The World Beneath by Cate Kennedy

Author:Cate Kennedy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
ISBN: 9781921640551
Publisher: Scribe Publications
Published: 2010-08-17T16:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

Questioning your spirit guide, read Sandy. Greet your guide with whatever greeting you choose. Telepathic communication with spirit is known as clairaudience. When you receive an answer, you may feel a physical sensation such as pressure on the top of your head. This is the opening of the crown chakra. Ask your question, then pause. Listen to your thoughts. Connect with the answer. Imagine your frequency connecting with spirit. There is no hurry! Spirit has no timetable.

She put her finger on the page and closed the book on her lap. What questions did she want to ask? She’d snuck a glance at some following pages and thought she might skip the metaphysical existence questions, but nevertheless what she’d skimmed still nagged her, raising more confusion in her mind than anything. Was her spirit guide only with her in this incarnation? What was their connection? And, perhaps more confusingly, had she ever been the spirit guide’s spirit guide while it lived on the earth plane?

No, keep it simple. Personal spiritual questions.

‘Is my karma to be just a parental caretaker?’ she thought. She paused. No answer. Well, obviously it wasn’t going to be as simple as that — it wasn’t like making a bloody phone call; you’d need to learn how to listen for that inner voice. She struggled again to empty her mind of expectation, of outcome, of second-guessing a desired response. ‘Do I owe anybody a karmic debt?’

It wasn’t her tentative expectation scaring away her spirit guide, she thought impatiently. It was the spectre of Janet, hovering there on the edge of her consciousness like a disapproving, silver-haired bouncer, her arms folded and her expression that of a woman whose patience has been tried beyond endurance. Her mother, sticking her insistent foot in the door of everything she tried to do. Now that vision unfolded her arms and shook her head sorrowfully. Sandy, she said, far be it from me to interfere, but do you think your father and I scrimped and saved to put you through private school for this?

‘That’s it?’ the American woman said doubtfully, looking bemused. ‘That’s the tree we’ve been hearing so much about?’

A knot of people stood around the sparse little stand of myrtle beech, with its small pleated leaves turning yellow. Rich had heard that particular tone of voice so many times on so many trips; its polite disappointment, condescendingly concealed but not quite enough.

‘I mean, it’s pretty and everything, I guess,’ she went on, unscrewing her water bottle. ‘But hey, the way everyone’s been carrying on I was expecting ... I don’t know, a beech forest or something, colours like in fall. This one’s, well, it’s like a bonsai, or something. I have to admit, I’m a little underwhelmed.’

There was a short pause as they gazed at the tree, wondering if it was worth a photo. Wondering, he thought, if there was a better thicket up ahead, something more in keeping with their expectations. The tree did look pretty spindly, he had to admit.

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