CHAPTER THIRTY
The Plot Thickens
July to August 2001
On Tuesday July 3rd, a questionnaire and explanatory note arrived in the mail from a woman called Shontara. She told me she had my name and address because I had entered a competition she was running in Insight magazine. Her name meant nothing to me, but as I had entered several competitions in the magazine over the years I didn’t find it unusual. One of the questions concerned my willingness to host a past life workshop in my home. I ticked the ‘Yes’ box on that. After completing the questionnaire, I felt a strong urge to write her a letter telling about Jason and Gaele, people I would always link with Insight magazine, and the impact they had had on my life. I may have first seen Jason at the Brisbane Spiritualist Church, but it was his advertisement in the magazine that took me to his Windsor workshop in 1998. I also felt I had to tell her about Peter Harvoe. Before I finished writing, Tamara rang to say her job had been extended until the end of the month, and possibly longer. It was good to have a job again, she said, but this time she would get in front with her rent lest the lean times return. Another lesson learned.
The next day, I walked to the post office and stopped in at Lifeline to show Gladys photos of my cupboard and have a chat. The new manageress, Lyn, was happy to see me. She even told me she had “made budget” for the first time in a year and a half. On Thursday, Petula called to say she’s going to Women’s Legal Services on Friday to have them check a letter she’d written Neville. Would I come with her? I agreed. An hour later, Shontara called. She must have checked the Refidex the moment she got my letter because she knew where I lived in relation to the railway station. During the two hours we talked I learned she not only knew Peter Harvoe, she was able to tell me why he never called back: My enrolling in the art class would stifle my creative flow to his way of thinking. He was a stickler for that sort of thing, she said. When I told her what I learned from the cupboard paintings, she said she would send me a set of Egyptian Tarot cards she no longer used. She bought them years earlier because she “loved Egyptian stuff” but couldn’t get into them. She believed the true owner was out there somewhere, so every time she spoke to someone with a love of things Egyptian, she gave them the cards. “If they are not for you, pass them on. They will eventually find their rightful owner.”
At Women’s Legal Services we learned Petula’s letter to Neville would have to be completely rewritten. There was nothing we could do but leave it with them. But as time was of the essence, the woman she spoke to said she would email it to me as an attachment by Wednesday and call Petula on Thursday to go over it with her. She was going to scrape in by the seat of her pants. The next day I bought the latest issue of Insight and found an article written by Shontara. I took that as an omen and started asking people if they would like to attend a past life workshop with her at my place with entry by donation only. I was not short of takers.
At the library on Monday, Dana gave me a book on Tarot she bought for me on sale and told me a lady was setting up a Tarot display as we spoke. It would remain at the library for most of the month. When I got home I found Shontara’s cards in the mailbox. The Major Arcana featured gods and goddesses of the Egyptian pantheon, while the Minor Arcana, although similar to a degree to the four suits of the standard Tarot deck, was still very different. No instruction book accompanied the deck. When I next spoke to Shontara she told me they never came with a book and suggested I sit with each card in turn and see what I get. I told her I had done that. They hurt my third eye. The pain must have been what Steve experienced when he said his sinuses were playing up. It was an unusual pain, and for me, who was not used to having headaches of any description, an uncomfortable one.
The following day I spent several minutes, on and off throughout the morning with them. The oddest thing was with each card I never once saw anything Egyptian. In one, I saw a racing car and its driver, in another, rolling green hills. I also saw a cruise liner, a train, and an airplane. I could only hold each card to my third eye for a few seconds before the dull, throbbing pain distracted me. The next day I blindfolded myself and started again. This time some cards gave me a similar sensation to when I held crystals that resonated with me. Others gave me goosebumps all over my body, right up onto my scalp. Something was clearly going on. Shontara called me in the afternoon to arrange the day of the workshop. We decided on Sunday July 22nd. She would send me everything I would need, including invitations.
On Wednesday, mere seconds after I printed off Petula’s amended letter from Women’s Legal Services, the entire library computer system crashed. With people yelling and swearing, and library staff racing every which way, I thanked the angels on my way out. That afternoon, Che stopped in to tell me he lodged an application for a house at Geebung, just up the road. Before he left he took some invitations for Jen and Karen, Kerry’s girlfriend. He said Jenny won’t want to come but he will “encourage” her because he feels it will do her a lot of good. Coming from my son, that was a revelation. She always seemed happy to talk to me about what I do. Perhaps, I decided, she was just being polite. Five of them would be moving into the large brick house at the top of the hill if they get it – Che, Jen, Gregg, Kerry, and Karen. Gregg and Kerry had been Che’s mates since they were good little boys in the first grade. The older they got the more I worried about what they were up to. But all’s well that ends well. However, I did wonder how it would go with Jen and Karen. They could not stand the sight of each other.
On Saturday, I emailed Jen’s mother to see if I could learn why she would be so averse to attending the workshop. She suggested I ask her and see what she says. I did. “Me? Afraid? No….I’m not afraid…..I just have enough problems in this life without borrowing from the past! Anyhow, Karen’s going…I don’t like Karen. If I went, I’d like to participate, but Karen’s…..Anyhow, it opens up too many wounds. I did all this with Mum. No. Sorry.” Wow, I thought. What a convoluted excuse. I understood Jen did have a lot on her plate, more than most people should have to deal with in one lifetime, and she was still so young. She presented as a fiery Leo, but she hid behind Leo’s mane. The true Jen was a hurt little kitten. On Monday, Che told me they didn’t get the house. I could hear the disappointment in his voice, but they had to be realistic. Five young people are unlikely to be considered acceptable tenants for a posh house in a posh street of Geebung Heights. But then, Che always did have an eye for the good life.
The following Wednesday, Che called to tell me they found a house. He was still in shock for the two storey dwelling had an internal staircase, double lock-up garage, and above all, looked “expensive”. It came about in the most unlikely way. Jen had been at the real estate agency the day before and was ignored by the receptionist. Still, she remained polite and didn’t make a scene. A few minutes later an older lady entered and the receptionist gave her her complete attention. The woman motioned to Jen, saying she was there first but the receptionist said she could wait. That was too much for Jen and she walked out, closely followed by the woman, who asked if she was alright when she saw her in tears. Jen explained how hard it was to get a place and that they were good people who deserved a chance. By then, there would only be three of them: Jen, Che and Gregg. The woman told her she and her husband had a house at Banyo. In fact, she had gone to the agency to have it listed. If Jen and the others could stop in that evening they could discuss it. It was a done deal when the husband saw Che’s QR shirt for the man was a railway buff of long standing. He even used an old luggage rack as a shelf.
Two hours later, Che called back. Reality was starting to set in. Tamara rang shortly afterwards to tell me she has an interview the following Tuesday for a permanent AO2 position at Queensland Health. On Thursday, Che rang again. He thought leaving home would be so easy. He was too young to pay much attention to when Kristen left, and Tamara, well, Tamara was Tamara. She couldn’t wait to forge her own way in the world. Even Steve felt the finality of Che leaving home and told him if it didn’t work out he could come back. He never said that to the girls.
On Friday, I got a call from my old school friend, Lyn. Ann passed away on Wednesday. Her funeral notice was in the paper. I rang Leigh and Sharyn. It must have been a hard call for Lyn, then battling breast cancer for the second time, to make. She learned of its return when she had her five year check. Five years: The magic number. She had received the all-clear every year in between. She remained positive, though, despite her younger sister succumbing to the disease some years earlier. Elaine was a beautiful looking girl, and the prime reason the two Peters often found themselves in trouble with Aunty Marie. The Newmarket street they lived in was divided, with each side rather narrow. Lyn lived on the high side while the old Casey house was on the lower side. A three metre wall separated the two. In their teen years, the two Peters would perform crazy stunts on top of that wall in an effort to impress Elaine, who probably thought they were silly buggars. That evening, Jen surprised me by announcing she and a friend would come to the workshop. She had asked me yet again to please call her Jen, not Jenny. "Jenny" just rolled off my tongue. "Jen" was a struggle. I promised to try.
What a strange day Sunday July 22nd was. People started arriving as I left to pick up Gladys. From there I drove to the station to collect Tamara and Shontara. On the escalator at Central Station, Shontara had an unfortunate accident when the hem of her cloak became tangled in the mechanism. She was alright but it was not the best way to start a workshop on past lives when she saw her present flashing before her eyes. The edge of her beautiful gold velvet cape was smeared with grease but Steve came to the rescue by spraying it with degreaser before we washed it. It worked, and did not seem to harm the fabric. In many respects, it proved to be a good thing because while we did that my twelve guests had a chance to get to know one another. Still, the delay had an impact on the time we could spare on each exercise with the result we agreed to do her aura workshop instead.
We started with a meditation to cleanse our auras during which we were to ask for words relating to each of us. After we came out of the meditation we were asked to write down the words we got. Mine were: Doubt, Relax, Intuition, Trust, Answers, Power, and Energy. Shontara then asked each of us to use our words in ways that told us what we needed to know about ourselves. We understood the question. We just didn’t know how to relate the words to ourselves. To help us out, she used my words as an example. She said they were spot-on for I have heaps of energy, immense personal power, which I am not fully aware of, and I need to trust my intuition and stop doubting the answers I’m given. How I can do that is to relax, for only then will I truly be an “Open Channel”. I was amazed at how she put those words together in a way I could understand. However, looking at oneself is always difficult so she gave everyone her explanation of their words. It was the first time many of them saw themselves in such a positive light. Our next exercise was to try and see each other’s auras. Unfortunately, very few of us had much success. Petula would have done well but she couldn’t come.
After lunch, during a talk on spirit guides, I mentioned the monk-like guide with the “body” of beautiful light. Shontara said she had a similar experience, documented in her book, in which the figure was Jesus himself. When I told about Isis and how she helped me with the Celtic side of the cupboard, Leigh passed around some photos she had taken with her camera, an infinitely better one than mine. The difference in quality was extraordinary. Shontara asked if she could see the actual cupboard and we all filed into Tamara’s old room.
At the end of the day, Shontara sold copies of her book at $20.00 each and said she would be holding a past life workshop at her Beenleigh home on August 4th for those who were interested. If that was no good, she said she was happy to come up if someone wished to host a day. Dana said she would see if the library will take some copies of her book. At 4pm, I took her to the station. She wore her beautiful cape, by then dry and as good as new, but assured everyone she would never step onto an escalator wearing it again. While I was away Tamara entertained the guests with Tarot, clairvoyant and palm readings. From all accounts, she was very good.
When Che came to collect Jen, I thanked him for encouraging her to come as I felt she got a lot out of it. The next day, he came around to take me to see the house. As we walked through the beautiful home we had the closest heart-to-heart we had ever had. He told me he knows Andrew (the plumber) is his guardian angel and that he has been looking after him. He said he knows he’s been very lucky, and accepts he has some psychic ability. He also told me he is aware there is more to his relationship with Jen than meets the eye, and he understands this is make or break time for them. On Tuesday, Tamara called to say she has another interview the next day for the Department of Corporate Affairs, but she doesn’t think she will get it, or the Queensland Health job. She said she can’t explain it but feels she has to stay where she is for some reason.
On Wednesday, I got an email from Dana. She was very happy she went on Sunday, was very impressed with Shontara, and said the words she got were precisely what she is dealing with in her present life. I also got a call from Heather saying much the same things. Both would love to go to the past life workshop but would have to see what happens with work. Petula rang. Neville refused to accept the terms of her letter and told her he would see her in court. With no car, her relationship with Mark going nowhere, and being evicted from her house, she didn’t need any more drama. It was going to be a long, dirty, knock down, drag out fight to the finish. Shontara called to say I need to translate the hieroglyphs on the cupboard for they contain a message for me. How the hell am I supposed to do that?
On Thursday, Leigh called to say her group loved Sunday and would do a past life workshop, but not at Beenleigh. I told her what Shontara said about translating the hieroglyphs and she said she would ask her student teacher friend. She rang back that night to say Leah had English translations to many of the more common hieroglyphs. Leah was the woman who didn’t have the money on the reading day but dropped it into my letter box as promised. It was indeed a strange world.
On Saturday, Steve and I went to the library and while I was on the computer, he filled in time in any way he could. He said the lady responsible for the Tarot display was packing up her stuff and suggested I see her about the cards Shontara gave me. She had never heard of any even remotely like I described and said they may be a very old or obscure deck. She suggested I meditate on each card and write up my impressions in a notebook. On Sunday, Che and Gregg came around to move some of his fish tanks. With that, the finality of it all sank in. He got a little teary as he looked around the only home he had ever known. He was such a mixture: the wisdom of an ancient twinned with the needs of a boy stepping into the world.
Early the following Saturday morning I met Tamara at Central Station and we got the train to Beenleigh where we were met by Shontara’s husband. The day turned out to be anything but what I expected. Shontara showed me a painting Peter Harvoe had done for her. It was really beautiful and I wondered if I would ever be able to paint like that. Of the expected thirteen people, only four came. One, an odd chap named Michael, said we all shared Hebrew and Egyptian lives. During our introductions and talks about ourselves I learned he was involved with a meditation group. He took people into the meditation while his friend sat outside the circle drawing the guides that came in for everyone. That’s when Shontara said: “Tell Mary who that is, Michael.” It was Peter Harvoe!
The first exercise of the workshop involved a meditation that took us into a room with a blank screen on one wall. We were to look at the screen and wait until something came, but not to force anything. For what seemed like an eternity I saw nothing but the blank screen. I asked my guides for assistance and the next thing I knew I was watching a puritan woman walking up steps to the gallows. In my role of observer only, I recall thinking, despite knowing the woman was me in that life: I thought they burned them. It was surreal. The vision lasted just a few seconds, then nothing. Suddenly, to an ungodly holler I now accept was the “Rebel Yell”, I saw grey-clad soldiers racing up an embankment firing their rifles. It was so realistic. I could even taste the dirt whipped up by their boots. As with the woman about to be hanged, a thought wandered as I observed the scene: Was I one of the Confederates or was I on the Union side getting shot at? The next thought brought an answer. I was a Union soldier. That thought took me to a previous past life workshop. Then we were asked to look at our feet. What were we wearing on them? What clothing did we wear? What did we look like? Did we get a name or a place? I saw a Union soldier I knew had to be an officer because he was standing in front of a tent at a table on which was a map. He had dark hair, a beard and moustache. I didn’t get a name, though. As suddenly as the Civil War battle image came it was gone, replaced by the head of a shark, its mouth open to expose huge, razor-sharp teeth. It seemed to leap right out of the screen and gave me such a fright. I didn’t see who I was in that life except that I was looking down at that shark. Perhaps I had to ‘walk the plank’.
When we discussed what we had seen, Michael said he wasn’t surprised all my images were death scenes for in every life I had either been executed, imprisoned, or tortured for my beliefs, be they religious, political, mystical or otherwise. In this life, I have to face that fear. I will not be killed for my beliefs, but I must face the fear attached to the emotion. It made so much sense. For the first time, I actually felt I understood who I was and why I have to do this work. After everyone had their turn, he told me this could be my last life if I mastered that fear. As one thing led to another, I found myself telling him what Sarina said about being my own guide. He agreed. He said my energy and my guide’s energy was identical. In other words, he said, my own Higher Self is my guide. Then he said something really odd. “When the cat comes know you must accept it.” I told him we lost our cat some time ago and would not be getting another. “You don’t understand. You must take the cat in. It will be a stray. You won’t know where it comes from, but that must not matter. This is part of what you must do.”
Before the day was over I had learned a great deal about myself and my relationship with my husband and children. It was a truly eventful day. Michael said Che and Jen will not last the distance but will remain friends. She has huge karma to deal with in this life and he is helping her. The same applies to Steve and me. Every time Steve does or says something to irritate me I should ask what the lesson is, for he is my mirror and I am his. In the soul time we agreed to this. That reminded me of another Michael – Dr Michael Newton and his book Journey of Souls.
The first two weeks of August were transitionary ones for many people. Che popped in whenever he got the chance, just to touch base and be home, while Steve and I had our own adjustments to make. With just us, it was strange. In some ways, he was less picky, but in other ways, more clingy. I didn’t like either and I didn’t know where it would lead. On August 16th, Dana told me she was going home to Canada for sixteen weeks. She also said some odd things about what I saw at Shontara’s workshop and what Michael had told me. She said I was lucky to have reached such a high level. In the next breath, she asked if she could buy an A4 print of the Isis painting. The following Saturday she told me a friend of hers would love a copy of it as well. She said I should get lots of prints made and take a stall at one of the markets. I didn’t think I was ready for that. Yet, on Wednesday I took copies of Isis and Excalibur to Kodak to get enlargements made. Perhaps, I was ready.
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| My painting of Isis |
At my next email day I found a message from Dana about some angel card. She saw mention of them in her regular newsletter from Edgar Cayce's A. R. E. (Association for Research and Enlightenment) and felt I should have a set. On leaving the library, I met Kristen for coffee at the shopping centre. She said she had to stop into Zen Gallery first to see if her angel cards were in. Angel cards, I thought. How interesting. There were the same ones Dana mentioned so I placed a set on lay-by, along with a CD by Aaron, a wonderful young man working there who was into ethnic drums. When we left, Kristen said someone was with us. I concurred and we decided it was Mum and that she must want me to have those cards, too. That night, Tamara rang to say she was finishing up, but will have four weeks work at Centrelink.
It had been a strange journey for her and it put the Karmic Crossroads spread she got into perspective. The energy changed about three weeks earlier with the arrival of a new boss. A week after that she started getting messages from a young spirit who wanted her to tell his family he was alright. As she didn’t know who he was, or how to find his family, she couldn’t do anything about it. She asked Spirit to find her another job because, between the demands of her new boss and the young spirit, it was too difficult for her to stay. His desperate pleas were so intense she felt like a wrung-out dish rag. Finally, the day came when she knew who to deliver his message to. Unfortunately for her, that person, a well-known former Queensland basketball coach, was so enraged he complained to her boss and she was fired on the spot. The interesting thing was during most of the time she was receiving the schoolboy’s messages he was still alive, albeit in a coma, a victim of the deadly meningococcal disease. He had passed by the time she was sacked. Just minutes after getting her marching orders, she got the call from Centrelink about a job. Spirit, I believe, was saying “Thank you!”
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