Talk to Your Dead: Reprinted from Kindred Spirit Magazine in England

Talk to Your Dead!

 

What if we could talk clearly to your deceased relatives and friends and even famous people we have admired? This is not a joke or a scam or even a sales pitch. It is an old phenomenon which seems to be occurring on an ever widening basis. Of course mystics, shamans, physics and mediums have done this in a wide variety of ways and varying quality throughout time. Yet it seems from a wide array of books and media coverage that an increasing number of fairly average people now are reporting experiencing these communications.

David Young a two time Grammy nominee for his flute music and longtime concert performer, has recently transformed his concerts into Soul Ascension Journeys. Many of the participants report his guided mediations and transformative music brings about personal communication with both dead loved ones and ascended masters. David suspects setting a group expectation and activating the chakras to a higher vibration creates ideal circumstances for such occurrences. He goes on to state. “All people have this capacity naturally to shift from the limited, logical part of our self, to our unlimited, higher intelligence. Our soul has access to information and experiences that our logical, lower part does not have access to. Music helps people access that sacred part of themselves by lifting the vibration of the room.

Frank Demarco the author of ten book the most recent being Rita’s World. Bases much of the information in many of his books on what he has been told from people who are no longer in human bodies. In general DeMarco basically suggests that anyone can talk to the dead. It only requires a combination of suspense of doubt and disbelief and an equal amount of healthy discretion. He seems to say we must find a way to become open to receiving information and then ask: Does the information resonate? Is it helpful? Are we just trying to convince ourselves or is this new and challenging input? Many of DeMarcos’s books begin with the premise that he has opened a clear channel of communication with one or more disincarnated beings and they are sharing important information for all of us.

 

P.M.H. Atwater is the author of over 15 books most on Near Death Experiences. Believes anyone can communicate with the deceased. In her book Dying to Know You, she explains that:

She sees the heart and love and sincere intentions as the thresholds. She states that dying is just like shifting our frequency on the radio dial. The living can tune in to the deceased altered frequency and communicate.

So if these three among many others are right then just how does anyone communicate with the dead? First it helps to have a clear desire. Do we want to speak to our Mother? Then it is good to set aside a time and place when we are least likely to be interrupted. Sunday night at 7 PM in our living room. Then the best method that seems to have been found is to begin making believe that we are talking to the person. If they were sitting in front of us in spirit form how might they answer our questions. This initially requires a suspension of our judgement. We must not listen to ourselves say this is just silly, only our imagination and impossible. Rather tell ourself other claim to be doing this, if we could do it, what might we hear.  What might they want to tell us. We can just speak this out loud, we can record it or have someone else recorded it or we can write it down. Sometimes right away, but often after a while and sometimes after a few sessions we will begin hearing answers and information we did not expect and do not thing we knew or would make up.

The first few sessions discretion is not important. We must just refine the process and the unique feelings. Once we begin to feel you can regularly bring in deceased people and hear, on some level their voices. Then we start looking at the quality of the material we have brought in. Only then and not until then do we begin to ask the difficult questions. If we do this too early we stifle the flow. Is this only what we want to hear? Is this us reinforcing our beliefs. Is this only pieces of what we have read or heard? Or is this information which we did not really expect and does some of it feel slightly uncomfortable and challenging. This is how we then begin to fine tune the clarity and quality of what we bring in.

I was in Columbia a few years back and met a shaman in the south east jungle where he led me in a ritual to contact the dead. I wrote of it in my book, Secrets of the Amazon Shamans, this is an excerpt of that which follows.

 

Calling the Dead Ritual
If possible, mark out a square in the sand or soil, or on the floor, in alignment with the cardinal directions. If you do not know them by heart you can use a compass. Place a candle at each corner, due south, west, north, and east. First light the candle to the south. Here you state, “I invoke the spirits and energies of the Amazon. I ask for their help, energies, and guidance in contacting the spirits of the dead. Be with me. Protect me. Bless my efforts.” Going in a clockwise direction (symbolically turning the lock on the door separating the world of the living and the realm of the dead), you then light the candle to the west, saying, “I call on the energies of expanding borders and the great unknown.” Next, light the candle to the north, saying, “Here I call on the energies of the world’s tropical jungles, especially those of the Amazon. To enter deep into the jungle is to approach the higher dimensions.” Finally, light the east-facing candle, saying, “I call on the energies of the great jungle and its mysteries and powers to reclaim anything.”

Once you have lit the candles, return to the center of the square. The more recent the death, the easier it will be to contact the spirit. If you have a possession of the departed, the material link makes the contact easiest. If there are two or more people who knew the person and have the desire to check in with them, then the team energy is synergistic.

Standing in the center of the square, state your name and your intentions. For example, “I, Michael Peter Langevin, have called on the four quadrants to assist me in contacting the spirit of John Dalton. John, you were a wise friend and advisor to me during that good portion of your life that we shared. Now that you have left this material plane, I know you have much more wisdom to share with me. I am in Columbia, South America, far from Chico, California where you died. However, there is a strange sort of connection between South America and Ireland, the place of your birth. It goes beyond potatoes. There are many Irish expatriates living here and fantastic stories of ancient Irish explorers having met and influenced the native peoples of South America. John, would you take time out of your other dimensional evolution to visit me and advise me of this South American-Irish connection and how I should share it in my book?” As you may have noticed, I’m a bit long winded. You may of course state your desires and intentions in as succinct or verbose a manner as you wish.

Call the deceased to you. “In the name of strength, I call John Dalton to me. In the name of mysteries unveiled, I call John Dalton to me. In the name of wisdom, I call John Dalton to me. In the name of persistence, I call John Dalton to me. In the name of personal desire, I call John Dalton to me.” Then sit and pour yourself a drink. Alcohol seems to work best but water will do. John liked Irish whiskey, so that’s what I poured. First, I took a mouthful of the whiskey and sprayed it into the air in front of me, saying, “This drink is for you, John.” Then, I held the glass with two hands, drank the liquid slowly and thought, “As I swallow this drink, the connection between John and me is reestablished.”

 

After you have thought these words (or ones similar to them), pick up your knife  (the perfect choice for this ritual would actually be a jaguar bone), and walk to the south candle, saying, “Now I cut open the dimensional wall to allow John’s spirit to come through.” Hold the sharp end pointed out and walk slowly in a clockwise circle repeating the words, “The veil is sliced open. You may join me now.” After you have faced all the directions, return to the center and stab the knife into the ground, saying, “I anchor the energies here.”

Remain standing. Now chant the Quechuan spirit call. It goes, “Allichu, Imamanta, wiraqocha, wasiykitan hamusarani, Napaykullaki, Imaynallan kashanki, noqa munankichu willanayta haya orqo qhepanmanta asusinas chawpinmanta. Afi, pisihallatan hoqmanta niway, allichu, allamanta rimay allichu noqu manay yachay!” This is a long and very difficult chant for westerners to pronounce, but it is ancient and very powerful. Repeat it four times the best you can, while facing each candle. Then sit and wait. If your intent, will, and desire are strong, a spirit will manifest itself and answer your questions.

Once you feel that you have successfully completed your ritual, be sure to give your thanks. Wish the spirits well, and send them on their way. You might wish to say, “Now our contact is complete. I will call you again when I so desire, otherwise be happy in your realm.” Then walk from candle to candle, starting with east, saying, “As I extinguish these candles, the bond to the other world is now resealed. I send all energies and spirits back to where they best belong. Thank you and be gone.” Extinguish all candles, this time in a counterclockwise motion, and erase the square. This relocks the lock between the worlds. Stand where the center was and state, “Thank you and blessings upon you. Be it as it was for all.” The ending is important. If you don’t do it, troublesome things can occur. Don’t ever leave any ceremony half done, especially this one.

In my ritual John told me that of course the Irish were to some degree involved with the South Americans. He laughed and said, “If the Irish hadn’t been here long before the Spanish, would all of these mysteries and contradictions be so many levels deep?” Then he blessed me, my book, and my family. He spoke of the thistle on my farm in Chico. He laughed again, saying that it was good not to be sick anymore. John thanked me for remaining a friend and asked that I leave his spirit at rest. He didn’t want me to call him again because it was painful and he was happy where he was for now. Then he thanked me for the taste of whiskey. He never let me get much of a word in edgewise before he vanished.

This excerpt shows that contacting the dead is very doable ad has been done for centuries all over the world.

In Rita’s World Frank Demarco credits his deceased friend Rita with saying that the dead do not live in a separate world. Living humans just think their material world is separate and isolated. Once we see that it is all one we can step across the threshold and communicate often and easily.

Of course the things that keep most of us from doing these things is that our religions either do not teach how to or discourage strongly that we try. These obstacles must be overcome. Why would any God not want you to communicate with your loved ones who have died? Then there is fear. What if evil or bad ghost or demons come through instead? The truth is it almost never happens but if it does. All we need to do is state strongly that they are not welcomed in our lives. Only beneficial well-meaning beings and energies are allowed to communicate. They will be forced to leave. We are more powerful than any ill-intentioned ghost or demon. Maybe the biggest obstacles are doubt and disbelief? When many begin doing this they keep thinking: Oh we have a better imagination then we ever knew. How arrogant to think the dead would talk clearly through us. Oh that is just what we wish they would say. Or oh what a fun but useless waste of time. When we stop those inner doubt based conversations wide new vistas of possibilities and clear communications opened up to us.

 

What Steve Jobs stated not long before he died was a big help to many people and might be those who read this piece: “Remembering that I’ll be dead soon, is the most important tool I have ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering you are going to die is the best way I know, to stop thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked, there is no reason not to follow your heart.”

So let’s give it a try, if it feels right. What have we got to lose but a little time? And what have we got to gain? Make the time and effort to reconnect with lost deceased loved ones who were never really lost and are waiting for us to try.

 

More on David Young’s Soul Ascension Journeys at: http://DavidYoungMusic.com

More of Frank DeMarco’s Rita’s World: http://hologrambooks.com/hologrambooksblog/

More if PMH Atwater’s Dying to Know You: http://RainbowridgeBooks.com

Prepare for Death Enjoyably

 The Echo World’s Youtube Channel Kicks Off with “Transitions” with Frank DeMarco

We have started our very own Youtube Channel for The Echo World.  The Echo World is the alternative magazine for spiritual and cultural creatives, that I publish together with Sofia Karin Axelsson, distributed all over Virginia, and with an expanding web-presence.

We work closely together with our writers, and since we took over nine months ago, we are constantly expanding and and exploring new, exiting ways to play with getting important, interesting and uplifting alternative information out there.

Our columnist, author and afterlife explorer Frank DeMarco have done several interviews with us, and now we have decided to try out video, rather than only audio. We celebrate this by simultaneously starting up our Youtube Channel The Echo World with a wonderful reading from Frank’s most recent book Rita’s World Vol. II: A View from the Non-Physical, on the theme “Transitions,” followed by an interview on the same theme with Me. Yes a slightly different me then in the Tree House Video.

How do we successfully prepare to move from this world to the other. Find out the answers.

Enjoy!

 

 

The Dead Never Rest

The Dead Never Rest

I am the son of a funeral director and the grandson of a funeral director. When I was only five, before I started school, my father took me down to our funeral home where he had a dead corpse on the embalming table. He said, “If you are going to be a funeral director one day you have to get used to death. The best way is to touch a dead body. I began crying and saying, “No, I do not want to.” My father had been an officer in the army, he had fought in North Africa in World War II and received two purple hearts. He was a harsh man and expected to be obeyed. Even at five I knew better than to resist him for long. I braced myself, slowly went forward and hesitantly raised my hand and touched the dead body. Until this day I wonder if what I felt was really happening, if it was physical or etheric, or just my imagination. Because  I felt a strong electric shock go from my fingers up my arm, all the way to my heart.

There were six siblings in my immediate family. My father had decided that his three boys were going to become funeral directors. This was in the 50s. My older brothers were eight and ten years older than me. They were in their teens and were quite the rock musicians and Casanovas. As my youth progressed they started coming home late in the evenings, if at all many nights. My father was a strong man, but due to one of his war wounds, his back could only support so much weight. After midnight, if my father could not get anyone else to help him, he would wake me up and I would go with him and help him pick up the bodies of the recent dead. He especially needed help in the old, three and four story tenement buildings in Lawrence, Massachusetts, which had been built to house mill workers in the late 1800’s, and had no elevators.

I would often have to strap the body on my back to get down the thin stair cases.  Then after helping Dad embalming the body, he would give me a ride home. I would shower and eat breakfast and catch the school bus. I would drowsily look at the other kids and think that none of them had to get up in the middle of the night, fetch dead bodies and embalm them before they went to school.

For most of my school years, I was an unofficial apprentice in the funeral home.  I worked other jobs like grocery clerk and being a lifeguard at the local pool. But when Dad was short of help, I would always pitch in. One night we were having a terrible New England snow storm, We used to call them North Easters, because they usually came off the ocean from the northeast. That particular night my Dad had to go retrieve a body sixty miles south of Lawrence. He called me to aks me to embalm another body while he was away. I will always remember the name – Walter Tobias. My father had picked up Walter earlier that evening and had not been able to find the time to embalm him before he had to go to pick up the second body.  I still remember the howling winds and heavy snow falling as I drove slowly to the funeral home, slipping and sliding down the narrow street.

At eleven in the evening I was in the funeral home, by myself. I had taken to smoking cigars when I embalmed, because the smell of the embalming fluid was foul smelling – almost intolerable. I went to get a match in another room. When I returned, the dead body was sitting up on the table, with a very crazed look on its face. I had seen many scary and upsetting things in my youth, in and around the funeral home, but this made me scream and I ran out of the morgue. I went into my father private office where he had his old oak desk and a couch he would sleep on when he had to stay in between late nights and early morning business. I went straight to his merogamy liquor cabinet. Here he kept his brandy and top of the line cognac.  I poured myself a glass of Dad’s cognac. It calmed my nerves and strengthened my resolve.

There was no noise coming from Walter in the morgue.  I made my decision and walked back into the morgue and up to Walter. Obviously, the coroner had pronounced Walter dead, but I knew that pronouncing someone dead had always been an inexact art. The look on Walter’s face seemed to say, “I hate you and plan to do you harm.” I tried to ignore that, and said, “You are dead right Walter?” There was no answer, so I touched Walter’s arm and it was ice cold. I felt his chest and there was no heartbeat. I slapped his face lightly, but there was no response. I checked all his vital signs and finally convinced myself that Walter really was dead.

The tradition of the wake began as a way to give a body a fighting chance to show if it was alive. But in more recent times funeral directors took the coroner’s word because the methods to prove someone dead had improved. Embalmers could usually rather quickly embalm the bodies to keep them from decomposing as they tend to do quickly. I knew there was a lazy coroner in Lawrence who sometimes did not run all the tests. Still, I was pretty convinced that Walter was undoubtedly dead. I pushed the body down. Of course I knew about Riga mortise. I had seen corpses whose fingers twitched and arms moved. But this was extreme. But I assured myself that Walter was dead and that it was just Riga mortise.

Suddenly, there was a noise in the front room. I nearly jumped out of my own skin. It was Gene, who often helped my father around the funeral home. He told me my father had called him and was stuck on snow packed roads outside of Boston. My father had asked him to pick up another corpse and bring it over for me to embalm. This deceased person was named George Decors. I put on my coat and went out to the hearse together with Gene. We carried George into the morgue and due to the weather Gene quickly left to make it home safely.

The storm was had gotten worst. Even in the morgue I could hear the winds howling outside. I decided to embalm George first, just to let Walter settle for sure. Part of me still feared Walter might be alive, even though my rational mind knew that was impossible. I looked at Walter and that look on his face had not changed. It sent a fear filled shill down my spine.

I turned back to George and began the embalming. It used to take me about an hour to embalm a body, depending on the specific challenges. Just as I was near finishing up on George, there was movement behind me. I turned and yelled. Walter had sat up again. In my hands, I held the sharp tool used for pumping out the body fluids and pumping in the embalming fluid. I always thought it seemed like a short shiny metal spear. I seriously considered stabbing the sitting up corps in the chest. But my professionalism did not allow me to. I put the tool down, pushed the body back and I rechecked all vital signs, each one three times in every way I knew.  When I finally convinced myself over again about what I already knew, I began embalming Walter’s body. I had to work hard to adjust the expression on his face. When I finished, I washed both bodies and dressed them in the clothes their families had sent for them and placed them each in a casket.

I sat down, still shaken by Walter sitting up twice. To settle my nerves I had another glass of my Dad’s good Cognac. As I sipped it my father called and said he was about twenty miles away and that I should just go home, as he would embalm the body he had picked up on his own. I bundled up and walked to the front door, opened it and thought it is too bad a storm to drive home in. Then I walked back and looked at my father’s couch, thought about Walter and even though the roads were in terrible condition, I went out and shoved the snow away from my car and on terrible roads I made my way home. I eventually made it to our farm, which of course was across the street and down the street from large, old cemeteries. When I got home I showered and went right to bed.

I dreamed of the funeral home and about Walter and George in their caskets. Walter had the same look on his face, as when he had sat up on the embalming table. In my dream I felt the same chill down my spine. Both Walter and George talked to me. They were not happy, didn’t like me, and wanted to hurt me. Then their spirits floated out of their bodies and started flying around me. Walter kept saying, “I did not want to die. I hate you for being alive. I will kill you. It was too soon for me to die. You should not live.”

I woke up shaking and sweating even though it was cold. I had only slept a little over an hour. I had a glass of water, and told myself this was just a dream. After a while I went back to bed hoping to dream about something more soothing. But instead the dreams came back, and now there were many ghost flying around me at the funeral home. Some I recognized as bodies I had embalmed. They kept flying at me. It felt like bee bites when they howled at me. They were all trying to kill me. I felt deep fear. I kept seeing Walters face, as it was before I embalmed him. I woke up, afraid for my life. Then I thought of my father being alone with these bodies and became afraid for him too.

I went back to the funeral home filled with apprehension. My father was snoring on the couch, so I made coffee and checked the bodies. They all seemed normal.  When my father woke up, we rearranged everything for the wakes, which would probably not be too well attended the first night, due to the terrible weather. I looked at each of the three dead bodies again. I could have sworn that the third body, which my father had driven so far to pick up, had been in my dream. That deeply worried me. But they were all dead I assured myself.  Why was I so petrified?

I finally got up the nerve to tell my father about the corpse sitting up twice and the terrible dreams that followed. I also told him about the threats, and the third corps being in the dream.  He said, “Michael you will see countless strange things in this profession, more than you can imagine. You just got to get used to them. The strange dreams stop after the first decade, or so. I might go to church every Sunday, but I do not believe in heaven, or hell, or ghosts. When your dead, your dead, when you are buried you have no spirit that can come back and hurt anyone, when people forget you – you no longer exist.”

I thought about this and I knew he was wrong.

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