by Judy Carroll
It wasn’t long before Maris called me to meet with him again. As soon as I came into his presence, I knew by the aura of satisfaction that emanated from him that he had been successful in finding a suitable family for me.
“Yes, Alarca, indeed we have,” he answered. “This couple we have chosen is perfect and meets all our requirements and more. The country in which they reside is located in the southern hemisphere of the planet, so your birth will be timed to coincide with their mid-summer solstice. The potential mother was born in this country, so her native language is English, and her husband, who is of Spanish descent, migrated there when he was quite young.
“We have succeeded admirably in introducing a bit of exotica into your human bloodline. Both your Earth parents are from a Romany background, so you shouldn’t have much trouble relating to them, or them to you. They are both kind and gentle folk, descended from our own people, and they badly want a daughter, so you can’t ask for more than that.”
“Well, yes, Maris,” I replied, “it does all sound very promising, so what country is it?”
“Australia!” he answered, looking very pleased with himself. You can’t get much further away from the location of your last unpleasant Earthly experience than that now, can you?”
My whole aura lit up with relief. “Oh, yes, that is good news! And if I remember rightly I had a very positive and enjoyable Earth-plane experience there eons ago. Wasn’t that ancient land once part of Lemuria? I’m sure I’ve worked there both as a teacher and a healer.”
“Yes, Alarca, indeed you have, many millennia ago, so I take it that you are agreeable to these plans? Remember, the circumstances of this birth are your choice, but once you decide and the seed is planted, I don’t want you changing your mind at the last minute and disappointing this family. You are already a glint in your potential father’s eye, in fact they have been trying unsuccessfully for some time to start a family, so if you decide to go ahead with them, we’ll get things started immediately.”
“Well,” I replied, taking a deep breath, “it’s now or never, I suppose, so let’s get on with it.”
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Chapter 4 Taking the Plunge
It was “all systems go” in the intensive preparation that followed my decision to accept physical birth into the family that had been selected for me. The Source was tapped into and the creative energies of the universe were brought into play, permitting conception to take place. Although it was not necessary for me to be continually present within the tiny form that was to be my Earth human body, I did have to make visits on a fairly regular basis during the gestation period, to familiarize myself with things and also to begin melding with it on an energy level.
The physical form of an unborn baby, just like a sleeping human, can be likened to a car parked at the side of the road with its engine running, while the driver temporarily leaves to carry out business elsewhere. What many Earth humans have lost touch with is the fact that they are immortal, non-physical soul essences inhabiting a physical body for a biological life experience. They are not a physical body with a soul floating around somewhere. The physical body is nothing more than a vehicle of which you, the eternal spiritual soul essence, are the driver. This is the main reason why we, the Guardians, are here at this time. It is to awaken humankind to the fact that your true nature is spiritual and therefore far more than just a physical body.
When the physical body is safely asleep in bed at night, or in the mother’s womb, its spirit is free to come and go at will, just like a driver who parks his car and gets out to shop. His absence will only be brief, so he leaves the engine running, idly ticking over, until he returns. Although the engine is running, the car cannot go anywhere on its own. It cannot drive itself, but must await the return of the driver to release the brake and select the appropriate gear to move on. However, just occasionally the spirit forgets to put the “hand brake” on, and the “vehicle” goes sleepwalking all on its own.
It is the experiences of the spirit, set free from the limiting confines of the physical body, which are remembered on waking as dreams. That is why during your dream state you can freely move backwards and forwards in time, and meet again with those who have stepped permanently from their physical vehicles. That is really what death is — the driver simply stepping out of the vehicle and not returning to keep it maintained and fueled. It cannot keep going on its own without the driver’s care, and so eventually it ceases to function.
During the nine months of Earth-time in which my mother-to-be carried my new physical body within her own, I spent much time with the Elders, discussing the life and work that lay ahead. It was agreed that my formative years could be well spent, gradually accustoming myself to the Earth human body and all that it entailed, slowly getting used to the different energy frequency, and learning all I could about what it meant to be a female human on Planet Earth. Once I reached maturity, I would then be able to step smoothly into my role of teacher and ambassador for our people, working quietly and surreptitiously with as many humans as possible, all of whom would be blissfully unaware of the ET presence among them, giving them a little push-along in the right direction.
Even with all our careful preparations, there were still risks involved which the Elders made clear to me, the main one of which was my final approach to the physical plane at the time of birth. Coming from higher planes of spirit in which we Guardians dwell, I had to enter through the portals of the astral plane. It was during this final birthing process, when it became necessary for my immortal spiritual essence to become fully conscious as an Earth human, that I would be most at risk of becoming ensnared in the illusions of this dimension.
As the time of the solstice approached, I began shifting my mind focus from our Realm and centering myself more fully in the physical. This meant spending more time in the tiny unborn body and less time in the freedom of spirit. I cannot pretend to say I wasn’t a wee bit concerned; in fact lying there all curled up in the fetal position as my quarters became more and more cramped, I was, to use one of my very favorite human expressions, “as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
All too soon the moment of birth was upon me. The long, dark tunnel to the physical Earth plane was opening up before me and I was being drawn inexorably through towards the bright light at the end. If I was to retain my fully empowered Guardian consciousness it was most important not to experience fear. The astral plane “traps” are triggered by the energy of fear, so it was this emotion that had to be controlled, but as I passed through, memories of the crash came flooding back. Probing, clutching alien hands were once again pulling me from my place of warmth and protection.
Grasped by my feet and held dangling in mid-air, I gasped in terror, and then a wrenching, jarring, shuddering sensation tore through my entire system, as if gears were being changed without the aid of a clutch. I sent out a frantic call to the Elders for help, but it was too late, nothing could be done for me. All memory and awareness of who I was, where I had come from, and why I was here was wiped from my consciousness, my mind short-circuited by the energy portal through which I was pulled. Time lost all meaning as consciousness became totally absorbed in the need for food and warmth, and the security of my mother’s arms. This was the totality of my world.
Like all human babies, I was to spend much of my time asleep, and it was during these periods that I would become aware of other minds reaching out towards me with messages of reassurance, gently reminding me of something that I could not quite grasp. Accompanying these messages were images of strange-looking, grayish-skinned beings with enormous, black eyes into which I yearned to lose myself. Then the pangs of hunger or some other discomfort would awaken me, causing me to scream in frustration as the memories of the eyes and the minds behind them retreated from my consciousness, leaving me with a deep sense of loss and bewilderment.
What failed to boost my confidence in my new container were the conversations I sometimes managed t
o pick up on, not so much the physical speech, but rather the telepathic content. My parents, like most proud new parents, thought that I was wonderful, but others were not so blinded by parental enthusiasm.
“Oh, my goodness me!” an unrecognized, high-pitched and extremely irritating voice remarked, “What a strange-looking little thing she is! I mean to say — just look at her eyes!”
“Well, yes,” the warmly comforting voice of my mother answered, “I suppose they are strange and a little large, but I’m sure she’ll grow into them eventually.”
“That’s where she mostly takes after my side of the family,” the familiar voice of the one who was my father interjected proudly. “So many Spanish Gypsies have those dark, rather slanted eyes. Some look quite oriental. If you ask me, I think her eyes are her best feature.”
“By the way,” the voice went on, “what name have you given her?”
“This is something we’ve talked about for weeks,” my mother answered. “We had several different ones picked out, but none of them seemed to suit her. Then a day or two after she was born, while I was nursing her, this really strange name just came into my mind. I actually heard it being spoken softly into my ear three times. It’s definitely not a family name and I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. Perhaps it’s the secret name that is traditionally given to Romany children, and if that’s the case, it can only be revealed to her and no one else. Just in case it is we’ve had to compromise, and have decided to call her Ali.”
“That’s nice!” the voice chirped, all gleeful curiosity. “This secret name business sounds fascinating. What’s the reason behind it?”
“Well,” my father answered quietly, “the sound of a person’s true name carries much power and magic, and if it is known to someone who wishes to do that person harm, it can be used against them in a detrimental way — not physically but rather on an energy level, so the true name is never revealed, not even to close friends.”
“Oh!” said the voice with a touch of annoyance, “so you’re not going to tell me what it is. I bet I can guess anyway! It’s Alison, isn’t it?”
“No,” my mother replied, a veil of secrecy closing over her face, “it is not.”
My early years in human form were lived in an old and rambling house of many rooms which nestled comfortably in the very midst of a huge and half-wild garden inhabited by numerous nature spirits, birds and insects, and presided over by Greypuss, a Cat Person of many parts and talents. This magical garden comprised about five acres or more of native flora, including a majestic stand of fine ironbarks and bloodwoods, as well as a wide and colorful variety of exotics such as several large and spreading poincianas which delighted the eye each summer with their display of brilliant, blood-red blossoms, and purple-flowering jacarandas which evoked mixed feelings in the minds of all Australian school children, with the delicate, bell-shaped blooms making their appearance in November, the time for end-of-year exams. Shaded pathways meandered beneath garden arches and trellises festooned with climbing jasmine, its white, waxen, star-shaped flowers like perfumed snowflakes against a backdrop of small, shiny dark-green leaves.
The family which had been selected for me by mutual agreement between myself and the Elders were good people, easy-going and tolerant of the strange little creature that had come among them. Although forgotten on the conscious level, we had all been a close and loving group many millennia ago, so on a soul level I felt safe and secure with this family.
While the ins and outs of my growing human body were strange and unfamiliar to me, conversing with animals was not, and so Greypuss was my very special friend. A large, smoky-gray cat with a thick, soft coat trimmed in silver tones, and eyes like deep pools of liquid gold, she was my protector, my ever-faithful companion, and the willing receptacle of my most intimate thoughts and secrets.
One morning, with nothing better to do, I sought out Puss’s company to ask her some very deep and meaningful questions. She was a wise old cat who never failed to get me back on track with a few telepathic words of good advice when they were needed, but today it was not so much advice I was after, but rather answers to things that puzzled me.
After searching the garden I finally found her in a patch of winter sunlight, grooming her fine coat with the usual sense of thoroughness, concentration and precision that she always devoted to this particular task.
“Greypuss,” I asked, squatting down beside her on the grass, “why is it that others cannot converse with animals and see the colors around all living things? Can’t everybody do that?”
“They can, child, they can indeed,” she purred, giving the very end of a long, sleek, silver-tipped tail a quick and final flick with a pink and roughened tongue. “It is just that they don’t bother to develop these abilities. You may have noticed how most humans prefer to spend their days in idle chatter — chatter about the neighbors, chatter about the weather, chatter about next year’s holiday or last night’s dinner — the tongues never stop flapping! Now if they would learn to be more like cats, keeping their tongues busy in a more constructive and cleansing way which would in turn enable them to meditate at the same time, there is no end to what they would be capable of perceiving and understanding.
“You see child,” she went on patiently, “if one wishes to progress spiritually in life, then one must learn silence, and the art of listening. Too many humans indulge in endless chatter, desperately trying to fill the empty void within, putting their point across and broadcasting their personal thoughts and ideas to the world in general, who on the whole aren’t interested anyway, being distracted completely by their own thoughts, worries and ideas.
“It is only by cultivating peace, calmness and stillness and so allowing the quiet voice within to be heard, that any progress can be made or wisdom attained. Talking endlessly is easy — it is the art of listening that is more difficult to acquire.
“Why do you think we were venerated in ancient Egypt, and actively encouraged to make our homes within the temple precincts? It was because cats are a physical manifestation of the art of meditation. This is why we have come to dwell among the Earth humans — to teach them to reach within through silence, peace and relaxation. We embody this very concept, and we are a living example for them to follow. This understanding is the only way they will ever get to perceive the still, small voice within, and it is our special gift to humankind. Those humans who do not like cats are often the very ones who cannot bring themselves to look deeply within.”
“You know, Greypuss, I’ve never thought of cats in that way — of them being teachers I mean. Are all animals put on Earth in order to carry out teaching?”
“Well, yes, I suppose you could say that,” she replied. “Humans would certainly learn a lot by observing and listening to animals more closely. Trees and rocks too make excellent teachers, you know, because they have been around on this planet for a very long time. Reptiles also, are extremely ancient and knowledgeable — and they make a good between-meals snack as well!” she added, with a knowing wink and a flick of the tail.
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Chapter 5 Aunt Melila’s Wisdom
An ancient and important link shared by our family was music and dance, which filled our home and every day of our lives with harmony and joy. My mother had been a professional dancer before she married, and my Spanish Gypsy father came from a large family of dancers, singers and musicians. Whenever friends came to visit, the evening inevitably ended in music and dance, and many a night I fell asleep to the sound of guitars, castanets, and the beautiful cante jondo, the “deep song” of the Spanish Gypsies. There was one family friend in particular who had the most wonderful voice, untrained except for many years of singing his heart out as he labored in the fields of his native country. His cante jondo never failed to bring tears to the eyes of everyone who heard him, but to me, his voice was a lullaby, sending me to sleep with its sweetness.
In our Romany culture children are very special. They are never made to feel
as if they’re in the way or a nuisance, and they are encouraged from an early age to take an active role in all the affairs of the family. In this way I found it perfectly natural to dance. Everybody else did, whether they were good or bad, so I did too. I apparently showed a natural talent for it from the time I could walk, and so I was encouraged even more, and the result was that by the age of seven, I understood and could follow the rather complex compas, the timing of flamenco music, far better than I could understand or follow the boring arithmetic we were taught in school.
In this happy home environment, there were really only two clouds over-shadowing my childhood. The main one was school, which I loathed and detested beyond description. How often I begged and pleaded with my parents to give up their settled lifestyle and take to the roads in the traditional Romany fashion. In that way I hoped to avoid school and have the time to get on with the important things in life — like dancing, and playing with the cat. Every morning it was the same routine, with monotonous regularity — my mother calling down the hallway, “Ali, get up! You’ll be late for school!”
