A half eaten raw red pepper lies next to me on the bed this morning. It has created a tiny pink stain against the white of the bed sheets in this West London hotel. I have come here to London (as part of a small European tour) to give a series of talks at The Mind Body Spirit London Festival. After London, I am off to Berlin, Geneva, Aix-Les-Bains and the Czech Republic.
After the most turbulent trans Atlantic flight I’ve ever taken, I ended up in a spontaneous out of body experience last night. I went into the memories of a thought form that was stuck in this area of London. It was not the memories of a person this time, but a dog. My fur was black and white. I was running on all fours in a state of terror, mostly as a result of the screaming and unsettling instinctual reactions of the people around me. In no predictable pattern, bombs were being dropped from airplanes in the air and the shrapnel sprayed violently from each explosion. The external chaos perfectly mirrored the feeling of shock and terror that I felt. I had no thoughts about what was occurring. Instead, I felt at the mercy of my body, which screamed for escape. But there was nowhere to hide. Once the attacks subdued, I followed the taste of the familiar scent trail back to the shop where my human master worked. But as I approached the doorway, I could see him laying face down about five feet from his shop. He had been killed in the attack. I could tell by my nose that he was not there in his body anymore. I felt like something in me stopped working. I felt desperate to find him, but I didn’t know where to look. So, I laid down by him and placed the bottom of my chin on his body. The smell of his cologne burnt my eyes. But the familiarity of the burn felt wanted. When I came back into my body, I could still smell the cologne. I could still feel the trauma of loss.
When was the last time you head of someone being pulled out of body so that they can have fun? When was the last time you heard of someone running into a happy ghost? The reason it is painful to be empathic is that you pick up on everyone else’s pain. The reason it is painful to be clairvoyant is that you see the imprints of trauma everywhere you look. The reason it is painful to be an astral traveller is that you are called out of body to assist people who are suffering. As a result, sometimes it can be very hard to feel like Earth is a good place to be. And these places (London more so than any of them) that have been graced by trauma again and again over the centuries, become imprinted by pain. The residual thought form left here by the dog who was caught in the WW2 bombing is a perfect example. Upon waking, I intentionally went back into the thought form and took it through a process of internal de-manifestation.
Outside, a tree is blooming a cruel color of red. The branches, heavy with blossoms, are being tossed about in the chilly, grey wind. The agitated taxis speak to one another on the street adjacent to the hotel. As per usual, I have packed poorly for the weather here. I get carried away with my love of beautiful things when I get around to packing my suitcase that I find practicality difficult. Preferring form to function, the cold has made its way into my bones. But instead of fight with that cold, I am letting it speak to me. I am letting it say what needs to be said.