In the Beginning

A friend in my workplace asked me what it was like and I had to think a minute before finding the right image. “It feels as if I am somehow standing aside, an empty tube, or a channel through which all these words and images are flowing.” I had never encountered the word that came to be so popular that we don’t even want to use it anymore: channelling.

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channelling

People have asked me how I began channeling.

First of all, when it began happening, I had never heard of or read any accounts that described what I was feeling. A friend in my workplace asked me what it was like and I had to think a minute before finding the right image. “It feels as if I am somehow standing aside, an empty tube, or a channel through which all these words and images are flowing.” I had never encountered the word that came to be so popular that we don’t even want to use it anymore: channelling.channel

What you’ll read here is a truncated version of the story, and the juice is in the awkward sputterings through the faucet when I turned it on for the first time. I’m sharing these first downloads exactly as I wrote them down at the time because they may serve to bolster confidence and offer calm to anyone who is now opening to her or his own expanded awareness and experiencing words and images pouring into her head from somewhere that doesn’t feel familiar.

In 1980 I stepped up into the RV which the much-praised psychic, David Massengill, had parked on a friend’s country lawn. He told me there were guides waiting for me to be ready to receive information. Their names were Andreas and “Master Matthias.” I wasn’t into the whole “Master” thing – a carry-over, I thought, from the antiquated Alice Bailey material. But I suspended my disbelief, sat – enthralled — through a two-hour session and stepped down onto my friend’s lawn quite changed, and ready for action of biblical proportions.

David told me that my guides wanted to set up a schedule, and added, grinning at my raised eyebrows, “They have schedules, too.”

On the appointed date and time, July 30, 1981, at 1:45, I sat at my desk, a fresh sheet of paper in my typewriter, and closed my eyes. I saw a man’s face, which seemed to be laughing and twinkling. This image lasted for a second. A fullness rose in my throat, blossoming as an immense pink flower with seven rounded petals. The petals expanded. I wondered if I should stop, concerned that this soft growth could not possibly fit in my throat.

As this was happening, I had several impressions, and typed out the following words:
The water running through me creates a mirror down the center of me. Oh my soul I see you and reflects the lights lords from above. The reflection is a solid shaft of light that passes through my pink flower throat chakra into my mind where it is channeled into its proper places to begin functioning efficiently toward the purpose. The more water I drink the brighter the reflection, which is the communication they told me about.

This gobbledygook didn’t make sense in any linear way, but it felt wonderful. I trusted that there had been a connection with my guides and the tip of eternity they held open as a door into Discovery. I was content that my soul, through the opening of my throat chakra, was now firmly connected to the Source of all being, to the divine, to all I had never even dared hope would be revealed to me. And so now I felt I was one with a kind of future that would be informed by my higher self.

I drew a picture of the flower I had felt pushing out the boundaries of my throat, and tacked it up right in front of me on my bulletin board at work. I felt beautiful whenever I looked at it. (I have searched in vain for it, to include it here, but alas. Perhaps it will surface later.)

Also on July 30, my doctor called. He said that upon reviewing my record, he noticed that back in November, he had noticed a swelling of my spleen and my liver, he was concerned, and wanted to put me through some tests in the hospital. I was scared.

I continued with my normal activities as wife to Lee, mother to five year-old Seth, friend, daughter, homemaker, human services worker, writer, painter. On August 14, around 1p.m., again at my desk ready to receive, I felt an odd sensation in the lower right side of my skull, as if

bingen
Hildegard of Bingen pictured it exactly.

someone was knocking at an inner gate. I closed my eyes. I felt words come into my head, which I wrote down.

Regarding your illness, let it be recorded that there is no illness. There is only the body’s adjustment to its own rapidiment. The cure will be itself’s action in time, but the quest might prove useful for overcoming doubt as to proper course of action. Of course the painting is appropriate for that time. Yes, this is it. We have hoped to contact you prior to this meeting but the activity prevented. Suggested that the time be put aside regularly every day for reception.It is enough. Other business at hand can be taken care of by the secretaries. The proper order is very important. Of course the anticipation creates its own impetus. Knowing the paper is there is a help to the process. I suggest you keep large paper at hand. It will be necessary – a good idea – to rest and continue to drink lots of water. The pancreas is involved as well and especially needs the water. The bile duct – it’s a matter of priming the pump – lubricating the flues so that matter is not secreted which excites the liver. Avoid starchy, fatty foods. Enough.

As the words were pouring into my head, I began thinking about the process and the source. I wanted to see how high into this expanded awareness I could get. It did not dawn on me that the source of these words was actually a being, or a group of beings, who would respond to my inner fluctuations. I had a lot to learn about the process and the senders. As I asked my inner question about the source, there was a wavering of the words, and a feeling of great distance, light, and an attenuation of our connection.

Fixed in your mind is the impression that we are here to serve – and not to ask. We have things to ask. Rest assured the information is correct. Many there are who have waited to be heard, just as there are those in great number who have waited to receive. The alignments are rare, and exquisite only are they which fulfill the requirements. We extend our hope that this will be fruitful. The height – the high Colonial (one from the high Colony) requires thin piercing. The matter of the body strains to accommodate, hence material difficulty. It would be better to accept the comments of the Laughing Face as valid which they are, and true.

Fortune is only the projection of men’s hopes impacted by the others’ hopes and projections bumping in collision.

They will not be able to harm thee by the probe or by other treatment for the body will adjust correctly to balance. Pain is sometimes unavoidable unless the negation of its existence acquires a positive cast.

As for Seth, he is well protected and guarded. It is not necessary to wonder or fear for him. He will guide his guardians for his best care.

No. Death is not in order. It would be an abrupt ceasing of process you have worked hard to establish and which now carries the greater impetus.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
My liver biopsy

With that assurance, I agreed to let the doctor book me into the hospital for three days of tests, and decided to enjoy the rest.

The next day, my birthday, I had another “transmission” – I didn’t know what else to call this blessed outpouring. In 1980, I had never heard of transmissions.

Somehow I didn’t think of this as the same process that David Massengill or other psychics regularly experienced. The transmissions came upon me at the same time every day – which usually fell conveniently in my lunch period. I took my pad of large paper to the restaurant, where six friends and I downed a lunch topped with champagne and raspberry shortcake.
8/15/80
One thing we need (want) to make certain is that foundations require tremendous insight and celebration, as well as the more somber aspects of concentration and alliance. It is certainly in our interest – in the field of common interest – to comment on the cooperative nature of this endeavor.

Now – we have a number of items to cover, and as we have said, order is of the utmost importance. So although it may seem redundant, we want to cover some previously explored territory.

The first order is the machinery of reception. As we said yesterday, the finer the tool, the cleaner and more rarified, yes, a correct term, the product. What we both want here is the exemplary detail possible from concentrated efforts. You have made it clear to us that no less than clear communication will do to firm your purpose in bridge building and clarifying muddy issues. Your teachers by previous readings have prepared your mind well enough to understand for yourself that the mind must be clear. We are dismayed although understanding of the time delay today and we would prefer that you take your imbibing at another time. We have schedules, too. Of course you don’t feel guilty. This is because guilt is a function of the incorporation of the chastisement. This is indeed not your own self chastisement, but one coming from another source. We love the process, we love the being that permeates and unites us all. You have chosen a duty for yourself that is rewarding and fun, and you understand that there are rules, of which you approve and which serve as boundaries within which you are free to romp. So on with it.

Fortunately, as we attempted to begin with before, the ground work has already been laid by some previous workers, so we don’t have to go into everything. We have been working with a number of people whose main interest and thrust has been with the theology of the workings. (It is indeed a good thing that you like to type, since this seems to be the fastest and most legible approach for us to take.) Here we are concerned not so much with the theology but with the preparation necessary to the coming enterprise.

As they – it definitely felt like a consciousness of plurality was speaking – my mind was alive with a flow of images, some clearer than others, some merely fuzzy patches of light. With the coming words, I saw Mary on the donkey traveling, and the word “travail” was a companion. I knew that this word meant “work.” I also understood that this Mary was about to go into labor. And that in my mind, the words “travel” and “travail” sounded alike. So together, they imply an arduous journey.

Yes, it is a good idea to explain the image as they serve not only to vivify the writing but also to make more clear the meaning.

In fact, as I was experiencing the transmission, I was thinking that I should record as much as possible about the experiences themselves. In others’ accounts of receiving direct communication from spirit guides, channeled entities, and other non-identified sources of information they felt in their minds, I had read that they saw specific images, and had impressions of a certain feeling of color, a mood, of multiple images combining in terms personally meaningful to them.

cumulus

When the phrase, “high Colonial,” came into my mind the day before, I saw again in my inner eye — my imagination — my first, breathtaking view of a high, sunlit-rich bank of cumulus clouds as my plane’s wingtips grazed its flank. The distillation of the flow of associations that produced the “high Colonial” is this: Such gorgeous, high glory brought an immediate sense of a place reserved for the elite. I felt the source of the information coming into me as a plural being, the consciousness of a colony. Visitors from higher (more advanced) civilizations flow into less powerfully flourishing cultures and assume control and ownership. That intuitive part of me who makes all the connections between and among ideas is not sophisticated, and not politically correct. She translates input immediately into as words and images to convey the clarity and meaning of her first impression. That’s how intuition works. It doesn’t pass through logic or ego.

And now, dear reader, I will continue in the present tense of the journal I kept of those first days of connection to a part of myself I had never imagined.
8/16/80
I have the feeling that I am waiting, perhaps out of vanity, with lonely aspect, for a new, glamorous friend whom I have heard is in love with me and whom I have heard is going to be visiting me. I feel as if I am putting my good dress on, making sure I look right – in a mirror in a dim room. It’s a scene I see, and it is my low self doing just what I have described, as I send up and open myself to whatever will come. My fear is that I will begin writing the thought in my head, undirected, thinking that there is direction – but I trust that any writing coming from within me will serve some good purpose.

There is a change in the internal atmosphere – all needs to be still – and the words come.

Foolish it is that men’s eyes do not recall the beginning of the history for it was told to them as babies in the most basic means possible, and reinforced through the lessons of each group’s times. Few there are who remember the purpose of being, which this receiver sometimes doubts, a measure of the poor mirror presented by the rest of the world. This purpose being JOY – to be written large, adorned, copiously fulfilled – it is a mandate. To this one we have taught it from birth, so it will be the flavoring direction of these notes. Keep in mind that the seer sees only through the only eyes the seer has.

The world is indeed different to each person, for the world that is the perception of existence as it appears to each being is according to the equipment played. Here the world seems precious, fair, poignant and having the ability to love. There are yes many paths to the One and “different strokes for different folks” is surely the best and indeed the only way we can go.

We said we would be covering some history and some beginnings. So back to darkness is perhaps the best approach.

Author: Leiah Bowden

I was born and raised in Schenectady, NY. Lived in New York City for three years to see what kind of grown up I was, traveled around the world, and moved back to Schenectady, where I lived for the next 44 years. I stayed because Mom was still here, on the planet, in this small city where she had lived all her life. When I was 60, she told me I should leave, because she knew I'd wanted to go someplace where the intuitive work I did would make sense to more than a few people, and the yearning I had to be among my kind -- wherever that might be -- would find release. I stayed because I preferred to stay rather than go and then have to come back when she would eventually need me. She died in 2010. My only child became a father in 2012. I retired, put my house on the market to live near my beloveds and be an active Nana and once more, an active mother to my grown-up son and his wife. When the house finally sold in the summer of 2015, I said a tearful goodbye to my close friends of more than 40 years and drove West. I felt nervous and excited and free and extremely, gratefully, privileged to be able to live this fabulous life. And now I am in love with my new community, am welcomed by new friends, and set myself to the task of being not only Nana, but my self, my Self: artist, writer, she who raises arms and heart and mind and opens as completely as possible to the divine

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