(Copyright © Jack Cain 2012, text and images)
It was only after our session finished that the clairvoyant Terry mentioned that he had received a message during lunch. The message was repeated several times. It was simply: “The bridge is open.” He didn’t know who it was for.
There were a number of us who had gathered in the relaxed atmosphere of a Métis household in the southern suburbs of Montreal where I had offered to facilitate sessions. Our hostess described the sessions as “journeys” – a designation I heartily approved of. It’s always been difficult to find a sensible way of describing what takes place – partly because there is no way to know in advance what will happen for a given person.
Of course I can say that I have taken both basic and advanced training in Dolores Cannon’s “Quantum Healing Hypnosis” which allows me to conduct sessions of past life regression and dialogues with the higher consciousness. But saying that is of little help in understanding the experience of a session. It’s a bit like trying to explain the taste of an orange to someone who’s never tasted one.
Terry was actually somewhat tentative about the possibility of undergoing a session. So we spent an hour or so first just talking around the concept – the fact that hypnosis is a loaded word and tells you nothing about the state it purports to describe, the fact that belief in reincarnation is not required in order to have intense past life experiences, and so on.
I was delighted to learn that Terry was a graphic artist – the visualizations would be easy and clear. For those who are more kinesthetic than visual, it is a question of “feeling oneself there” rather than “seeing oneself there” and sometimes that is harder for the person to accept even though it is just as powerful or even more powerful.
“I see a hat,” was the first thing Terry said after we “arrived.” I encouraged him to allow the scene to broaden out, the details to sharpen and become clear. Things were fuzzy at first. Gradually the scene of a family picnic near a river emerged with himself as a fisherman, 30 or 40 years old. His wife was wearing a large hat watching his son of seven or eight swimming in the river near a bridge. It was very, very hot and Terry was sitting on a log under a tree. He was staring at his wife. “Why?” I asked. “I’m admiring her,” he replied simply. “You must be very much in love.” “Yes, I am,” he said with deep feeling. “Hmm – interesting,” I thought since I knew that Terry was gay in the current life and living with the male partner he had come with. I ask how he feels sitting there with his son. “It is a good and peaceful time. Other families are nearby.”
Gently I move him on to the next significant scene in that life. He is sitting outside his house plucking a dead chicken. A man is with him, a very good friend. The man is telling him something that makes Terry very upset. He has stolen fish and Terry is going to be is alibi. The act is really done. Terry can do nothing about it. He decides he cannot tell his wife about this.
Next scene: he is crying. His wife has left him because of his dishonesty. She has taken their son with her – to her mother’s place. “I keep saying I should have told her.”
Next: watching a black feather floating on the water. A small creek. Gradually it becomes clear that the family is together once again. Walking, playing together. Everyone a bit older. Terry is feeling present, happy again, and relieved.
In the next scene, the son is seventeen. He is leaving to join the military – going very far away. What city? Beijing. Terry’s wife is devastated. Terry himself is very proud of his son. “We may never see him again but he’s determined to go.”
We shift the scene again. There’s a fire on the beach, at night. Many families are there. There are tears. It’s a ceremony. I feel an intense shiver run down my spine. I know before he tells me that it is a funeral pyre – for his son. Terry is sad but proud of his son; he feels honor for him – for how he died. His wife stands behind him and is in tears. His son’s family is there too. Terry is now 58.
“I am very old now. My wife is ill and dying. I am serving tea at her bedside. She is trying to tell me something – something I don’t want to hear. She’s trying to get me to stop and listen. I don’t want to hear it. There’s something she wants me to do after she passes. She wants me to make peace with someone – my daughter-in-law and my grandson. I must bring the family together. But I blame my daughter-in-law for my son’s death. My wife wants closure, wants balance restored. My concern is only for her, for my wife. I stop. She wants me to promise. I can’t say anything. She knows me so well. I give in. I have to honor her final request. Very shortly after that my wife dies – in peace.”
“I am at her door in the city. She lets me in, unsure of what to do, why I’m there. She avoids talking, busies herself bringing food and tea. I tell her to stop. She starts crying. I hug her. I’m feeling pain. There’s a grief. I never got over the loss. My grandson comes home. He’s fourteen. He’s surprised to see me there. He looks so much like his father. He has questions. He wants to know about his family. I’m filling a void in their lives as well. Harmony returns.”
“I keep seeing feathers. A wing. Each feather is a piece of that life. It’s a bird, a falcon. Now it’s perched, looking out over an expanse of landscape. There is knowledge and wisdom in that bird’s eyes.”
I suggest that the bird represents the Terry’s higher consciousness. It can perhaps tell us the real meaning and significance of the life we have just witnessed. What bearing does it have on Terry’s current life?
“Honor, tradition – they don’t always bring wisdom. You shouldn’t always follow the rules.”
“Yes, because you can see how following the rules brought you great sadness.”
“And created great difficulties.”
“So what else does this wise falcon have to say about Terry’s current situation.”
“There’s wealth in small things. A richness – of culture, of truth. Moments can bring great joy.”
“And I’d just like to ask this falcon too before we finish if there’s some advice for Terry about his current life – something he needs to do – some direction in his current life – where should he be headed.”
“Focus on the present moment. The future is volatile. Take comfort in your versatility and your knowledge. You can adapt.”
“And is there any advice from the falcon about relationships?”
“You’re meant to be together. Trust in your decisions – together.”
“And anything else that I haven’t thought to ask that Terry may need to hear.”
“Be conscious of your gifts. You will bring hope to those who don’t have any. Find focus in those who call to you through nature.”
“Yes. I see birds. I see crows. And eagles.”
“What do they represent? Are they just there for you to look at right now?”
“So I’m wondering if you may be able then to receive messages in future the same way as you’ve received them now.”
“Yes. They send to everyone. Everyone can hear.”
“If they’re open.”
“They have to be open. But it’s important for people to stop and listen.”
“Be present. There are messages for everyone. They’re being ignored. We’re not paying attention. They’re trying to tell us. We don’t hear them. They’re lost in the noise. [sudden noise of loud footsteps in the room overhead.] ”
“So it’s very important for everyone.”
“Yes. It’s everywhere.”
“Because the birds are everywhere.”
“Yes. [pause] I see a crow. He’s looking at me.”
“And he has something to say to you?”
“Just that he knows I hear him.”
“So that’s why he’s looking at you – because he knows.”
“Yes. He finds my curiosity funny.”
With that, I led the session to a close. Yes, the bridge is open – for those who stop, for those who hear.