Story Archive

'That Look'

It is that complete innocence and openness I love about giving healing to animals, the expressions that humans are all so often too frightened to show…
I will never grow tired of seeing the wonderful look from an animal as they first feel the lovely healing enter their body.
I can trudge around a room for five or ten minutes, following a dog or cat as it tries to be in control of the situation. Restraining an animal to give it healing rather defeats the objective, so I tend to persevere with the stubborn ones, crawling around my small consulting room on my knees, getting a touch to them for 30 seconds or a minute at a time, before they move on again. They are trying to show that they are in charge, but I can see that they like the feeling really and only move away a couple of steps before setting on the floor again, for me to catch up with them and try again.
Eventually the healing wears them down to a slow pace as they realise how nice it is. When I finally place both my hands on the animal for more than a minute, they feel the full force of the healing enter their body. The dismissive, 'I'm not looking at you' posture of the animal suddenly changes, they swing their head around to stare me straight in the eyes with that amazed look that says 'is that you doing that?' I usually answer them out loud saying 'yes, that's me'.
The animal will then completely relax into my hands, flopping to the floor and often over onto their backs in a full submissive manner, to do with as I wish.
Waking the recipient can prove problematic at times with many comments from owners about leaving them with me for the afternoon.

Though, at times, I wish people would express their feelings more freely, rolling around on the floor with legs akimbo would not be appropriate.

Flasher

The front of the Potters Bar clinic is completely glass, with glass doors. Lesley, our receptionist there noticed a man in his mid thirties walking past the clinic whilst gazing in one evening. She said he looked as though he was plucking up the courage to come in but did not. The same man was there the next evening and the following one. Lesley was getting a little concerned, imagining all kinds of things, was he casing the joint, waiting for his opportunity to hold it up? On the fourth evening, he walked straight in and up to reception, blurting out how he wished to make an appointment to see the Healer! Lesley made the appointment for Tuesday evening of the following week and off he went.

Tuesday arrived and Lesley explained how he was only able to make a late appointment due to his work commitments, she also expressed her concern for me being alone in my healing room with him, as he seemed a little odd! I laughed it off, saying how I'm sure I will be fine, never the less she insisted on staying close to my room when he arrived. As the time grew closer for Niles' appointment, my mind started to conjure up strange images of his appearance and manner. I said farewell to my previous client, escorting them to reception and turned to see a casually dressed, clean-shaven man sitting waiting for me, he jumped to his feet introducing himself with a firm handshake and a hesitant smile. I could not help but wonder how Lesley thought this mild mannered soul was worrying, as we entered my tiny healing room.

Niles, as many first time clients to healing, was a little on edge but had no problems explaining why he was there: he said he suffers with his nerves, lack of certain memories and worries a lot, finding it difficult to relax. Aware of Lesley's shadow hovering around the doorway, I started his healing whilst he sat on the chair, placing my hands on his shoulders, down his back and around his head. As I worked, Niles was giving me a running commentary of what he was feeling; how he had a tingling in his shoulders, then heat and cold and a relaxing effect as I reached his head. Niles was fascinated by the healing, asking many questions of where I think it comes from, how it works and why can I do it when others cannot.

Although rather intense and blunt with his observations, I found him quite harmless and charming in his open and honest manner. I managed to get a word in edgeways and explained how I felt most of the healing was centred at the frontal lobe area of his head. This phrase must have come from my guide in spirit, Charles, as it is not something I would say; my words would have been 'front of your head'. Niles looked at me quite stunned, asking if I had any knowledge of 'Asperger syndrome'? I new, only that it has a similarity with Tourettes syndrome. Niles explained that he suffers with Asperger syndrome which is said to have a great deal to do with the frontal lobe area of the head.

Asperger syndrome sufferers have trouble in basic elements of social interaction, which may include a failure to develop friendships or enjoy spontaneous interests or achievements with others. A lack of social or emotional response and impaired behaviours such as eye contact, facial expression, posture, and gesture accompany the syndrome along with narrow areas of interest.

Niles was suitably impressed with the healing, asking if he could return the following week. Just as he stood to leave, he suddenly thought I might be able to help him with a skin rash that had appeared over the last week, with no hesitation or embarrassment; he swiftly pulled down his trousers to reveal his buttock and the rash, manoeuvring himself to see it in the mirror. Remaining seated and as composed as possible, I suggested he consult his doctor on that one. I could see the realisation of his actions dawn on him as he returned his trousers to their rightful place, apologising for his behaviour. I was not at all concerned just a little amused and found his direct manner rather refreshing over the following weeks he came to see me. His trousers remained on his body for the duration of his visits and Lesley learned to trust him. Niles said he gained energy, confidence and relaxation from the healing that remained with him.
Copyright ©2008 Helen Hilliard

Uncle Bert was the first guide I was aware of in my spooky life.

One day, amid the confusing noise and vision of many spirits in my head came a feeling of clarity, in the form of a man's voice; as all else faded into silence, the calm, clear voice took over from the confusion of others. The voice was that of my Uncle Bert There was no mistaking his familiar tones and rich voice It was such a wonderful feeling to have him close again after so many years. I was in no doubt of this man's identity, I could smell the tobacco he used for his roll ups, hear his rounded, happy voice, I could see his large, imposing frame, I could feel his kindness and caring, it felt like I was in his embrace, it brought a tear to my eye and a lump to my throat.
Uncle Bert spoke to me, explaining that he was going to be my Guide on the other side, my Gate Keeper if you like, the one spirit to control the flow of all of the others, a perfect job for this giant of a man. He was going to allow one spirit to talk to me at a time, so that I could hear them without the hubbub of all of the others. He was going to be my counsellor, the one I could turn to for help, advice and support in this new and unexplained world in my head. When I first tuned in to do a reading, it was to be Bert I communicated with and it would be Bert I said goodbye to at the end of a reading.
He was my oasis in this desert of confusion.

He made a big impression on me when he was alive. In our younger years, he would often entertain my sister and me by playing his harmonica, or the spoons, or a comb with tissue paper around it; for those of you that are too young to remember, the comb was always a good substitute for a harmonica, you would wrap some paper around the hair comb, baking parchment or craft tissue paper was the best, then you could blow through it, vibrating the paper over the comb, whilst moving it back and forth over your lips. On occasions he would play them all at the same time. He would always have a joke or trick to play on us, Uncle Bert loved children and it shone through. I remember spending hours staring at the Marquetry pictures he had created, as they hung on the walls of his house. One in particular stays in my mind still, it was of a cobbled French street, with a café scene and a striped canopy over the tables. He once caught me losing myself in this picture and broke my dream as he said 'you like that one don't you Helen, you can have it when I'm gone'. As a nine year old, death had not played much of a part in my conscience, especially the death of someone so close to me, so I thought Uncle Bert was having another of his jokes with me. Sadly, his passing came sooner than any of us thought it would.
Uncle Bert was a huge, well built man in his prime, he spent most of his life as a fireman and used to live in the fire station accommodation with his wife and two children, with the sound of the engines at the front of the property and the sound of the trains at the rear. He served in the Second World War as a gunner in the Army and was very proud of his service days. He spent a lot of time in the heat of North Africa, Greece and Italy, which gave him an all year round sun tan for the rest of his life. He used to show us his medals and there was a certificate on the wall commending his actions at Dunkirk. Armistice day each year obviously meant a lot to him, and I feel it was no coincidence that he suffered a massive heart attack at the age of sixty that killed him on the eleventh day of the eleventh month at eleven a.m.
As I buy my Poppy each year, I do so with Uncle Bert in mind.

Carrier Kitten

In these recent days of confusion with the mail and the postal strikes, we have been considering other methods of carrier, TNT? Couriers? carrier pigeon? … We have come up with the perfect solution… Carrier Kitten!

Yes, we have a new rascal in the house, a beautiful pale ginger tomcat. He is just six months old and has already been into, out of, up, down and around everything possible. This little bundle of fur was chosen and named by my husband, Nick, therefore I take no responsibility for the new kitten's name… Grant, yes, after the character in East Enders! Nick is hoping he will grow up hard and strong.
Once Grant had mastered the assault course, we call home, he spent many hours gazing out of the French doors, into the big room outside, by the time he was allowed into the big room outside, he had already planned his moves and sure enough, the first obstacle course he shot up was the tallest tree in the garden. Nick and I spent a long time trying to persuade him back down, eventually resorting to a ladder and a nimble Nick.

Very first thing the next day… Grant was back up the same tree, crying, because he did not know how to get down. It was a lovely sunny day with no wind to sway the branches too a fro and Nick was working from home that day so we left him there to find his own way down, hoping he may eventually learn not to go there in the first place. Several hours later, Grant arrived on the doorstep, a little dishevelled and covered in green tree sap.
Since then his climbing experiences have been limited to the shorter trees.

Our older cat, Arnie (do you see a theme going on with the names?) had been a little put out by Grants continuing efforts to PLAY with him, when all Arnie wants to do is SLEEP.
Arnie was quite ingenious one evening, at the end of his tether with Grants fooling around, Arnie disappeared out through the cat flap only to re-appear five minutes later with a half dead field mouse in his mouth. I am sure Arnie had a smirk on his face as he proudly dropped the mouse in front of Grant and stood back to watch grant, myself and Nick spend a couple of hours battling over possession of said mouse, whilst he curled up on the sofa, contented.

As luck would have it, the introduction of our neighbours to Grant made them broody for another cat, their darling big boy cat, Domino had passed away suddenly, leaving a hole in the household. Although, as we often say, they were not going to have another cat, as no other could replace Domino, Grant's character won the day and our neighbours were soon the proud owners of a delightful, black kitten called … (no, not Phil), Toffee.
As soon as Toffee was allowed to roam the back garden, he and Grant became great friends, playing in and out of both houses. Toffee's mum was a little worried that Grant may lead Toffee astray, but I think it may turn out to be the other way around.

For several days, I kept missing seeing Toffee's mum, to give her a message and eventually decided that the best option was to send Toffee home with a note for his Mum. I tied a short note to his collar and sent him off into the night. A half an hour later, Toffee's Mum was ringing our door bell in response to the note. They thought it was so funny to see Toffee bouncing in with a piece of paper on his collar, it made them giggle about it for days afterwards.
Now we use the carrier kittens all of the time, who needs the Royal Mail anyway.