shines brightly and clearly, occasionally a slight shadow falls across it as it spins. This anger from the past, the issue of social equality and contempt for authority is present. You may create your destiny with intentions of positive force and value. Your sacral chakra spins quickly, is aligned and stable. You align yourself with the Earth and shift when needed. You are grounded at your base chakra. I allow residual energy to flow into the core of the Earth and return through your chakras. The pattern that is created is that of an ankh.
I quietly ask for your guides to please assemble themselves for me. You appear dishevelled wearing a wool coat and trousers, a look of defiance and defeat crosses your countenance. You sit with your head back and arms outstretched. The beautiful light of Archangel Jophiel permeates the scene, inspiring and clearing mental perception. He brings soul illumination and helps strengthen your connection with your higher self.
I ask to see a timeline. Your past stretches out before you with generations of people making a hand to mouth movement, continuous motion. Generations. A cycle you have stopped during this previous life. Acknowledgment and gratitude surface from those before you that had to endure the same fate. You allowed your deep convictions of fairness and endurance of austere conditions to compel you to move and create change. A pattern has broken. At the current time, I hear giggling laughter. Brief enjoyment before a door appears, a decision must be made whether to open it or not, with lasting repercussions. In the future, I see a wide gulf, an ocean of water with its tides. You decide not to move or align with current thought. You are your own active will, accepting the challenge of asking questions of your own inner source.
End of Reading