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BEYOND TIME – Lexie Green

The record of one woman's journey towards the light, and a guide
for yours.
Speaks of synchronicity, karma, ancient love, and parallel universes.

Lexie, over many years, aided by spiritual guides, travelled from

Australia to America, Mexico, Egypt, England and Wales, meeting
other pilgrims, known and loved in previous lifetimes. Each pointed
the way. Her journey continues.

Lexie Green
© C. Green, 2008
Cover design: Sally Thompson (granddaughter)
Printed by Lakemac Print, Speers Point, NSW, Australia


As Seti states in this book, Lexie would continue to write the

book until "the end of your time in this realm." This was indeed to
be. Just three weeks after finishing the final draft Lexie was fatally
injured on a Sydney road, on 16th May, 2007, and so, we are left to
carry on the publishing as she wanted. We mourn our loss but we do
see the fittingness and the synchronicity involved with this, and I
could scarce imagine the vital and active person that was Lexie
growing either 'old' or feeble. She always needed to fly free. She is
now living in another parallel universe, I am sure.
Over the fifteen years she devoted to writing of her journey,
Lexie became aware of many, many prior existences lived on this
earth, and those mentioned here are not all-inclusive nor are they
chosen for any particular effect, but are an integral part of the
development of her spiritual journey. These are the entities that
channelled to her this book and the whole purpose of the book was
always to 'share the wisdom' of these entities, with those of us who
are open to the message they impart. Lexie and I spent days and
hours working on this manuscript and she spoke to me in depth of
her experiences. I cannot verify that the experiences prove that we
are ' reincarnations ' in this life, but I can verify her absolute
truthfulness and refusal to have a single word altered from that
which she was 'given', and that she had absolutely no doubt
whatsoever that what is written here did in fact take place, in time,
or rather, 'beyond time'. The only editing she allowed was in
spelling and flow, never in content. This adherence to the directions
given via Seti will possibly most limit the professional publishing of
her book, as it cannot be altered to make it more 'saleable'.
However she was assured that it was. Remember, there is no

Colleen Morgan (Lexie’s sister and dear friend)


BEYOND TIME – Lexie Green

PART ONE: 08 1991 Mexico

16 1992 Australia
21 1993 USA & Mexico
61 1993 Mexico, Zipolite Beach
87 1995 Mexico
103 1995/6 Australia
108 1996/7/8 USA & Mexico
PART TWO: 110 2000 England/Wales
143 2000 Egypt
164 2000/2001 Mexico
170 2002 Mexico
239 2003-6 Australia
240 Acknowledgements
241 Contacts


“My life as I lived it often seemed to me like a story

that has no beginning and no end. I had a feeling that I was
a historical fragment, an excerpt for which the preceding
and succeeding text was missing. I could well imagine
that I might have lived in former centuries and
there encountered questions I was not yet able to answer;
that I had to be born again because I had not fulfilled the task
that was given me.”

Carl Jung

1991 Mexico.

Where to begin?
No, I cannot begin at the beginning for that was eons and eons
ago - long past human memory. But then, maybe that is quite
untrue. Is it merely human limitations we accept as truth? Is it
possible on this, our earthly plane, to know all we have
experienced? Perhaps it is not the lack of ability but rather the lack
of accepting our abilities that limits. Right now I do not know but I
think it could be the latter. Maybe after this journey I will be able to
tell you more. Bear with me - a learner seeking ever goodness and
For now I go back only to the first day of February 1991, when I
found myself backpacking in Mexico.
It was hot in Merida. Sitting on the upstairs balcony of the Hotel
Sevilla as I lazily pondered whether to join my friend in our room,
or continue to write my travel journal, I glanced up to see a tall, fair-
haired man in his late forties striding towards me. The very
beginnings of a beard covered his cleft chin and he carried an old,
much-travelled backpack slung over one shoulder. As he passed by
to check room 22 his blue eyes met my brown for just an instant. He

said to the manager following him, "that will do," turned and
walked quickly down the stone staircase leading to the hotel foyer. I
felt strangely shaken, frightened almost, and didn't understand why,
but I knew even then this meeting was important. To what extent I
could never have imagined. It was the prelude to both a spiritual and
physical journey, which would return me many times to Mexico and
change my life forever.
The next morning, sitting on the far side of the balcony, I felt
nervous of a meeting I knew was inevitable. He crossed to introduce
himself. "My name is Larry Adams, but you can call me L.A. It's
what I'm known by now."
When friends cancelled their joint trip to Costa Rica, he'd made a
quick decision to come alone to Mexico. I too, having changed
travel plans at the last minute, found myself unexpectedly at this
small Spanish hotel. In Sydney my campervan was packed for a trip
around Australia when my friend Kath Holmes telephoned from
Mexico, and on impulse I decided to join her there.
My journey to our meeting place was not without incident. At
Houston, Texas, in a hotel recommended at the airport, I'd been
asleep only a few hours when I woke with a start-the word 'key'
going over and over in my mind. Remembering how careful I'd been
when locking the door, I didn't check but felt compelled to ensure
the key was where I'd placed it on the dressing table. Disoriented
from travel and jet lag, I made quite a commotion knocking over a
chair when trying to locate the light switch, and dropped back to
sleep leaving the light on. Next morning it was obvious an attempt
had been made to enter my room. The door was slightly ajar with
the safety chain now holding by only one very loose screw.
„Someone up there looking after me‟, I thought lightly, little
knowing how these words would become so real to me over the
During the next three days in Merida, L.A., Kath, and I spent
most of our time together. We visited the local beach, the markets,
and explored the town, sometimes stopping to buy freshly cooked
cobs of corn from a young woman who had set up her tiny stall in
the zocalo (town square). They dripped with melting butter and
were sprinkled with chilli powder.
After wandering in the heat for a few hours, we would return to
the hotel for a cool shower before relaxing in the old rocking chairs
on the upstairs verandahs. We'd rock gently to and fro, talk
and doze in the warm sun before Kath would boil water on her little
travel stove and make tea. Occasionally other travellers would join
us and sometimes there were cakes purchased from the little bakery
at the corner of the street.
This old hotel was once a grand mansion but now flaking paint
drifts from twenty-foot high ceilings, and tiny leaky bathrooms are
jammed into the corners of once elegant rooms. Limited budgets
dictated the quality of our accommodation but I liked it there. As
the three of us talked, I felt comfortable with this man. It was as if
I'd always known him. We spoke of life experiences and he
expressed his belief and practice of living intuitively. There was
laughter too as he detailed situations where this philosophy had led
him. Although he and I spent only short periods alone, as those
three days passed we became close.
On the third day I wrote in my journal, "I have met a man I know
will be my friend for life." As he was leaving on his planned trip to
explore the hills around Oaxaca he gave me a warm hug, saying in
his South American drawl, "Before you go on to London, why don't
you visit me in my beautiful valley in Georgia?" adding, with a
twinkle in his eye waiting for my reaction, "I'd better tell you, it's a
nudist resort. I work there as the grounds-keeper." Then, in his quiet
but forceful way, "You know Lexie, nothing is a co-incidence." And
he was gone.
Stretch marks from four children and the inevitable all over
droop, not to mention my early Baptist upbringing, made this
invitation far from attractive. However, I thought of him frequently
during the next two months as Kath and I wandered together
through Central America.
On a bus in Belize I finally made the decision not to visit L.A. I
would stay with my original travel arrangements and go to the New
Orleans Jazz Festival before joining my flight to New York. Then a
small black man hailed the bus, and taking a seat opposite attempted
to engage in conversation. Contrary to my usual friendliness, my
mood was aloof as I stared out the window. It was Kath who
brought me back with a start. "Did you hear that guy?" she
exclaimed. "He hit me on the shoulder and said, 'At least you know
nothing is a coincidence, don't you'." I quickly looked towards him

but he had left his seat and was moving to the front of the bus. He
alighted at the next stop. 'Nothing is a co-incidence.'
Those words, the last spoken by L.A. before he left, had stayed
with me. Now my head whirled; places, events and time spun wildly
and held for just a moment. There was an evening a few years ago
when my musician son was launching a C.D. A woman I didn't
know walked through the door and I felt a strong awareness of her
presence. An hour later, passing me in the crowded room, she
accidentally tipped her glass of wine onto my lap. Apologizing, she
said, "Look, this is really weird, and I don't know what happened
there, but from the moment I entered this room it has been as if you
are the only person here. I just don't understand it." I laughed at the
time and didn't make the further contact she requested although
sometimes I wish I had. Why were two complete strangers drawn to
each other in that way?
Also the memory of my last visit to London flashed to mind. I'd
been researching the female line of my family tree and on impulse
had decided to alter plans and visit Benenden, a tiny village in Kent
where my great, great-grandfather lived before migrating to
Australia. After spending a day with the woman custodian of the old
church records, I found information pertaining to my ancestors, the
Bucklands, dating back to the 1600's. As I was about to leave she
walked to a small cupboard, took out a book and handing it to me
said, "You may be interested to know another family left this village
at the same time as yours to settle in Australia. They sent me this
copy of their family tree." Politely, I opened the book at random,
then stood mesmerized as my own name, and those of my children,
leapt from the page. I quickly looked to the cover. It was a copy of
my ex-husband's family tree.
I felt shaken. We were unaware our ancestors had lived together
in that tiny village for generations. Did this explain why at sixteen,
upon first meeting Norman, eighteen, I said to my amused parents,
"Tonight I met the man I am going to marry." Four years later we
did. Maybe too, it explains why after thirty years of marriage, four
children and a divorce we still feel warmth for each other. I thought,
is it really true? Is nothing a co-incidence? Is this how karma really
works? Do we meet and re-meet again and again, lifetime after
lifetime? Maybe, just maybe I‟ll change my mind and visit L.A. in
Georgia. Indecision came to an end in Guatemala.
While feeling it was quite ridiculous, I found myself at a travel
agency changing flights to allow a ten-day stopover in Atlanta. My
arrival would be earlier than L.A. would expect. In fact, if he'd kept
to his travel plans he would still be in Mexico. However, I sent a
message and as I picked up my luggage to exit Atlanta Airport,
there he was. For a moment I wondered why I had detoured to meet
a complete stranger, but as we sat together at his favourite little
restaurant sampling wonderful southern cooking, I again felt the
closeness experienced in Merida.
I must confess I was feeling quite nervous about the nudist resort.
Being a nurse, the nude bodies of others were of no concern but
exposing my own was different. L.A. again assured me that would
not be necessary, so it shouldn't be a problem. On arriving in the
valley, there were no clothes to be seen, not even a fig leaf! I felt
really conspicuous and decided to go halfway. Wearing only a shirt,
my longest, we visited L.A.'s friend Jeannie. Sitting on the porch
outside her caravan we shared home made soup and sandwiches:
Trees, flowers, silence, peace.
That night L.A. and I slept together. Although he had arranged to
stay with a friend, giving me the use of his caravan, I found myself
saying, "You can sleep here too if you wish." It seemed a perfectly
natural thing to happen, but being most out of character, had me
wondering once more.
Why was I here in Georgia? Why was I in the world? What was
the meaning of my existence?
While L.A. attended to flowers and lawns, I spent long lazy hours
swinging in a colourful hammock between trees outside his caravan.
I would read, think, or just be. Sometimes we walked the nearby
hills before soaking in a hot tub at the end of the day, and gradually
I progressed from wearing a shirt to wrapping myself in a towel.
Within a day or two I could swing the towel over my shoulder,
giving what I hoped was a casual look, while at the same time
ensuring it fell low enough to cover my sagging bottom. I know all
attempts to make nudity appear a way of life with me failed
It wasn't easy but I kept a sense of humour about my modesty,
realizing that twenty years previously, with a firmer and more
attractive body, I may not have been so concerned. I was forced to
recognize it was really another issue I was facing. Although in time
I did become a nudist, I was pleased on the night of the Club Dance
for the chill in the air allowing me to cover up a little without being
too obvious.
I left the valley having come to terms with my body image. The
feeling of warm sun on naked skin was a joy I'd never known, or
long forgotten. Beyond all this, L.A. and I knew we had met for a
We talked of many things, including world unity, karma and the
importance of group work in the coming Age of Aquarius. I agreed
with many of his views while arguing strongly against others. In
time I began to reconsider some of my attitudes. L.A. was always
quietly sure of his. At the time, humility, in particular, was not one
of my attributes, nor one I aspired towards.
On the plane to New York I again opened a book L.A. had given
me, and with some amusement read the title: "Esoteric Psychology,"
by Alice Bailey. Two months previously, on leaving my position at
a psychiatric centre, I had disposed of my psychology books. I
didn't realise just how different this one would prove to be. I read
and read; on park benches in New York, in deck chairs at Hyde
Park, London, sitting on sun-drenched castle walls in Lisbon and
curled up in bed at a youth hostel in Bangkok. Some world trip, I
thought wryly, with my head in a book most of the time.

1992 Australia

Home again in Sydney it was months before a letter arrived from

"There is work to be done here, could you help?" was all it said.
How? When? Where or Why? L.A.'s expectation of intuitive
response to little or no information left me bewildered, but I knew I
would go. There followed information regarding a project aimed at
placing a spiritually orientated candidate up for the coming
American Presidential Elections. When this was later abandoned I
cancelled plans to visit U.S.A. and found myself saying over the
phone, "Why don't you come here?" I was surprised spontaneously
making this suggestion, and even more so when he answered,
without hesitation, "Yes, I will." I was still not fully aware of the
extent L.A. places on intuition but I did know he wasn't coming to
Australia just to visit me.
So another airport, another country and we were together for the
third time. During his stay we imported beautiful hand-made
hammocks from Mexico and set up stalls at weekend markets. L.A.
had been doing this successfully in Georgia, but import duties and
transport costs were higher in Australia. Shipments consistently
failed to arrive on time and we were forced, in the middle of the
night, to make frequent and expensive calls to Mexico. We learned
the true meaning of 'manana' to be next week, next month, three
months time or maybe never.
While our business did not prove a financial success, we enjoyed
the market atmosphere as we sat on deck chairs watching the
passing parade. There were friendly exchanges and laughter with
other store holders while we checked their wares for any bargains
we might be interested in purchasing. Balmain food market is
always enticing and a special curry soon became L.A.'s favourite.
From taste alone he worked out the recipe and before long we were
enjoying our own homemade Thai curry through the week.
Hammocks hung inside and on the verandahs of our Sydney
home. All who came to visit were encouraged to rest, while L.A.
pushed them gently back and forth to demonstrate the pleasure and
tranquillity to be gained by owning one. The enthusiastic but non-
financial would most likely be given one as a gift, while those with
funds claimed lack of time for relaxing and did not buy. I realize
now more were given away than sold. L.A. would, if the slightest
interest was shown, describe at length the history, weave, and
durability of his hammocks. He loved them and could never
understand why, in this country of the sun, people did not rush to
buy. As each shipment arrived he would loudly pass judgment on
the colour combinations and the quality. Although at first annoyed
by any defects in the weave, he would soon shrug his shoulders and

smile. "That's Mexico for you," he'd say, and place them on the
seconds pile.
Eventually it was time to close our profitless business and travel
to Queensland in my campervan. L.A. loved the sun and was always
looking for secluded places where he could discard his clothes and
stretch out naked where sea met sand. "I was a monk in an earlier
life Lexie. I kept a garden and had to work in all those thick robes.
That's why I was working at the nudist resort. How I wanted to get
those heavy clothes off!"
He challenged my views on everything and pushed me to look
deeply, never allowing me to dodge an answer. "If your reality
doesn't suit you, change it," he would say. "You can do it Lexie. It's
simple. Energy follows thought. Create your own reality." He
watched for symbols, and would say (when I didn't notice, or
ignored what he interpreted as indicating life directional changes),
"Lex, sometimes you need to be hit over the head before you'll see
what is right in front of your eyes." He checked the moon cycles and
took this into account when making important decisions. At times I
felt living with L.A. was like doing the cryptic crossword when only
he had tomorrow's paper. I know he expected more of me. There
were loving times but he could also say, "Why are you able to make
me mad like no-one else can?"
In time we grew very close, though wary of commitment. It was
necessary if he was to stay in Australia, but he didn't want to make
Australia his permanent home, and likewise, I wasn't prepared to

live in America. At times tension arose, and marriage wasn't really
what we planned or wanted. It was too big a step for us.
After six months L.A. decided to return to America. At the
eleventh hour he spoke of delaying his departure and felt some
rejection from what he interpreted as lack of enthusiasm on my part.
Actually I was still feeling hurt by his sudden decision to leave. I
didn't express these feelings and the next day drove him to the
airport. Destination; Eugene, Oregon. He had never been there but
knew it was where he was to go next. I felt a deep sadness, but L.A.
was looking to a new experience. As for me, my campervan was
again ready for a long delayed trip around Australia.
Four months later his letter caught up with me at Cairns,
Queensland. Thinking he wasn't going to write I'd felt hurt and
angry. Not until our next meeting was I to know he had experienced
similar emotions. By the time contact was made, I was beginning to
enjoy the freedom of the road and meeting fellow travellers. "There
is a project I'm working on. You could help," was all he wrote. I
smiled, and continued touring.
Deep in the desert south of Alice Springs stands a place sacred to
Australian Aborigines. Huge rocks pile high upon each other and
are spoken of as being eggs of the sacred rainbow serpent from their
'Dreamtime'. As I wandered at dusk in this centre of high energy, I
knew the time to rejoin L.A. was again close.
Returning to Sydney, I found a second note. "P.S. We are going
on an Odyssey. Bring your backpack and walking shoes." Enclosed
was a map with a pencilled X marking the location of his camp on
Cougar Mountain. I made my reply equally brief. "If you can, meet
me at the airport. Otherwise I'll find you on Cougar Mountain. I'm
bringing my tent."

1993 USA & Mexico

Still another airport, and there he was, looking tanned and fit, hair
longer now, tied back with a plaited leather band. He spoke of the
Odyssey. "We are going to hitchhike to Shambhala, a guesthouse
near the bottom of Mexico. It's at Zipoliti Beach, on the Pacific
side." I'd expected we were to climb a local mountain. But to hitch
to Mexico in the nineties! I thought there was a strong possibility
we wouldn't make it, but knew it was inevitable we would try. "It
will be O.K," continued L.A. "You will see, for some reason we are
being sent. It may be hard but we will not be harmed. Help will
always be there when we really need it." I wasn't so sure about that;
I'd never hitchhiked in my life, and felt pleased I'd packed my
While camping on Cougar Mountain we made frequent trips to
Eugene. L.A. had a vision of developing a piece of vacant land there
into a market area, which would expand to include other
commodities to serve the community in both practical and spiritual
ways. Although I was unaware at the time, he had some anxiety
regarding my possible impact on this work. Later, when asking
why, considering he felt that way, he had asked me to travel so far
to be involved, he replied, "Just part of the course Lexie, just part of
the course."
Each time we returned by bus from Eugene there remained seven
steep miles to trek before reaching our camp. This wasn't a problem
as those travelling to the mountain by car were usually willing to
pick up hitchhikers. Only once did we experience any difficulty.
Having missed our usual bus we didn't reach the mountain stop until
dusk, when all cars were returning to Eugene. Eventually, picking
up our heavy load of groceries, we commenced the long walk.
We had covered two painful miles when a tightly packed car
stopped beside us, the young driver carefully explaining it was
impossible for him to leave us there, as having once been forced to
walk the whole distance he'd vowed never again to pass a hitch-
hiker on that road. Everyone was required to move even closer
together to accommodate our groceries and us. I sat on L.A.'s knee,
a bag of vegetables sat on mine.
We realized how lucky we were when at the next pick up two
men and their luggage took the last available space - the car bonnet.
The now dangerously overloaded vehicle continued slowly along
the curving road, hugging closely to the cliff face. There was a steep
drop to the valley on the other side. The driver crouched well over
the steering wheel in order to see past the bodies obstructing his
vision, while also depending on them to give warning of any
unexpected danger ahead.

L.A.'s and my eyes met, sensing each other's nervousness, but
agreeing without the need for words, to stay in the car. We were too
cold, too old and too weary to walk any longer, but the relief on
alighting near our camp was palpable. With the aid of L.A.'s torch
we found our way back along the track to the tents. As always I was
pleasantly surprised to find our belongings still there. L.A. never
expected it to be otherwise.
The wild green beauty of Oregon captivates me. Tall mountains
covered with fir trees (Christmas tree country, L.A. calls it), crystal
clear rivers and deep lakes. At one place on Cougar Mountain, a
steaming mineral spring gushes from deep within the earth to form
pools as it continues to flow down the mountainside. The water
adjacent to the outlet is very hot and although some bathers
immerse their bodies for long periods, most need frequent breaks
from the high temperature. We would sit on the smooth rocks to
cool off. Failure to do so could leave me feeling faint. Before long I
chose to use the cooler pool one drop below. Further down, small
children splashed happily in tepid bubbles. Most bathers enter the
springs naked while one man and his large family always stayed
fully clothed.
Many holidaymakers come to the forest. Also dwelling there in
tents, old vans, or less comfortable accommodation, are some of
America's homeless, existing only on food stamps. A few make
jewellery, which they display for sale on fallen logs. These take
only seconds to disappear if word is passed that Ranger Dan has
been sighted in the vicinity.
Our camp was an expression of L.A. ingenuity. Delicious meals
appeared without fail from his camping stove. He enjoys cooking
and the only time I ever saw him nervous was if he suspected I was
showing an interest in preparing a meal. Maybe it was self-
preservation, but he needn't have worried. During the time we lived
together in Australia, he took complete charge of all food
preparation, even producing a gourmet Thanksgiving Dinner for my
family and friends. It left me in awe.
I have no illusions regarding my culinary skills, and on the
mountain I'd sit back and watch fascinated. He'd open a tin here, or
a packet there, throw in a mixture of herbs, add beans or potatoes,
"and anything else that needs using up Lexie," before serving me a
meal fit for a queen. I was allowed to make coffee (he never drinks
it), but rarely his hot chocolate. Just the right amount of milk, four
times as much chocolate as anyone else requires, four teaspoons of
sugar, and he would sit gazing into the open fire, glowing with
contentment as he sipped.
L.A. has a passion for potatoes, and I could be sure that our
packed sandwiches would always consist of thick cold potato slices,
mayonnaise, hard-boiled egg, and cheese. I even grew to enjoy the
combination. Once when shopping in Eugene, I gave these
sandwiches to a hungry man and his small daughter. "All of them!"
said L.A. in complete disbelief. He is a big man, and he loves his
For our shower, a large plastic container hung from the
convenient branch of a nearby tree, and water was quickly heated on
L.A.'s trusty stove. A real toilet seat, sitting proudly amongst the
rocks, was a legacy from a hundred or so 'rainbow people' who,
appearing from nowhere one weekend, connected a hose to a high
spring to bring running water closer to their tents. They invited all
in sight to a barbecue, distributed earplugs to nearby campers,
danced, sang, played bongo drums and smoked pot. After planting a
tree in memory of their visit, they left as quickly as they came.
L.A. took on the responsibility of nurturing the tree. Chipmunks,
a novelty to an Australian, kept me entertained as they scampered
back and forth across the forest floor. As they grew bolder and
would steal our food, I heeded L.A.'s warnings not to feed them. A
large bush rat had once chewed right through his tent. The ensuing
battle was won by L.A, but his beloved tent was damaged. After
that incident he was careful to keep all likely attractions well sealed.
"Always cover the 'smellables'," he would say.
David, our closest neighbour, spent his days creating exquisite
jewellery, or moving quietly through the forest clearing campsites
of trash left by the less responsible. He loved the mountain and felt
its soul. The mountain in return rewarded him. There would be a
cooking pot, found just as his old one finally lost its handle, or a
pair of shoes peeping our from under a small bush. "And just my
size too, Lexie!" One morning as I handed him a cup of coffee, he
sighed and said, "I'd just love to have a coffee pot." He returned that
evening, holding the one he'd found. There was some
disappointment on observing an essential piece was missing, then
laughter when I said, "But you didn't ask for it to be working."
Occasionally he'd bring these treasures to show us so we could
share his pleasure, and often stayed to partake of a meal. L.A.
always had a little extra in the pot for anyone who dropped by.
The other provider in the forest is the dumpster; those arriving or
leaving know of its importance to the homeless. Frequently,
blankets, cooking pots and even food, appeared in, on, or beside it.
These offerings were gleefully sorted through by the forest dwellers
with only individually needed items taken. It intrigued me.
Sometimes when I passed that way I would lift the lid to peer inside.
L.A. was amused the day I arrived back at camp carrying a small
mat, which I placed outside my tent. "Been to the dumpster, eh?
You'll be a dumpster diver yet."
Our camp was apart from others but sometimes we'd walk
through the area known locally as 'Hippy Hollow', where children
ran back and forth between old buses painted in rainbow colours
reminiscent of the sixties. I came to ignore the occasional gunshot
coming from that direction in the middle of the night, and slept
soundly on my thin camping roll.
For a time a father and his eighteen-year-old daughter camped to
the right of us. Each morning they left their tent, carrying all their
belongings in large plastic bags. Returning in the evening, the girl
would sit gazing at the river. She looked sad. I would sometimes sit
quietly beside her. Although rarely conversing she was pleased to
spend time with me, until her father came in sight, when she would
melt into the shadow of the trees. David befriended them and

anything he found he felt could be useful would be placed outside
their little tent.
One day they left and didn't return, leaving a book by David's
campfire. Looking at the title he realised they thought he needed
help. As he read 'How to Change Your Identity in the U.S.A.' he
smiled and said, "I do know they are wanted by the police in
Texas." I wondered then if the fact she'd told me, two days earlier, it
was Texas they'd come from, had any connection with their
departure. I imagine one could become quite paranoid under those
A handsome Norwegian man, and his four-year-old daughter,
both illegal immigrants, also sometimes shared our meal and fire.
Fear of detection made his life tense. He was often depressed.
Driven by anxiety, he could change campsites daily. Many of those
dwelling in the forest knew of his situation and there would be
quick warnings if Ranger Dan was seen going his way.
I met John on a mountain trail. He had been a wanderer for
seventeen years and found the life acceptable, but when he was
loath for me to move on, holding tightly to both my hands, I
realized few women live alone on mountains. Where are the
unemployed women? Are they too expected to exist solely on food
stamps? Do church and charities help? Are they forced to co-habit,
merely for protection?
I didn't ask, but wonder now as I write, what has become of these
prisoners of the forest? Some, it is true, enjoy freedom from work
and settle happily into life as nomads, migrating South when winter
winds, snow and rain, turn paradise to misery. Without a permanent
address and presentable clothing, those wishing to change their
situation would find it nigh impossible to compete in work queues.
Are they forced to live that life forever?
A month passed quickly. With L.A. supervising my fitness
program, I carried my heavy backpack across hills in preparation for
the harder trek ahead. The reward was a long soak in the hot
springs; while I hoped against hope we'd be offered a lift back to
camp. This rarely happened but the refreshing break made the
returning two and a half mile walk easier. L.A. indulged my love of
open fires and could gather wood when I was unable to find another
stick. "Just noticed some pieces up the track as we passed by last
week," or "I threw a few logs behind those rocks for needy times."
Actually it was my enthusiasm for fire that made the 19th
September our starting day for Mexico. Ranger Dan, the deliverer of
messages, saw the glow of our open fire from the opposite side of
the river. He stepped from the darkness to inform us we were in a
limited stay area. It was time to go. With a mixture of sadness and
gladness, we packed up the camp on Cougar Mountain. Many trips
to the dumpster, our last shower under the tree, and leaving the best
cooking pot hidden beneath rocks for possible use next year, we
helped each other on with our heavy packs. One long look back at
that place of warm memories and we started along the track. I had
never carried such a heavy load and was quite sure I'd not make ten
steps, let alone to the bottom of Mexico!

Again I felt glad I'd resisted L.A.'s many requests to carry part of
his tent. We'd discarded mine. As I pointed out to him (the stakes
were high!),"I am much smaller and thirteen years older!" I think
the 'older' finally settled the issue. "You haven't tried that one
before," he said, and let it be. Our plan to have one last soak in the
hot springs was abandoned when the first lift came and we were on
our way.
The driver said, "Hello, I'm an Aquarian." When L.A. answered,
"So am I," we were taken home to meet his family before being
allowed to continue our journey. Soon neighbours joined us
carrying jugs of homemade beer. Knowing this was not our party
time we thanked him and moved to the road, continuing to Eugene
with a traveller from Boston. Our money, as always, was limited but
with rain threatening we found an inexpensive hotel where we
stayed the night.
Next morning, well rested and eager to start, we were ready for
the road. After a short bus ride and only one lift, the end of the day
found us at least fifteen miles from the coast. Looking to the still
overcast sky, we decided to stay at a small camping ground L.A.
had noticed nearby. The thought of standing beside the road in the
rain was not enticing, while our small tent was watertight and cosy.
Erecting it where we had good views of the river, we watched
fishermen come ashore carrying huge catches of salmon. After
heating food carried from Eugene, L.A. lit a candle for atmosphere
before we dropped into a sound sleep. Forced by the weather to stay

a further two days, we studied our maps and managed between
showers to visit the close-by village for supplies.
The third day the sun broke through. Our spirits soared and we
were soon standing by the roadside hoping someone would take pity
on two shivering backpackers needing a lift to the coast road. Car
after car passed with scarcely a glance in our direction. Then, along
came Brad. Driving a two-door Mazda, he too passed by but then
turned back. "Just felt I had to pick you up." I looked with disbelief
at the size of his car, at the size of L.A., and the size of our packs.
"You'll fit. I know." We did.
With L.A. very comfortably installed in the front seat, the only
place left for me was the luggage compartment. I travelled jammed
tightly between two huge backpacks that seemed to have grown
even larger as I looked at them. To reach this ridiculous position
meant wriggling backwards wormlike from the front seat. It was
necessary for L.A. to hold my legs where they intruded into the
front area, to avoid me inadvertently knocking the gear stick. Every
so often he would give them a reassuring pat. This translated to me
as 'I know you are not very comfortable and I'm sorry. It's just that
we must get a little further today. I'd be there if I could but I am just
too big'. I knew he was too big, but thought resentfully, I know just
how long you would travel like this. I tried to move into a better
position. That being impossible, I wriggled my legs frequently to
remind him of my plight, and hopefully make him a little less
comfortable too. Brad was also travelling to Mexico, to meet 'my

girl', making frequent stops as he attempted to telephone her
regarding their planned holiday.
Returning with downcast face from one of these calls he
announced she had gone ahead with other plans. Disappointed but
dauntless, and now with unplanned holiday time on his hands, he
was eager for the three of us to travel together through Mexico. But
we knew this trip was for us alone. It didn't include Brad. Besides,
another nightmarish ride as luggage was more than I could
That night we erected our tent close to Brad's on a deserted beach
and shared a farewell barbecue and bottle of wine. Next morning, as
he turned back to Oregon, he waved, saying, "Write to me from
Mexico. I'll come to wherever you are and bring a bigger car."
Many times over the next two days, as we shivered in wind, rain,
and fog waiting for lifts that didn't come, we wondered if we'd made
the right decision.
As day turned to night L.A. took his usual reconnoitre to find a
safe, and in this case, dry place for us to sleep. He was absent only a
short time. "I've found a great place. We won't even have to put up
the tent. It's under a tree with thick overhanging branches and it's
really dry." I followed gratefully, but hesitated when walking ahead
of me he turned towards the local cemetery gates. "Not afraid of the
dead are you?" he laughed, and kept walking. Not so sure that I
wasn't, I huddled close to him. There wasn't room for a single spirit
to fit between us that night! Dry, fallen leaves formed a soft and

fragrant mattress and we slept almost as soundly as our closest
Early the next morning, with the sky still overcast and wind
blowing coldly from the North, L.A. bought me coffee from a
nearby service station. I barely had time to finish my cup before we
were offered a ride to Los Angeles. Settling ourselves comfortably
on the red carpet that covered the enclosed area at the back of the
van, we smiled broadly at each other.
A drive through the wonderful Redwood Forest, a meal at a
roadside cafe, a stretch by a lake, and we had reached the outskirts
of the city. It seemed to take little time, but night was again
approaching. This certainly wasn't a likely place to thumb a ride and
we decided the bus about to leave for San Diego was too tempting
to miss. "Besides," said L.A., "where could we put up our tent? I'd
do it alone but your children expect me to look after their mamma."
I certainly was not going to argue in favour of sleeping on the
streets of Los Angeles. We agreed to compensate for this
extravagance by eating only 'Trail Mix' for the next two days. 'Trail
Mix', a healthy (and heavy) mixture of grains, dried fruits, and nuts,
is, I am told, carried by every American hiker as the number one
essential item. L.A., being no different, insisted we carry many
At San Diego we walked across the U.S.A border into Mexico
before realising we had bypassed Mexican Customs. I voiced my
concern to L.A. "Too late Lex, we've come too far now to go back."
The heat, coupled with the ache from my heavy pack, had me in
agreement, so I crossed the border without picking up a tourist card
on the Mexican side. I was to remember this at a later date.
Our plan was to travel well down the Baja California Peninsular
before crossing by ferry to the mainland of Mexico, and with this in
mind we caught a bus to Rosarito, a small coastal town close to the
U.S.A. border, catering mainly for American tourists. A huge luxury
hotel overlooks the main beach. We put up our tent on the sand (as
allowed in Mexico), close enough to the hotel to use their beach
shower but far enough away for it not to be too obvious. As we
settled down to cook our evening meal, we watched hotel guests
taking horse rides along the water's edge. We felt sorry for the thin,
undernourished animals. However, the beach was soon deserted.
Sitting outside our tent contentedly drinking hot chocolate, we
relaxed as the setting sun threw colour across the sky. In Sydney the
sun sets over land and I enjoyed the difference. Our sleep that night
was first interrupted by the local police. I didn't need to ask why
they had come, but I was interested in knowing the reply L.A. had
given in Spanish. "I said we were sleeping of course." The next
disturbance was from hotel security. To their one question, "Are you
staying at the hotel?" he answered a definite "Yes," with an aside to
me, "It seems the only way we'll get any sleep around here." The
remainder of the night was uneventful.
Regardless of our interrupted rest, we were on the road by 7.a.m.
and it wasn't long before a group of young Americans greeted us.
"Come in our car. We've plenty of room." This sounded great until
reality dawned, and it became clear they had neither petrol nor
money and were depending on us to finance their trip. It was on
with our backpacks, and friendliness turned to abuse as we walked
away. A Mexican electrician stopped to offer us a ride and talking
and laughing with L.A. he took us through to Ensenada.
Becoming bored when I couldn't understand the language, I‟d
decided to snooze and woke to find we'd stopped outside a motel.
Some time earlier the electrician had worked for the owner, and he
was now quietly demanding payment of the long overdue debt in
the form of overnight accommodation for us. Before leaving he
inspected all unoccupied rooms to ensure we were given the best.
Joy! Joy! A hot shower and a real bed. We were ecstatic. It was
exactly a week since we'd left the forest and we decided to celebrate
with a corona and a Mexican meal. Drawn by the smell of cooking
meat, I, against L.A.'s advice, ate pork at a roadside cafe. Thankful
for the bathroom that night, I joined him in becoming a vegetarian
for the remainder of our time in Mexico.
Our spirits were high the next day when a cheerful Mexican,
driving a very noisy car, enthusiastically piled us and our packs into
his old vehicle. A few miles down the road a loud explosion burst
from under the hood of the car, and midst clouds of billowing
smoke, we came to an abrupt halt. Our friend was very apologetic as
we moved on. The fact we had to walk appeared more distressing to
him than the knowledge he could no longer drive.
The next one hundred miles was with a stern faced man who
appeared to regret his offer of a lift, glancing nervously in our
direction but said n'er a word. The road now led away from the
coast to pass through small isolated villages and we were grateful
when the following driver stopped where he assured us it would be
safe to stay the night, in the grounds of a small roadside motel. The
manager looked at us suspiciously and we could see he was not
pleased with this intrusion. Our benefactor apparently had some
authority, and with night approaching, a bucket of cold water to
wash off the dust of the day and a clean safe place to pitch was all
that interested us. In consideration for the manager's feelings we
crossed to the farthest corner of his ground and made ourselves as
unobtrusive as possible. There was a strong wind blowing and it
took some effort to anchor our tent before we walked further along
the dirt road to a small restaurant to eat our evening meal.
Three hundred miles down the Baja the lifts became few and far
between. Many young men drove past before one took great care to
make us comfortable in his car, only to stop half a mile down the
road where he explained politely that this was as far as he was
going. He then turned back towards the town. We soon realised
every car was doing the same, driving back and forth along the main
drag. Another stopped to speak with us and L.A. asked a few
questions. "We don't go anywhere," we were told. "We're just
looking at the girls."
Americans travelling to popular tourist areas further south rarely
glanced in our direction. If they did, we saw only a look of
incredulity before the car accelerated. "Americans!" said L.A., in
disgust. "From now on I'm going to say I'm Australian too." The
next day was hot and dusty. No one showed the slightest interest in
two weary hitchhikers. Fast losing hope of further lifts we realised it
would have been wiser to have stayed on the mainland. A bus to the
ferry passed by, but we did not have enough money for the fare, and
the closest bank was miles away. Trail Mix became our only food.
I'd continually complained about carrying this extra weight but L.A.
only smiled as I eagerly opened yet another packet. I smiled back.
Having travelled only three hundred miles in three days, we
decided we must return to the border and restart our journey,
planning this time to stay on the mainland in the expectation of
obtaining more lifts. Decision made, we merely crossed the road
and put up our thumbs to travel in the opposite direction. "It's hard
to turn back," sighed L.A., "but it seems we are on a road to
nowhere. If our children don't hear from us Lex, it means we are
lost in the 'badlands'."
Within minutes an American taxi driver, returning from a surfing
weekend to his home in San Diego, came to a halt beside us.
"Haven't seen a hitch-hiker for years on this road. Certainly none
your age. Get in." Driving with the skill of a racing car driver and
pausing only to push long black hair up under his cap, "Helps with
Mexican officialdom," he had us back in the border town of Tijuana
just before dark. "Now you guys take real care. I know. I live here,"
he said as he deposited us in the poorest part of town. "Be careful."
Looking around, realising how conspicuous we were in that area,
I, for the first time since our journey began, felt a real uneasiness. I
glanced at L.A., but if he had any concerns it didn't show. That was
reassuring. "Well come on," he said in a matter of fact tone. I picked
up my pack and followed, ignoring teenage girls who giggled as we
passed. Others stared. It was obvious even backpackers rarely
ventured there. We'd walked only a short distance before L.A.
stepped from the footpath into a school ground, and slipped off his
pack. "Well, what do you think? This should do." I stared in
disbelief. We were only a few yards from the pavement, not much
further from a busy intersection and in full view of both pedestrians
and passing traffic. What did I think? I thought he was crazy.
"In a risky area Lexie," he explained patiently, "it's safer to be
completely obvious in a busy place than attempt to hide in a
secluded one. The only people likely to bother us here are the
police, and seeing it's getting late, even that shouldn't be a problem."
So once more it was up with the tent, mugs of hot chocolate and
welcome sleep. I stirred twice during the night to see L.A. checking
all was well outside. I hadn't heard a thing. Can he sleep with one
eye open I wondered drowsily as I rolled over.
In the morning we woke to find the students already arriving and
our tent fast becoming a centre of interest. Packing quickly, without
making breakfast, we moved to the road. Now the lifts came fast.
L.A. made sure I stood close beside him when 'thumbing' as we had
been told Mexican men find it difficult not to assist a woman.
Certainly, if I stood alone, backpack close-by, there was no need to
put up my thumb for a car to stop. I wasn't sure, not understanding
the language, if it was only a lift I was being offered. However,
when I'd ask, pointing to L.A. "Can my friend come too?" there was
never a refusal and he was given an equally warm welcome.
At the beginning of our new route a Mexican businessman picked
us up and insisted we join him for breakfast as his guests. In a small
cafe where he is obviously well known, we ate our first real meal
for a long time. The joy of not having to eat Trail Mix!
Speaking English, he asked direct questions and in return gave
straight answers to mine. When discussing extra marital liaisons in
Mexico he explained that, in his opinion, Mexican men mainly have
affairs to gain respect from other males. On the other hand, he felt if
wives were to be unfaithful the greater condemnation would come
from other women. He had no respect for those he met for regular
sex, but did have regard for his wife, so was always discreet. This,
he hastened to add, was not the way of all Mexican men. "The
women here have no option but to accept their lives but I'm glad I
wasn't born female in Mexico."…. So am I!
A proud grandfather became our next helper. Showing
photographs of smiling black-eyed babies, he invited us to join him
in the air-conditioned cabin of a huge gasoline transfer truck he
drives regularly across the Sonora Desert. We passed tall cacti and
dry salt basins. Huge expanses of shining white sand stretched for
miles around us and mountains, looking like giant cardboard cut-
outs, loomed high on distant horizons. This haunting beauty soon
had me up from my comfortable but viewless position in the
sleeping compartment. I sat on L.A.'s knee, the discomfort for both
of us overcome by wonderment at the strange beauty of this silent
and empty terrain. Our drive was memorable, but the distance long,
so we were relieved to reach our drop off point. As we thanked our
driver he asked if we would keep him company for another forty-
five minutes while he delivered the gasoline. Feeling some
obligation after his kindness, we agreed. However it was four hours
later, and three o'clock in the morning when he returned two
exhausted travellers to the town zocalo.
We camped right there beside a garden in bloom and woke to the
smell of roses, knowing a shower to be our first priority. L.A.,
always to be depended upon, located one at the back of a
barbershop. The area was far from clean but the water was running,
so wearing thongs, we revelled under a thin stream of cold water,
gladly paying the outrageous price of four American dollars. With
hair washed and coffee freshly brewed, the world looked great, until
lack of sleep, combined with the extreme heat of the day, made
standing by a dusty road almost unbearable. The thought of cool
shade and green grass back at the park was too much for me; "Can
we go back and rest for just a little while," I almost pleaded. "Sure,"
L.A. acquiesced. On the way we passed the bus station just as a
second-class bus was leaving for Guamas and made a quick
decision to pay $19 U.S. each to travel the eight-hour journey. After
all, there was still some remaining Trail Mix. The seats were hard
and the road rough, but compared to standing in the heat it was
sheer bliss.
At Guamas, we felt a sense of achievement. This was the point
we'd have reached if continuing along the Baja and crossing by
ferry. A family, sitting for coolness on the footpath outside their
home, directed us to where (if we hurried) we'd catch the last bus to
the beach. Twenty minutes later we put up our tent by moonlight on
the long stretch of white sand which curves around the bay of San
A quick dip in the surf to cool off, and with a breeze blowing
softly through the open flap of our tent, we were soon fast asleep.
When I woke in the morning I thought I was in Paradise. Mystic
mountains to the left, and in front of us the gentle waters of the bay
washed to shore over smooth pebbles. High on a hill, to the right,
tall rocks stood sentinel over a small town. We were the only
campers though further along the beach a Mexican had set up a tiny
restaurant. He fished at night and we met when I tripped and
became entangled in his line. (If there is an obstacle anywhere I can
be depended upon to collide with it. My children have the same
problem and we have dealt with it over the years by responding with
peals of laughter each time one of us trips, drops something, or
breaks yet another item. It's just the way we are. L.A. never
understood this about me and was always saying, "Be careful," in
the hope of saving me from bruises or pain. It intrigued him how
really hard bumps could pass completely ignored by me and I rarely
There was much merriment as I was untangled, and we were
invited to lunch at the restaurant the following day to partake of the
large fish already caught. I love the warmth, friendliness, and easy
laughter of these people. Mexican hospitality continued as our lone
tent attracted attention. Someone, always a male, would move from
his family picnic to offer us a cold beer, stay awhile to talk with
L.A., make friendly gestures towards me and return laughing to his
It was the early mornings, when the beach was completely empty,
we enjoyed the most. L.A. would sit naked outside our tent as we
ate breakfast of muesli, bananas and yoghurt - one bowl, two
spoons, while watching seagulls dive through waves to catch small
fish. There the ocean washes over masses of small multi-coloured
stones, the ebb and flow of the tides having caressed and polished
them for hundreds of years, until no rough edges remain. We'd pick
up handful after handful, each one as beautiful as the last, then
carefully choosing our favourites, would give them to each other.
Once I found an exquisitely shaped piece of glass, edges rounded to
smoothness by the sea. L.A. placed it in his pocket. I like to think
that one day he will wear it on a leather cord around his neck.
When winds grew gusty we searched the beach for more secure
anchorage. Driftwood and old rusty bars held firmly in place by
rope soon had our small abode secure. I watched L.A. in admiration.
Where did he learn these things? I couldn't understand why the rope
must have just this much tension, and the pole lean just so many
degrees 'that way'. It never looked right to me, but it always worked.
The night of the full moon was special, until a party of young
revellers arrived on the beach. Although, as always, despite the loud
beat of drums, I slept soundly, L.A. was restless.
Next morning there was no mistaking where the party had been.
As is ever the Mexican way, no one picked up the trash. The whole
country is dotted with discarded bottles, paper, plastic, cardboard
boxes and old machinery. Anything of no further use or value is
simply left where it was last used. Once, in a small village, we saw
a car which long ago had stopped in the middle of the road, and
apparently with no one responsible for its removal, there it stayed.
To accommodate the ongoing traffic the road simply broadened at
that point and cars continued on their way by moving to either side
of the now rusty chassis.
The bay held a hidden trial for me, although it never once
troubled L.A. I could emerge from the sea covered in tiny bites,
which would later become very itchy. I'd vow, each time this
occurred, never to enter the water again, but the heat would drive
me to gamble just once more, inevitably with the same result. On
the third day, in need of food supplies, we hitched a ride up the hill
to San Carlos. To our great disappointment we found, not the
expected Mexican village, but enormous American holiday homes.
Quickly returning to camp we accepted the invitation of our
newfound fisherman friend to join him at his little restaurant for
clams and coronas. After lingering one more day it was time to
leave San Carlos beach; place of gusty winds, colourful pebbles,
misty mountains and glorious sunsets.
Three times on and off buses before Tony, an American, and his
beautiful Mexican wife, Regina, picked us up. Returning from
visiting Tony's parents in the U.S.A., they were travelling home to
Puerta Vallarta. Although the metal floor of their open utility truck
was already hot from the burning sun, the thought of just one lift
taking us all that distance made it very inviting. "It takes fifteen
hours to travel there," said Tony. "We'll stay overnight at a little
hotel I know." The road was rough and the heat difficult to endure,
but we kept encouraging each other. Eight hours later, arriving at
the hotel, it took only a glance for us to know we could afford to
pay for a hot shower but not a hotel room.
The bathroom allocated for our use had not been cleaned after the
last guests. We complained to each other, but being very dirty, very
hot and very tired, we decided, in the final analysis, a shower is a
shower, so we paid the unreasonable price asked, and refreshed, set
out to find a suitable place to erect our tent. People milling around a
busy night market looked on. We picked the best site available. It
wasn't good. "Looks like a rubbish dump" grumbled L.A. However,
as we pitched, we felt warmed by the knowledge that Tony and
Regina had offered to take us the remaining distance to Puerta
L.A., having some concern for our safety, spoke to a nearby store
holder. He assured us the market would continue all night, and he'd
keep an eye on our tent for unwelcome visitors. We slept soundly,
awaking in the morning to find the whole area completely deserted.
Every stall was gone. "That's Mexico for you," said L.A. without
surprise. Feeling vague rumblings in my stomach I hoped it wasn't
heralding the diarrhoea L.A. had been dealing with over the past
few days. It was an added difficulty to cope with and he was taking
far too many Lomotil tablets, than I, as a nurse, thought advisable.
"No choice," he said. "I am beginning to space out a bit, but we

have to get on that truck today Lex, so you'd better take some too." I
did, and continued the journey without a problem.
I remember when travelling with Kath, the dreaded 'Mexican
Belly' struck me. We were on a bus. "I guess you could always ask
the driver to stop and go behind a tree," had been Kath's sensible
suggestion. Looking at the treeless terrain through which we were
moving, it had only made me more desperate. Finally reaching a
village, I ran to the restrooms to join a queue, eventually entering a
large room. In the very middle of the area was not one, but two
toilets side by side, placed only inches apart. As a well-dressed
Mexican woman already occupied one, I took the other.
No time for cultural differences I had thought, as I put my head in
my hands. It was less embarrassing than meeting eye to eye. The
woman did what she had to do, and then stood quietly behind me,
patting my back and murmuring soothing sounds. Under the
circumstances I had found it quite comforting. It wasn't until I raised
my head to smile weakly, that she, giving me one last pat, left.
At 4.45am L.A. and I threw our packs onto the back of Tony's
truck and climbed up after them. There hadn't been time even for
coffee, and we had six hours of physical discomfort ahead of us.
Time dragged slowly and it was noon when we reached Puerta
Vallarta. Driving straight through the modern part of the city we
crossed a small bridge, and with the sea to our right found ourselves
in the old section of town. Many large and expensive hotels had
invaded the area, but the cobblestone streets and the zocalo with its
shady trees and cooling fountains were still there. High cliffs
overlooked a small beach where holiday makers could be seen
sheltering from the sun under thatched palm-leaf umbrellas.
Tony stopped the truck outside an old and charming guesthouse
set like a precious gem amidst the surrounding huge structures.
"This is our place," he said, and added, "I don't know if you want to,
but you are welcome to stay as our guests if you like." Would we
like! "You have saved my life," said L.A., and turned to me when I
laughed. "I really mean that Lexie." L.A. was referring to a
congenital heart defect, which could cause his heart to palpitate and
slip into a fast irregular beat. He'd learnt to control his breathing in a
way that would usually return it almost immediately to correct
rhythm, but during those few days we had been under severe
physical stress and the response had not always come. He never
complained, and I, dealing with my own weariness, had failed to
appreciate how much harder (at that point) the journey was for him.
The guesthouse is called "Casa Corazon" (House of Hearts). Time
has passed it by. The heart emblem is to be found everywhere;
carved into the stones of the old, old paths; in the brickwork of the
buildings; and marked out in pebbles on the huge shady balconies,
which look out to sea. Crisp white sheets, comfortable beds, and the
breeze blowing off the ocean brought joy to two far from well
travellers. We showered and rested before walking down the cliff
steps to a little restaurant on the beach. There we ate hamburgers
(cheapest item on the menu) and ordered a beer, a rare treat.
I again felt confident regarding our journey and remembered the
words L.A. had spoken to me in an Oregon forest. "Don't worry
Lexie. It may be hard but we won't be harmed. Help will always be
there for us when we really need it." I thought. It does work. Help
will always come. There is no need to worry.
We walked back up the worn stone steps, and dropped onto our
beds to sleep the remainder of the day and well into the night. The
strain of the journey was still there the next day, and when tension
developed between us, we decided to accept Tony's generous offer
to stay another night before putting ourselves on the road again.
Following L.A. in a country where I didn't understand the language
and culture, and he did, left me sometimes feeling quite inadequate
and dependent upon him, like a child. When thoughtlessly I voiced
these feelings, his patience and gentle manner were sorely tested.
He spoke firmly, "Look Lexie, this is entirely your trip and I
certainly don't want to be your daddy. I'm here as your guide. When
we reach Zipolite Beach you can explore alone. It is my
responsibility to get you there safely." I didn't understand then what
he meant about it being my trip and he being my guide, but when he
put his arms around me I realised not once during our difficult
journey had he made an important decision without asking for my
opinion and agreement. Sometimes I don't like myself.
Walking across cobblestones to explore the old town we bought
fresh bread rolls, yoghurt and bananas for our evening meal. L.A.
checked timetables, planning to take an early bus to the edge of
town to position us well on the road. At 5.00am we said a quiet
goodbye to the 'House of Hearts' and walked through the almost
deserted streets. We felt grateful to Tony and Regina, for their
giving and for providing us with the opportunity to meet two people
with hearts as big as those that decorate their guesthouse. "Call
when you come back," they said.
We didn't pass that way again but perhaps one day we shall. Now
well, and with tensions between us dissipated, we were eager to
move on. There was no problem getting our first ride. It did
however come as a surprise, when at the top of a high hill,
surrounded by dense jungle, we were informed it was time to leave
the car. We watched it disappear down a narrow track leading into
deep greenery. We looked at each other. "We've been dropped in the
middle of 'nowhere'," said L.A. in amazement. We settled ourselves
comfortably on our backpacks in preparation for a long wait. Then,
with a screeching of brakes, came a car travelling very fast in our
direction. We ran. The vehicle stopped within inches of our packs.
Midst much laughter and joking from the occupants, we were
installed in the front seat. Those in the back squashed closer
together to allow the middle-aged man, who had vacated his seat for
us, to be pulled and pushed until he, too, fitted inside the rear area.
The young learner-driver started the engine, with loud directions on
how to drive simultaneously shouted in good humour by a
collection of uncles, brothers and cousins, who had now literally all
become 'back-seat drivers'. We zigzagged back and forth across the
highway, L.A. and I holding tightly to the door, and to each other.
Thankfully it wasn't long before a service station came into view
and L.A. asked politely to be put out. No consultation needed this
Leaning from windows, they waved, called jovial goodbyes, and
all still shouting directions to the daring young man behind the
wheel, the car jerked away. Before long a friendly man and his
teenage son, stopping for petrol, invited us to travel in the enclosed
back area of their bakery delivery van. Small cakes stacked on trays
beside us made L.A.'s eyes light up. They were 'returns', unsold
from an earlier delivery.
Half an hour further on, our driver made a right turn towards the
coast, saying, "I have to go just a little way in here, but I'll be
continuing to Manzanilla in five hours. If you are prepared to spend
time at the beach you're welcome to travel on with us." The beach
being more tempting than the roadside, we gladly accepted the
offer. Purchasing a bag of cakes, we settled ourselves comfortably
under a broken coconut leaf shelter.
We'd barely had time for a swim before the young man from the
van ran back along the beach. "We're leaving earlier than planned.
Can you come now?" We followed, to find a smiling wife, young
daughter and a second son already seated in the van, all willing to
accept less travelling comfort to extend this invitation to us.
The road was bumpy, the day hot and very little breeze entered
the back area we now shared with the two teenage sons. I was
looking forward to camping on the beach, but as we neared
Manzanilla storm clouds were gathering and a strong wind blew.
"You'll be carried away," said Maria Antonia Vargus, who couldn't
comprehend how anyone could sleep in a tent at any time, let alone
on an open beach. "Impossible!" she said. A quick conversation
between husband and wife resulted in an invitation to stay the night
at their house.
Fish, caught earlier in the day by Maria, were scaled, cleaned and
prepared for cooking at the stone tub and water pump, which stood
outside the kitchen door. I indicated my willingness to help but
Maria smiled and shook her head. I stayed to watch, feeling it would
be improper for me to join the men. A salad of finely chopped
tomatoes, chilli and fresh herbs added to the fried fish made a
delicious meal. As is the custom, L.A. and I, as guests, were served
at the same time as Maria's husband. She and the children ate after
us. Interaction between family members was warm, and it was
obvious there was love in that home.
When the boys appeared wearing colourful shirts and perfectly
pressed trousers I realised it was Sunday. They were preparing to
attend church. Earlier, through the kitchen window, I'd glimpsed
them bathing in the half-dark of the courtyard. Bodies were well
soaped as they stood beside the cement trough. A metal jug of clean
water sufficed to rinse off. After dinner we were taken to a house a
few doors down the street to meet our host's employer. We were
also given the use of his indoor shower.
Later, as the men talked, Maria, her young daughter Gabriela,
and I, tried, with the aid of my English-Mexican dictionary, to do
the same. There was much laughter and waving of hands as we
attempted to communicate. We met as women, and different as we
are in both background and experience, we knew a joining, a
warmth to each other, but how I ached to really speak with this
woman; to exchange views on what it is like to be female in our
different countries. L.A. had already explained it isn't the Mexican
way, but how I would have loved to try. I secretly suspect it may be
different between women.
I have a strong faith in sisterhood. After Maria's husband left to
attend to business at the bakery, Maria spoke at length, with L.A.
translating, so I could be included in the conversation. She had not
been so verbal when her husband was present. We were told of the
religious revival meetings she was currently attending at her local
Catholic Church. "I don't know if they are good or bad for me," she
confided. "It sometimes frightens me and I become very emotional."
Turning to look with pride at her fourteen-year-old son she added,
"It's alright for him. He is strong. I am not." The son's shoulders
straightened as he gazed adoringly at her, and I began to glimpse
what it is like to be a mother in Mexico.
It will be very hard, I thought, for another woman to take her
place in his heart. Conditioning starts at a young age and family
bonds grow firm as sons learn to regard themselves as stronger,
emotionally as well as physically. Woman's power depends on
perpetuating the myth that she is the weaker sex. It will be a long
time before feminism arrives in Mexico, but maybe all Mexican
women are not unhappy with their lot.
Maria went on to speak of her inability to sleep at night for fear of
intrusion from both the physical and spiritual worlds. The astral
plane looms strong in Central America.

It was indicated the main bedroom would be ours for the night,
but a quick glance around the small family home made it obvious
someone would be sleeping less comfortably. I thought maybe the
children were to be accommodated by a neighbour. I'd noticed
interested eyes watching when we arrived. After consulting with
me, LA. managed, without offending, to convince our hosts that
with storm clouds now passed it would be comfortable for us if we
could put up our 'companion' in their courtyard. This became a great
event. Candles were brought from the house, and midst much
interest from family and neighbours, we erected the tent. I slept well
but L.A. said, "I battled a few spooks!"
Next morning we were served cinnamon tea, accompanied by
fresh bread rolls from the bakery, before being escorted by the
family to the bus stop. We actually took a passing taxi when the
driver stopped to assure us he knew "just the right place" to get a
lift. He was right. We had barely enough time by the roadside to
clean our teeth and for L.A. to shave, before a utility van pulled up
beside us. A confident and outspoken woman, followed by a quieter
husband, bounced from the front cabin to help hoist our packs into
the open back of the van. They were on their way to visit his
parents. I stared in disbelief at the T-shirt she was wearing. Printed
across the front was "I am an alcoholic. I have a problem - one
mouth, two hands." I imagine her mother-in-law, as well, cannot
read English. (Many second hand clothes from U.S.A. are sold in
Central America. The previous year when travelling in Guatemala,

I'd seen a very macho-looking man wearing a T-shirt, quite
oblivious to the fact he was displaying a feminist slogan.)
We had hoped for our next stop to be Acapulco and they were
travelling almost the entire distance. The trip would take most of the
day, so we undid our bedrolls to make sitting on the burning metal
floor more bearable. This section was the hardest. There was no
protection from the hot sun as we bounced over rough roads, which
continually wound around mountains. L.A.'s weight kept him stable,
but I had to hold tightly to both the side of the truck, and to him, to
avoid being thrown from side to side each time we took yet another
of the many bends. When petrol fumes began to filter through to my
side of the vehicle I became nauseous and close to tears. L.A,
observing my distress, insisted on changing places with me, saying
the fumes would not be a problem to him. I doubted if this was true,
but accepted his offer as I really felt I couldn't continue the whole
day in such discomfort.
Every so often the car would come to a halt and the woman, using
sign language, would indicate I was to follow her into the bushes
growing beside the road. Each time I was handed a small square of
toilet paper, leaving no doubt as to what was required of me. I
obliged, even if the need was not there, while wondering if L.A. was
being equally well looked after on the other side of the truck. At
times a loud banging from the front cabin would attract our
attention, before coke and delicious sandwiches of ham, tomato, and
chilli were handed to us via a side window. Once more I marvelled

at the warmth and generosity of these people, and vowed to study
their language before again visiting Mexico.
At 7 pm the truck stopped at a crossroad on the outskirts of San
Marcos. Our destination lay straight ahead, while they must take the
left hand turn. With apprehension I looked at the nearby police
compound, suddenly remembering my lack of an entry permit to
Mexico. Guards, armed with large guns, started to show an interest
in our activities as we checked the area for a level campsite. We had
three possibilities in mind when L.A. thought it would be prudent to
take the initiative, and left to speak with the now rapidly gathering
constabulary intently watching our activities. He returned to say
with a grin, "Let's pack it up, we've got a really safe place."
Willing hands helped transfer our belongings to the police car
park. They apologised. Due to security regulations, we could not be
taken within the compound itself but guards would extend their beat
that night in order to watch over us. Two buckets of water drawn
from the compound well were supplied to wash off the dust of the
day's journey. I also rinsed my undies, hanging them on the side of
the tent to dry. Next morning they were still a little damp, but with
the temperature rapidly rising it wasn't a problem. I put them on.
It is only a short ride from San Marcos to Acapulco. I'd heard a
lot about this ultra-modern tourist town, said to be the most
International in all of Mexico and I hoped to do a little sightseeing.
The local bus deposited us, not as expected in the up market tourist
area, but at the very busy and very neglected market place. In this

part of town the footpaths are poorly maintained and great care is
needed to avoid tripping over or stepping into watery holes.
Before making the necessary visit to a bank I stopped to locate
lipstick and comb. I dreaded these times when perfectly groomed
Mexican ladies would turn to stare at my wild curly hair, which
now, as a result of sea water and sun, was completely out of control.
Eyes would then move down to take in my unironed shirt and
shorts. I always took special care to wear the very best of my
limited wardrobe at these times but everything now showed the
devastating results of frequent washings in seawater. L.A. always
watched my efforts with quiet amusement and would offer
encouragement. On that day he'd said, "You know, you look
surprisingly good considering what we've been through." I'm not
sure that really helped!
Breakfast was the next pressing need. I was finding Mexican
cuisine, outside tourist areas (which cater to western tastes), far
from my liking. L.A. could always enjoy eggs and refried black
beans, especially if they came accompanied by potatoes. I was
beginning to view starvation as preferable to any of them. How I
yearned for a fresh salad sandwich on wholemeal bread! Leaving
L.A. eating breakfast at a local café, I walked up and down the
street in search of something I could eat.
Finding just one small banana I returned, to order only coffee. My
mood wasn't good, or helped by the sight of L.A. so obviously
enjoying his meal as he chatted with the pretty young waitress. On
the way to the bus stop we passed an orange juice vendor and the
day brightened. As the bus was about to move, L.A. purchased a
small bag of juicy apples from a hand reaching up to the window.
Life was good again. We had decided to forgo visiting tourist areas
but as we wound our way upward, around high hills, I glimpsed
magnificent beaches and bays.
Leaving the bus at a 'likely' place to catch a lift, I sat under a tree
while L.A. made his usual tour of the neighbourhood. He returned
carrying ice blocks, took a seat on his pack and we both sucked
contentedly while watching cows, dogs and chickens wander back
and forth across the road.
It wasn't long before we attracted the usual group of young
Mexican males, wanting to know where we had come from and
where we were going. Most, having travelled no further than nearby
villages, were wide-eyed when L.A. attempted to explain the length
of our journey. Few recognised the map of Mexico he drew in the
dust. All were obsessed with sex and always the main interest was
L.A‟s and my relationship. I didn't ask what he told them, but they
would look at me and giggle. It didn't need an understanding of
Spanish when he spoke of long torturous hours on the back of
trucks. He would pull a pained face, rub his buttocks, moan and
jump about. It made me laugh too.
No lifts were forthcoming that day. With our destination drawing
closer we were anxious to keep moving. Deciding to again check
bus timetables we found a bus to Escondido due soon and paid $10
US each to book seats for the ten-hour journey. When the bus
arrived I didn't think it possible that we, or any of the other waiting
passengers, would be able to board this crowded vehicle. It
appeared to me every seat was already occupied by boxes, fruit,
vegetables, baskets, rolls of wire, firewood, live chickens, people
and babies. The experienced officials who had already sold the
tickets knew otherwise. They were hustling everyone forward. I
started to move too, feeling it essential that we be towards the front
of the queue.
L.A. held tightly to my arm, he knew how the system worked. All
who pay get on the bus. "It is better," he explained, "to stand on the
entrance steps than be squashed in the aisle without fresh air or
anything to stabilise you." He was right. Entering last also gave us
the advantage of being able to see out the front window. Each time a
passenger left the bus it was necessary for us to step out first. This
was a frequent happening as there are no allocated stops. Each
passenger individually picks the most convenient place to alight,
then calls loudly to the driver to alert him of his intention. Other
passengers join in to ensure he gets the message. Many hands assist
with the passing out of belongings.
In Central America I have seen live chickens, bunches of bananas,
even babies, disembark via a bus window. Since that time, I have
travelled on some of Mexico's ultra- modern and very comfortable
buses, but riding the 'chicken buses' of Mexico is an experience not
to be missed by the adventurous. I have been fed freshly picked fruit
by generous grandmothers and handed sleeping babies to nurse.
Not long into our journey a seat collapsed. Amid much laughter,
the former occupants, without complaint, travelled the remainder of
the distance perched birdlike above it. In all probability it is still that
way. At least they had a seat. No one, except me, seemed the least
perturbed at the prospect of standing for hours on a bumpy bus.
Good spirits is Mexico's blessing and its curse. Brotherhood exists
there but change is slow to happen while everyone accepts the status
quo. One itches to take charge and organise some working order
into the system.
It was 12.30am when we arrived at Puerta Escondido. We walked
through the well-lit tourist area in search of a camping ground. By
the bay, under a palm tree, we found the perfect place to pitch. As
the wind began to caress the flap, we pulled close our sleeping bags
and slept as only the very weary can. The days had been hot, we
were both well tanned, and I was wearing a silver anklet L.A. found
on the way.
There had been very hard times but these were far outnumbered
by positive experiences. L.A. and I had become very close, and as
he stood outside the tent that night, he took a deep breath and said,
"Lexie, if our children could only see us now!" I felt a wave of
contentment flow over me.
Dogs barking, children playing, and much movement around the
bay had us up early. This activity was instigated by the return of the
fishing boats with their overnight catch. Small boys happily and
expertly helped with the folding of nets. Wives, mothers and
children set up a makeshift market under palm trees.
The townsfolk arrived to bargain and to buy. It seemed to be more
a social gathering than work. Women cleaned and sliced large fish.
They chatted together, small children playing at their feet. A few
men stayed to attend to the larger nets but most left, presumably to
have a well-earned sleep. After watching for a while I returned to
the tent to make coffee. L.A. wandered off to check out the camping
ground and came back with a handful of almonds gathered from
under a tree.
Breakfast was to be at a restaurant, and I was enjoying my shower
until I looked up to see two intense black eyes observing me
through the broken roof. The higher roof of an adjacent building site
provided a perfect view into the women's shower room. Quickly
wrapping a towel around me, I glared at the 'peeping tom' who,
looking shamefaced, left.
We were excited about eating in the tourist area, especially me.
When we reached a café serving papaw and yoghurt I needed to go
no further. We would have stayed longer at Puerto Escondido but
knowing we were not really tourists, we packed up our belongings
and moved on.
It took an hour and a half to travel by bus to Pochutla. On arriving
we stopped at the market to buy food supplies. It was all activity
and tantalising smells. Following the delicious aroma of cooking
meat we found a row of family-run restaurants. These food stalls
form the backbone of all Mexican markets. Blackened, well-used
saucepans tell of the many meals served, and chilli bottles stand in
line. Grandmothers, their daughters and granddaughters cut, cook
and stir. The youngest runs back and forth to other stalls if extra
ingredients are needed. All smile a welcome and tell you how tasty
their meals are. We decided to order soup, still not confident enough
to partake of the meat, which smelled so inviting. We ate at a small,
plastic covered table which stood a few feet from the cooking area.
What a change from rice and beans!
My mouth watered as we shopped around the market. Papaw,
bananas, tomatoes, onions and cheese joined fresh bread rolls in our
food basket. We were also looking for a camp stove, as the small
gas cylinders required for our present one were unprocurable there.
L.A. lingered long over handmade coke cookers before we checked
the saucepans and frying pans spread for display on the footpath.
My hat, being lost, needed replacing but this proved a difficult
task. Mexican women do not wear hats. In desperation L.A.
suggested I buy the male variety, a sombrero, but the reaction of the
male seller made it clear this alternative was definitely not
appropriate. When I finally located one, the fact it was of poor
quality and didn't look good or fit well was no longer important.
The sun was already high and we were nearing Shambhala. We
didn't know how long it would be necessary to stay there. "As long
as it takes," said L.A.
The next stop was the orange juice stand, where manual machines
wielded by strong skilled hands produce a glassful in seconds. We
always find it hard to pass these places without buying. The fruit is
invariably sweet.
Another visit to the bank, the last available before Zipoliti Beach,
and it was time to catch a local bus to Puerta Angel, a small village
built around a cove. Rocky promontories block out the rough sea
and protect it‟s two beaches which curve around the bay. Extra
restaurants, opened since L.A.'s last visit, were a sure sign more
tourists were being drawn to this area where once only the most
adventurous of backpackers would be found.
Zipolite Beach is a short bus ride or a forty-five minute walk from
Puerta Angel. We elected to walk. L.A. was surprised, but not
pleased, to find the dirt road had been gravelled since last he was
there. On reaching the beach I slipped off my sandals to walk on
wet sand. As I felt the warm ocean water lap over my feet, I stopped
to look around me. Here was our destination.
From a desert in the centre of Australia, I had travelled thousands
of miles to reach this place.

MEXICO Zipolite Beach

Thirty years ago, a young woman from Los Angeles, holidaying

with two friends, arrived at Zipolite Beach. A hill stands high at one
end of a long stretch of white sand. Large rocks at the base jut out
into the sea. Sometimes a powerful rip can develop and snatch the
foolish should they ignore warnings and challenge its mighty power.
The natives of the area called it 'malo' (bad) and would not venture
Looking along the empty beach, Gloria Hope Johnson's soul
stirred as she felt her Mexican roots calling. Climbing high on the
hill, she knew she was its keeper, and in her own way staked her
claim, vowing to God to return and fulfil her destiny. Shambhala,
restaurant and guesthouse, now stands witness to the strength, love,
and endurance of that remarkable woman. She battled the elements,
officialdom, and the very mountain itself to bring her dream to
Returning with her two young children, a tent, and three hundred
dollars, she set to work. With a bucket, spade and bare hands, stone
and earth were moved to build their first shelter. Shambhala is now
a Mecca for budget travellers from all over the world, and Gloria's
warmth extends to all who visit. The death of her only daughter and
her fisherman husband, whom she met on the beach, is sadness
endured. Her son now lives in U.S.A.
The locals working for Gloria receive her love and care, and
equally a quick reprimand when required. "They are paid the
highest wages in Oaxaca State," she sighs in exasperation, as she
repeats the simplest directions again and again. "Please, please shut
the refrigerator door," can be pleaded ten times before she explodes.
They love her, and she them. Complacent in her assurance of
continual care, they treat their workplace like the home it is; the
babies keep coming and Gloria's responsibilities keep growing.
They laugh at her good-humoured protests when told of yet another
imminent birth. "Give me a chance you guys," she would say and
throw up her hands in mock horror. Gloria's eyes are everywhere. In
the middle of conversation or coffee, she could suddenly rush to
rescue a child from a precarious position before lecturing the
unconcerned mum who failed to comprehend any danger. I once
witnessed a toddler crawling across a roof, the mother close by,
seemingly oblivious to the possibility of an accident.
Life for Gloria is always busy. While exquisite beadwork and
other creative talents lie dormant, she tends to business and
negotiates with casual workers to improve and maintain buildings.
"Not exactly as I want it done Lexie," she would say, "but Mexican
males don't like taking orders from a woman. I know the need to
compromise, or there will be no workers here tomorrow."

Once when the wet season decided to take charge, Gloria's private
bathroom slipped right off the mountain. Another year, under
similar conditions, the whole office had to be rebuilt. The hurricane
of 1997 did nearly 80% damage to Shambhala. Gloria wrote to me
"We are alive. We came face to face with death, and we are still
here. We are blessed, and alive. Fear is in the air." It is with both
acceptance and determination that Gloria keeps up the fight and her
unfailing vision for Shambhala alive.
Water for bathing is supplied by a well, and after dark many of
Zipolite's poorer residents can be found on Gloria's property, using
it for their own needs. She is aware of this but her kindness ignores
the intrusion. Difficulties with the electricity supplier sometimes
result in the current being cut off. When this happens Gloria takes
things into her own hands. A young agile Mexican shimmers up the
pole to reconnect, a piece of crooked wire his only tool.
Shambhala land extends to the bottom of the hill. It was there,
under a long thatched cabana, open to the sea, that L.A. and I placed
our tent by the hammock-hook No. 62. With clean sand carried
laboriously from the beach to form a soft mattress under our thin
sleeping mats, a driftwood table, a bright hammock, and our tent
tarpaulin laid flat in front of the tent to keep out the sand, I thought
it the best home I'd every had. We wrote 62 Ocean View Place across
the tarpaulin, and returned to the village to purchase the stove and
cooking pots L.A. had inspected earlier.
He set up his kitchen under the overhanging branches of a tree
growing behind the cabana. He would light the coke stove and
watch closely until blackness turned to a rosy glow before
beginning to cook. One morning spear fishermen with their catch
fresh from the sea passed by our tent. Although L.A. attempted to
discourage me, I broke the unwritten law which made the kitchen
L.A.'s sole domain. Whether it was lack of local knowledge
resulting in our purchasing an unpalatable fish, or my lack of skill,
the wonderful breakfast I planned for L.A. was a dismal failure. I
can still see that grey coloured fish which refused to brown and
tasted like castor oil. Never again did I, in any way, interfere with
meal preparation.
We spent little time on Shambhala hill, but surfed, and lay naked
in the sun. Although not allowed by law, nudity in certain areas has
long been accepted at Zipolite Beach. Two weeks passed.
We were careful not to speak to Gloria of our mission and made
little contact with her or anyone else. We waited. Then came the day
when she walked to our tent and demanded, "Why are you here?" "I
don't want to frighten you," said L.A. "but we have come for you."
She left without showing any reaction, or remarking on his
Two days later Gloria arrived at the cabana followed by giggling
waitresses bearing delicious food, which she invited us to share with
her. A white dress, brightly embroidered at the neckline, fell softly
over her full figure. With her dark eyes and long black curly hair
she made a vibrant picture as she sat in front of our tent, the blue sea
a backdrop. She spoke of hard but beautiful times when she, her

husband, and the two children were the only ones living on the
beach. Only two tourists came by in the first six months.
We didn't see her over the next three days and she wasn't at the
restaurant when we passed that way. At dusk on the second day, as I
stood looking towards Shambhala I felt a strong foreboding. "L.A.,"
I said, "there is something terribly wrong up there," before I fell to
the ground doubled up with acute abdominal pain, accompanied by
an overwhelming sense of fear. I was shaking and had to go inside
the tent. I knew I must be where I couldn't see Shambhala. The pain
left immediately but it took courage to again step outside. When I
did, the shadow had passed, calmness prevailed, and I knew when I
looked to Shambhala, all was now well there.
Gloria was to explain later, "For two days I suffered severe
abdominal pain accompanied by a soaring temperature, then it was
as if something deep inside of me wrenched itself free and I was
immediately well." My experience at the bottom of the hill
happening at the precise time as Gloria's relief I no longer dismiss
as coincidence. I have travelled long enough in Mexico to know
there are realities other than those I have known and accepted all my
Gradually it became clearer why we'd made our long and difficult
journey to reach Gloria. Still it was a complete surprise to me (I
doubt for L.A.) when I woke one morning to say, "I am the one to
speak with Gloria. I am going to Shambhala." Stepping onto the
sand and turning towards the hill I looked back at L.A. "Be with
I found Gloria working in the restaurant. "Can I have a word with
you?" She looked surprised. "Yes." "Can it be in private?"
I followed to her small house adjacent the restaurant. The living
room is completely open on one side, allowing a panoramic view of
the entire beach. For relaxing, instead of chairs, there are
hammocks. The unmarried girls who work at Shambhala sleep there
at night. One of Gloria's many duties is to be guardian of their
virginity. This is expected of employers of Mexican girls who live
away from their parents. A wooden ladder leads to Gloria's sleeping
quarters. She is aware, as I imagine are the parents, that her token
efforts do little to curb youthful Latin passion.
I spoke with emotion. "Gloria, I've come to tell you something,
which if you accept as truth, could turn your world upside down. It's
entirely up to you. I come only as a messenger. You have done the
work you were to do here, and done it well. There is other work for
you to do - important work, but it is entirely up to you. I come only
to give the message."
I had no idea what Gloria's reaction would be, nor had I tried to
guess. In fact, I didn't know exactly what I'd come to say until I said
the words. I wonder now why I wasn't surprised by what followed.
She cried, and I with her. "I know, and I have been waiting for the
messenger I knew would come. But many people here depend on
me. I have gathered a huge extended family and must look after
them as well." I understood what she was saying, and how she will
balance her responsibilities I do not know. But I do know, wherever

she is and whatever she does, humankind will always benefit from
this spiritual lady.
Walking slowly back along the beach to L.A. I pondered on all I
had learnt during the last two years. I understood now why Kath
telephoned me at just that time. Nothing is a coincidence.
I was to go to Mexico to give and be given opportunity. My
journey with L.A. began long before this one was made. I felt a
stirring deep within me as I realised this was but a step on the road
yet to be travelled. That evening, squatting by the ocean edge,
cleaning cooking pots with sand, I came in contact with earlier lives
and felt one with all nature. I was at peace.
With our mission accomplished, it was time to leave but we
loitered a little longer to enjoy sun and sea. I would sometimes sit at
Gloria's restaurant and look along the beach to the many small
restaurants and hammock places. These, following her lead, have
opened to cater for the rapidly developing tourist trade. Due to her
fearlessness and her persistence, all now own their own land, and
Gloria need no longer hide in the little cave at the back of her
property because police come to arrest her for political activities.
The day before we were to leave Zipoliti, I walked along the
beach in search of three Americans we'd had dinner with the
previous night. A question asked then gave me food for thought.
"Tell me one of your passions?" I had tried a flippant answer but
was uncomfortable doing so. The conversation changed and I felt
relieved of the need to give an honest one. The question went over
and over in my mind, bringing up many possibilities. I dismissed
them all. It became important that, before leaving, I give my real
answer. This was difficult, as I did not know their family names or
where they were staying. I looked up and down the beach without
success, and had decided to give up the search when a young man
I'd met two weeks earlier walked towards me. "So you met my
parents last night."
For a moment I was confused, then remembered he'd spoken of
them coming to Zipolite. Neither they nor I knew their son was
aware we'd met. We'd not spoken of him the previous night. I was
searching for the woman travelling with them. Following his
directions I found the three at a restaurant. I sat beside the woman.
"I have come to tell you the real answer to last night's question. I no
longer have any passions."
They offered many suggestions but although feeling some
emptiness inside, I could not be convinced it was other than I
thought. I told them L.A. and I were leaving for Oaxaca and
planned to stay overnight at San Jose Del Pacifico, a small village
located in mountain country between there and the coast. They
spoke of Mexico's magic mushrooms growing nearby and said I
should try them. To my surprise (where do these words come
from?), I said, "I will." I have never taken illegal drugs or smoked
marijuana, but having voiced the words, my course of action was
set. As I left, they called after me. "When you do, ask the mushroom
what is passion?"
At this mountain village wild flowers grow thickly by the
roadside and clinging vines splash pink, blue, yellow and green
across fences and house walls. Framed by high mountains on all
sides, nature flaunts her beauty there. We rented a hut perched high
on the side of a hill. Through the open door one looked deep into a
wooded valley; a valley so far below only the tops of the trees,
stretching far into the distance, could be seen. The owner of the
property, a farmer, had cut sharply into the side of a hill to build two
adjoining huts, leaving a ten foot level space in front of the cabins
before the hill again dropped away. The accommodation was basic,
one small room containing two very hard narrow beds, two rough,
hand-woven Mexican blankets and a few candles.
To the left of the huts was what we first thought was a well - it
was a holding area for clean water the farmer pumped down from
high mountain springs. L.A. enquired about the locality of other
essential facilities. Our host dismissed this with a snort and a wide
sweep of his arm. "But you can go anywhere. Isn't it beautiful!"
L.A. laughed, feeling there could be no argument with that. The
entire hillside was covered with masses of tall white flowers. I later
pressed two between the pages of my journal. The blossoms, now
turned brown, are rather battered from their journey, but I treasure
them still.
Looking around, I took in the beauty, while hoping that for
privacy the adjoining hut would remain vacant. Leaving our
backpacks, we picked our way down the dirt track, through the gate
I could never open, around the woodheap, past the barking dogs and
the staring children, to bring us back to the road.

For me it was coffee time again, and we found a tiny restaurant,
just one small room with two tables tucked into a corner. The menu
was limited to coffee, black beans, rice, and eggs, but for once the
food was unimportant to me. In the centre of the room, quietly
crocheting and overseeing all proceedings was the tiny grandmother
of the house, her face calm and wise. She was very old, her skin
surprisingly smooth and her features still beautiful. She sat on the
dirt floor beside the stove, legs unseen under a long black skirt. I
felt she was crippled and had taken up her position for the day.
Each time we came past she was there, in the same place, quietly
dominating the room with her gentle presence. Teenage
granddaughters, hovering close by, quickly responded to every
softly-spoken direction. Twisted arthritic fingers skilfully
manipulated handwork, which fell in a trail of white across her lap.
Is it a shawl? I wondered.
Sharing centre stage with Mamma Maria was a huge clay stove,
obviously hand moulded in the very position it now stood. The clay
had dried pure white and flames licked upwards from deep round
holes left open above the firebox. It was alive! The whole scene was
so foreign and timeless. I wanted to stay and held L.A. there by
making my coffee last as long as possible.
An American tourist who joined us at the table volunteered
information as to where mushrooms could be purchased. Those we
bought, we were told, were the last available in the area; two
handfuls to share between us. Early next morning I struggled a little
way down the steep side of the hill, carrying my bedroll, water
bottle and three juicy oranges cut into quarters. (I'd been told by the
more experienced, sucking oranges can be helpful if one has a bad
trip). I was not nervous. I was ready for the unknown, secure in the
belief L.A. had agreed to 'watch over me' from the hut above.
I slowly ate the mushrooms while asking, three times:
"What is passion? What is passion? What is passion?"
Resting on the bedroll spread under a mass of pure white blooms,
I closed my eyes, following instructions given at the beach, "If a
spiritual journey rather than a high is your aim." At first I thought
nothing was going to happen, but after what I judged to be
approximately fifteen minutes, there was a soft swishing sound
followed by a scratching on the ground beside me. A small animal I
thought, but kept my eyes firmly closed.
My trip started. I was at a fairground. Very softly at first, but
gradually growing louder, I heard the rhythmic beat of drums. A
procession was approaching. All was gaiety and laughter.
Simultaneously hundreds of small Mexican-type motifs, each
encased in identical frames, and each an individual picture in itself,
joined together to form a long continuous roll of brilliant
psychedelic colour which unwound itself across the sky. I watched
enchanted before remembering the reason I was there.
Facing me was a row of brightly decorated stalls. To each stall
holder I carefully explained why I had come. I walked from one to
the next but the trip "What is passion?" was not to be found. All
attempted to have me buy, each describing at length the wonders of
the trips they had to offer. My answer was always the same. "No
thank you. I have come for only one special trip." It wasn't there.
Disheartened, I decided to walk once more around the outskirts of
the fairground to ensure I hadn't missed a stall.
Coming to a high stone wall I stopped. I was sure I had already
passed that way - how could I have missed seeing it? Two
enormous, beautifully carved wooden gates were set in a tall stone
archway. At first I thought they were locked but as I pushed hard
they opened, and I stepped into a small courtyard. I knew I'd left the
fair because here all was quiet and serene.
The square was empty, except for a small man standing behind a
table under an overhanging tree at the farthest end of the courtyard.
Prominently displayed were numerous "What is passion?" trips. I
chose one before returning through the ancient gates to the
fairground. I didn't know anyone; being alone, when everyone else
seemed to be in groups was not a problem. Finally holding my trip
in a brown paper bag I felt relaxed and found myself enjoying the
Colour was everywhere. Balloon sellers passed by, their floating
spheres of iridescent pink, yellow, blue and green held together by
swaying threads of gold and silver. Joyful parents wearing bright
clothes, purple shirts, red braces and striped jeans, carried or led
happy children to various entertainments. A feeling of joy and
expectancy embraced the whole area. Movement was constant.
Parades of Disney-like characters danced in and out of view. The
mood was contagious and as I climbed into an open carriage at the
rear of a small carnival train I'd forgotten about the trip I'd spent so
much trouble in purchasing. This was fun; life was all merriment
and festivity. Then I realised I was no longer alone in my carriage.
There was another - a lady, sharing my ride.
The train started and I looked back to see L.A. running fast
towards us. With the little engine puffing I feared he may not reach
us in time. Then with one last mammoth effort he was there.
Together we pulled him aboard. Out of breath he dropped to the
floor. Now there were three of us on that ride. The lady and I both
put our arms around him so he was enclosed within our arms. Love
flowed freely between us. We were one. Sometimes it seemed I was
the lady and sometimes she me. The bonding was precious and
became more so as our journey continued.
The scene changed. I was experiencing past lifetimes. Lives spent
with L.A where we'd lived, loved and worked together. It was never
easy. Lifetime after lifetime found us caught in a battle of wills. It
was as if we were living a chess game. He would make his move,
and then it would be my turn to change direction as we played out
our many lives together. It was always a challenge which we chose
to continue simply because it was where we wanted to be.
Sometimes I felt powerless, though always there remained great
respect between us and we would rejoice if either made a special
move, even if it blocked the other's way. We would laugh then, and
love. There were times too, when we were very determined to stay
with our own decisions and I could be angry with my two
companions who had, uninvited, joined my ride. No anger was

directed back to me, and as the lady continued gently to enfold us
with her love I would again know my own.
Four hours after taking the mushrooms I opened my eyes to see
soft white blossoms and blue sky above me. My trip was finished. I
had my answer: passion is pure emotion.
Having answers is one thing, implementing them is another. My
present emotions were running rampant and L.A. was unprepared
for my angry accusation, "You're a manipulator L.A." He watched
quietly as I searched frantically for a comb while telling him I had
to go to the village to get something to eat. What I really wanted,
was desperate for, was coffee.
After emptying the contents of my small pack onto the bed and
further searching proving unsuccessful, I demanded help from L.A.
He opened his travel pouch and handed me the small comb he'd
bought in Australia as a souvenir. It was too fragile for my thick
curly hair and (as L.A. says) I gave only three quick swipes before
the comb broke. He looked most concerned about this and started to
speak of how fond of it he was, "and it fits right into my travel
pouch." I started to mumble that I'd buy him another when I
returned to Australia, before it all became too much for me, and I
dropped face down on the bed. I punched the pillow before burying
my head in it. Never have I experienced such emotion. I hit out the
anger and cried out the frustrations of lifetimes.
What L.A. saw (he was to tell me later) was a stranger having an
epileptic fit and giving him a very bad time. There came, as always,
the calm after the storm. We were ready to go to the village for a
meal, and as L.A. sat quietly on the stool outside the hut I walked
across to sit at his feet. I leaned back against him and as he placed
his arms around me I again knew the warmth of those earlier
experiences and the love we felt at that moment was known by both
of us. I understood clearly we had loved before, did now, and would
I knew too, the time had come for me to leave him and return to
Australia. I was to step out on my own and grow strong. When I
told L.A., he was accepting of it. It is, after all, as our relationship
has always been. So we made plans to travel north to U.S.A. after
leaving Oaxaca.
Dropping to sleep that night I thought back over the day and felt
great relief my one trip on Mexico's magic mushrooms was over.
Neither of us was enthusiastic when I woke during the night. "L.A. I
have to take the mushroom again. I have been given another
question to ask." He rolled over sleepily. "We have no money left
Lexie, and you know there are no more mushrooms in the village.
Anyway, let's talk about it in the morning."
We were awake early and I felt a little silly when L.A. brought up
the conversation of the previous night. I'd decided not to mention it.
"It seems better to just go on." I said. "I think so." he replied, "but
what was the question?" I remembered it well. "What is truth?" No
more was said as we continued packing to leave.
Walking down the path on the way to the bus, the old farmer
approached us. "I've got just two mushrooms," he said. “We're
going now," L.A. answered quickly, turning to look at me. I'd
stopped walking. The question from the night before was still with
me and I didn't need to speak for him to realise what I was thinking.
He looked towards the man and back to me. Then he bent over, took
our cooking stove and pots from his pack and placed them on the
After negotiation we also parted with some plastic utensils before
returning to the hut to stay another night. We'd been informed the
larger mushroom was for L.A. and the smaller for me. I looked at
mine and thought it couldn't possibly be enough, and knowing my
question was vital, broke a little off his. I don't think I ever admitted
it to him. Still concerned I wouldn't have enough for my purpose, I
asked for a little more. He smiled, broke off a generous portion, and
handed it to me. He knows me well and understood the importance I
placed on this answer.
We stayed together in the hut. I laid on the bed, closed my eyes
and quietly asked, three times: "What is truth? What is truth? What
is truth?" I waited for drums to roll and psychedelic colours to
appear but all was quiet. There were no colours. L.A. and I were
walking together along a narrow path. I do not remember the
surroundings, I was aware only of the path. I felt peaceful. The
pathway was wide enough to allow us to walk side by side holding
hands. Before long we approached a gate which L.A. opened and
we passed through. This happened several times until we came to a
gate where we knew we had to part.
We must now walk the way separately, one was to go ahead. This
was too frightening for me, and I felt unable to move forward alone,
so L.A. went on. The path then narrowed until it was wide enough
for only one person to tread.
I waited a long time, desperately hoping he would return, before
deciding, fearful or not, I must move forward. It was harder now as
the gates were not only shut, they were locked.
To be allowed through I had to wait days, months, or even years.
With each gate I never knew how long it would take. I waited and
waited, sometimes pleading for entry. When all else failed, I found I
could demand passage by simply stating I was part of the source,
part of all creation. "I am God." The gates never then failed to open
wide. Earlier I'd reached a gate where the wait was endless, and was
about to turn back when I became aware of L.A.'s presence. His
strong arms reached across and assisted me to the other side where I
again continued my lone journey.
As I travelled I relived this present life time, seeing through
clearer eyes mistakes made, while suffering deep pain and sorrow
for actions which could now no longer be changed. I was sobbing.
I walked on and on, and then L.A. was once more beside me.
Hand in hand we stood before a larger gate, both knowing it was not
yet time to enter, and we did not try. I opened my eyes. I was back
in the hut.
A soundless voice told me to step outside, where, following
instructions, I knelt and lifted my eyes to the hills on the opposite
side of the valley. I then felt compelled to look at my watch. It was
11 am on 11.11.1992.

As I turned my face to the sun a channel of brilliant light
connected to the earth. At the bottom of the channel, bathed in a
golden glow, stood the lady of yesterday's journey. As she turned
towards me I was immersed in pure love. It washed over me in
waves, all embracing: a fulfilment, a promise and a blessing.
I understood. Truth is love.
I thought, there are no mysterious or mystic lessons to learn. It is
merely to see clearly.
To ask, even once, the question "What is truth?" is to become a
seeker of wisdom. To undertake the inner journey and walk the
narrow way in order to reach the knowledge inherent within us all is
to know oneself, faults and all. And in knowing and accepting, we
can learn to forgive. Through self-knowledge, self-understanding
and self-forgiveness develops self-love, compassion and
understanding of others.
We are here to experience and learn.
Guidance and opportunity for growth came as I began to
recognise, accept, and follow my spiritual path. I had learnt from
L.A. but I was now leaning on him. For further learning it was
necessary for me to travel alone.
I raised my face to the sun and gave thanks for opportunity given
that day. L.A. joined me and I thought how far we had travelled
together, and realised too, how difficult leaving him would be.
Almost two years had passed since we first met. I consoled myself
in the knowledge that, for both us, it is and always will be, the
journey that is most important.
Again, at a small café, we ate eggs, re-fried beans and rice. I
really felt I could not eat this meal once more. In Oaxaca, a tourist
town, there would be a wider variety of food available, and how I
longed for fruit, vegetables and unsweetened bread. I was grateful
coffee could always be found. I'd given up being concerned about
quality. Coffee is coffee and I relished every cup. Meat was another
matter. I could by now have risked eating a meat meal just for
variety, had I not seen the local butcher shop. Thin strips of dark
coloured meat hung on hooks at the front of a stall situated near the
edge of the road, open to dust and flies. Occasionally a stained cloth
was flicked to ward off flies. A cowhide lay flat, directly in front of
the shop. One could only believe the poor animal was actually
slaughtered there. Since then L.A. and I have referred to that part of
the world as 'flat cow' country. The memory brings peels of laughter
and is a vivid reminder to be aware of what and where one eats in
This village is very high in the mountains and sometimes our hut
would be engulfed by cloud, but that day the sky was clear. Late
afternoon as the sun set, we looked out on a kaleidoscope of colour;
clear blue faded gently to rose, to soft indigo, to deep purple. The
stars were diamonds suspended in a velvet dome. We were alone in
a magical world. L.A. lit an open fire to cook our evening meal, and
I again felt the timelessness of human activity. There was no past,
no future, only the moment: just being.
Next morning we caught a bus to Oaxaca. There was a comfort
stop and I looked hopefully, but not expectantly, for a building.
There wasn't one. After my time on the mountain, it was easy to
squat with Mexican women among tall flowers growing wild by the
roadside. This stop served a dual purpose. Women gathered huge
armfuls of multi-coloured blooms while our driver waited patiently
until the last contented passenger ambled back to the bus. At first I
felt sorry I too had not taken the opportunity to gather flowers,
though glancing towards my heavy pack brought me back to reality.
Oaxaca is L.A.'s favourite Mexican town and he was eager to
share it with me. We walked to the zocalo where outdoor cafes,
sheltering under broad verandahs, line the square. The plaza, closed
to traffic, has a cosmopolitan atmosphere. We moved through the
square, "The Alameda", where the old cathedral stands. After
crossing the road, walking two blocks and turning left, we came to
the Hotel Pombo.
Like many old Spanish hotels, the entrance is via a central
driveway. Large gates are closed at night to ensure safe parking. To
the right is the office where polite, neatly dressed young men, with
the support of a black and white television to combat boredom,
stand all day by the reception desk. The owner, a handsome and
formidable middle-aged Mexican woman, appears from nowhere to
settle the slightest problem. The workers are in awe of her.
Through doors on either side of the driveway there are stone-
paved courtyards. Bedrooms open onto these squares, and in one
corner of each is a communal bathroom. Guests used a small tree
growing near the entrance to ours as a drying area, so underwear
and brightly coloured towels were draped across the branches. We
found staying in a courtyard room quite social. Travellers are
always eager to share experiences and obtain information regarding
places on their itinerary. Yet, at this old, inexpensive and run-down
hotel there was a daily challenge to be faced, and I was glad L.A.
was there to share the experience.
Each morning, fine wood-shavings, tightly rolled in newspaper
were placed in our bedroom. To me, they were a complete mystery,
to L.A. they were exciting. To heat water to shower there stood
behind the bathroom door an antiquated metal contraption. The
sawdust filled rolls were meant to be carefully lit, allowed to burn
as a flaming torch for a few moments, then quickly stuffed inside
the menacing opening at the side of a rusting arrangement of metal
pipes and taps. Hot water would issue forth if one turned the right
tap when a pumping sound reached a certain crescendo. I would
stand naked (always close to the door in case I needed an escape
route) and wait for the moment when L.A. would say a sharp
"Now!" If I moved under the water too early, I froze, if too late the
heat was already gone. Always I eyed the monster with suspicion
and heaved a sigh of relief when yet another shower was managed
without an explosion.
Our first stop outside was the market. It too had been updated
since L.A.'s last visit and he sighed to see the old Mexico
disappearing. Quickly locating a special bread stall he carefully
chose a dome shaped loaf. I followed while he purchased local
cheese and tomatoes before returning to our hotel. He had been
preparing me for this treat for some time and I was most attentive.
In an almost ceremonial way the loaf was sliced through the centre,
so it looked liked the two halves of a huge hamburger bun. Cheese,
tomatoes, and mayonnaise were placed on one side before the top
was replaced. It was ready. We ate, bite for bite, without further
cutting. I love the way L.A. can make even the simplest of things
At the hotel we hand-washed clothes in one of the large cement
troughs which stand on the flat roof. All hotel linen is laundered in
the same manner. A woman scrubs and scrubs sheets and towels
before hanging them to dry on wire lines which zigzag across the
open space. While there I would pick a juicy red pomegranate from
a tree growing up the driveway, the roof being a vantage point to
reach the most succulent fruit. I'd sit there slowly eating the sweet
portions while the sun soaked to my very bones.
The week spent at Oaxaca was the most loving. We were aware
parting time was near.
The hotel, situated close to both the zocala and the market, was a
convenient base for sampling the local cooking. Our favourite was a
small vegetarian café, which also passed L.A.'s exacting hot-
chocolate test. We always ordered 'comeda corrido' (the set menu);
this being the cheapest way to eat well in Mexico. A bus took us to
the larger market on the outskirts of town where I bought ceramic
necklaces; hand moulded and dried hard in the hot sun. In Australia,
unaware they hadn't been kiln fired, my beads returned to Mexican
mud one day when caught in the rain. Nevertheless, a string still
hangs from the front mirror of my van. One glance in their direction
takes me straight back to Mexico and I smile, as I remember the
many facets of that fascinating country.
Once we chanced upon a small square where only ice cream was
sold. The many stalls each had its own hand-turned ice cream
making machine, and every machine had its own muscular young
male to do the turning. Again, these are family affairs, and much
chatting and laughter resounded around the square. It was a step
back in time. It was as if we'd wandered onto a stage set. I know if
the ice cream turners had suddenly stepped forward, linked arms,
and broken into a song and dance routine, I would have not been
surprised. We bought delicious ice cream cones. I left feeling a
sense of sadness, knowing it is probably only a very short time
before these gems of Mexico will be no more. May I return before
that square changes. I'll order rose flavour next time.
Each evening at six, soldiers wearing neatly pressed uniforms
march through the zocalo, halting in front of a tall flagpole. As one
soldier steps forward to sound a trumpet call, the Mexican flag is
ceremoniously lowered. The soldiers recircle the square and move
on. I'd watch the small lean men precisely marching and would plan
to be there early the next morning to see the flag raised but I never
made it. With a bed to sleep on after so many nights on hard ground,
it was nigh impossible to rise early. In a backstreet we found a tiny
dressmaking shop where a seamstress made a poncho for L.A. from
his Mexican blanket. It looked great on his 6'4" frame and we both
stayed warm under it on cool evenings.

Before leaving Oaxaca I searched the market for gifts to take
home to my granddaughters and purchased tiny Mexican dolls made
by Indian women who come down from the mountains each
Saturday to spread their handwork on the footpaths around the
Zocalo. The choice wasn't which dolls to buy (they are more or less
identical) but which seller seemed to be most in need. Beautiful
handwork sells very cheaply as these pitifully poor people battle to
feed, clothe and house their large families.
As the week passed and the bonds between us grew stronger I was
having second thoughts about returning to Sydney. We spoke of the
possibility of my staying longer when we reach Arizona. The fact
that on the mountain I'd been clearly shown the need to travel my
spiritual path alone was fast slipping into the background. Days
were relaxed and loving and I wanted to spend more time with L.A.
For a short while we became tourists, took in the sights and mixed
freely with others. We decided to travel to the U.S.A. border by
train but failed to take into account Mexico's lack of organisation.
We took the last two seats on the overnight train to Mexico City,
knowing bookings on to the border could not be made until reaching
there. None were available.
In desperation we caught a taxi to the bus station and bought the
last two tickets on a bus just leaving town. It was another night
sleeping upright. Surprisingly neither of us felt tired next morning,
and when it started to rain, we decided, as we were already at the
bus station, to enquire about a bus on to Phoenix instead of looking
for a hotel. The one about to leave also had just two seats available.
We were carried forward - everything connected for us. After the
length of time taken to reach the bottom of Mexico, the return trip
was unreal. But that is how we arrived at Quartzsite. Quartzsite,
located in the Arizona desert, is almost deserted before the winter
freeze to the north sends thousands in search of warmer climes.
Travellers, many of them retirees driving huge caravan homes,
congregate there in their hundreds over the winter months.
Quartzsite becomes alive and market traders arrive to provide
anything and everything to bring comfort and joy. Excellent
restaurants open for business. McDonalds put on extra staff. Buses
make nightly visits to Las Vegas taking the temporary residents to
gambling tables. Well-known entertainers come to Quartzsite.
Locals refer to these transient visitors as 'snow birds'. They migrate
each winter to escape the bitter cold, to buy, to play, and to re-meet
old friends.
It isn't quite as pleasant if winter winds blow hard and swirling
sand coats your hair and stings your eyes. That happened the day
after we arrived and our tent needed to be well anchored. L.A.
managed to locate the huge pegs needed for desert ground, and
although the tent flapped wildly the pegs held firm. Our arrival
coincided with the time of the full moon, and L.A. said to me, "Be
careful Lexie, the energies could change." I don't think I took any
notice of his warning; certainly something did happen. We arrived
at Quartzsite on Saturday and by Tuesday I was on my way to

As I write now, I am again trying to reason it all out. L.A. and I
failed to do so. We do not really understand what happened between
us at that point. As it is I who write I give you my view. I do not
know L.A.'s. I do know that high on a Mexican mountain I made a
personal commitment to extend my inner awareness in preparation
for the road I was yet to travel. I had been leaning on L.A.'s strength
and knew I had been given the direction to step out alone. At
Oaxaca, as our love grew stronger, I was in danger of putting this
Then we went fast, so fast, to reach Arizona where it took only
two days for us to part. There was nothing in particular we were
upset about, it seemed purely an irritation between us. We can't
identify the cause or the reason. I remember feeling L.A. was
withdrawn from me, but now I'm uncertain if that really was so.
Maybe vibrations did change. I do not understand these things as
L.A. does. Maybe we were just in need of rest. I don't know. But I
pushed him, he retaliated, and I was gone. Had he asked me to stay I
would have been unable to leave, and would once again been caught
at that point in a lifetime when I should have moved on. I have
missed him, and have felt sad about the way we parted but I cannot
say I regret it happened. Looking back, I think he was right. It was
my trip and he was my guide. I'd asked him at Oaxaca "What have I
given you, L.A.?" He answered. "Strength, and may I ask the
question back?” My answer was "Purpose."

1995 Mexico

On the 20th December 1994 I again caught a plane to Mexico. I

was excited and confident about the coming six months. My
itinerary allowed for a few days in Mexico City before going to
Oaxaca for Christmas. Early in the New Year I intended to spend
two weeks with Gloria at Zipolite Beach, before travelling
extensively throughout Central America. Following an exhausting
thirteen-hour plane flight from Sydney to Los Angeles, I had an
eight-hour stopover before making my connection to Central
My sense of well being ended in Mexico City when informed my
luggage had not been put on the plane at Los Angeles. Devastating
memories of a similar happening two years previously at Costa Rica
dominated my thinking. That time I had been delayed four days at
San Jõse. I feared a recurring pattern. Holding travel insurance
failed to console me. To collect the generous amount allowed(if
luggage is delayed longer than forty-eight hours), depends on
confirmation from the airline. At San Jõse no documentation could
be obtained and I was forced to replace necessities and pay hotel

costs from my limited holiday money. This earlier experience now
made collecting my backpack an obsession.
It was 11.00 pm. Hoping my luggage would arrive on the next
plane, I decided to wait at the airport. The night seemed endless.
Eventually I curled up on the cold tiled floor in an attempt to sleep.
My head was aching from jetlag and I knew I couldn't stay awake
until morning. From sheer exhaustion I'd doze off, only to be
abruptly awakened by the swish, swish, of a wet mop, as it passed
within inches of my face. Enthusiastic cleaners insisted I move on.
That floor seemed to be mopped every hour!
At 5am an attendant appeared at the airline reception desk. On
enquiring as to the possibility of my luggage arriving on the plane
now landing, I was taken to an English speaking official. Annoyed
that I had waited at the airport, she, shaking a pile of forms in front
of my face, said firmly, "You must go to your hotel. Your luggage
will be sent to you." She again shook the papers in her hand. "All
these people haven't their luggage. It just wouldn't fit on the plane.
It could take four days to arrive."
Four days again! Tired as I was, this called for immediate action.
I dropped onto a chair and almost whispered, "I'm ill." I'm sure I
looked it. I had no intention of leaving that airport minus my
luggage. As she continued to insist loudly I must, I slumped more
deeply into my chair, dropping my head into my hands and stated
equally firmly, that although I was now feeling quite faint, I
intended to stay at the airport for as long as it took for my luggage
to come; be it hours or days. Now sounding concerned she started
checking with Los Angeles Airport. Raising my head I saw her
looking anxiously in my direction. I put on my best dying face. She
said, "I will get your luggage here today."
I didn't respond. I remembered the same words being used at San
Jõse, without any follow up. She repeated, "I will get your luggage
here today." It did appear the possibility of a frequent-flyer
passenger expiring in her office at 5am was too much for her to
cope with. Telling me, "Wait right here," she left the room. I
wondered if I had overacted and she had gone for a doctor. Looking
at my face in a wall mirror I felt satisfied the lack of sleep had left
me sufficiently pale with dark rings around my eyes. When she
returned an hour later I was asleep. "Your luggage can be picked up
at Customs."
At Customs I had to unpack every small item before, with a sigh
of relief, I caught a taxi to the zocalo and checked into the nearby
Hotel Washington where I'd stayed after leaving Kath in Guatemala.
At that time I'd enjoyed the comfort of a light and airy room with
French doors opening onto a balcony overlooking a small market.
This time, the only available room was a dark, box-like square.
Light and air entered through a tiny back window opening to a small
internal airway. Too tired to look further, I lay fully dressed on the
bed and slept soundly for seventeen hours.
On my way out to the street a friendly Mexican guest greeted me
on the stairs. When I replied "Buenos dias" he stepped closer to me
and asked, in perfect English, "What is your room number?" I'd
forgotten about the blatant sexual harassment often endured by lone
female travellers in Latin America. It became a continual annoyance
during my few days in Mexico City. To combat unwelcome
encounters I walked the streets either staring straight ahead or
Obtaining a bus booking close to Christmas is difficult. Checking
the various companies, I found only three seats available, all on the
same late night bus. I watched carefully as the attendant flashed
numbers onto a screen and saw I had been given an already booked
seat. I'd read to be aware of this practise in Mexico. Without
speaking Spanish (no, I hadn't fulfilled my earlier resolve to learn
the language), it was difficult to insist the transaction be checked.
Not until it became obvious I wasn't going to move from the ticket
window unless this was done, did the woman give me a genuine
ticket number.
I was relieved having overcome what I thought to be my last
obstacle in Mexico City, when another arose. While absorbed in
sorting out my ticket problem I had been conscious of a young man
close behind me, so close I felt uncomfortable. Each time I turned to
face him, he'd quickly move away, but within minutes he would
again invade my personal space. Too late, I realised what had been
happening. With my attention diverted, I had been pick-pocketed.
My Mexican money was gone. I was grateful all other monies, and
my cards, were still in my money-belt under tightly belted jeans.
There was one final problem. The taxi driver with whom I
negotiated the fare to the bus station in the new Mexican dollars
(formerly pesos) claimed he meant American dollars. I argued, and
to my surprise eventually he laughed, took the money, but refused
to give me change. Although the amount was small, I was becoming
angry at this country and decided to take a stand. Placing my
backpack on the footpath I kept one foot inside his cab, although it
did occur to me he could drive off without concern for my safety.
Again to my surprise, he gave me a warm smile, my change, and a
friendly wave goodbye. But I wasn't coping well, becoming
suspicious of innocent transactions to the point of paranoia. It was
with a great sense of relief I left Mexico City.
Travelling to Oaxaca, I wore my money belt and placed two
hundred American dollars under an elastic bandage wrapped firmly
around my left ankle. In my present state of mind, the possibility of
being stranded without money in a foreign country, where I didn't
understand the language, was too horrific for contemplation. On
reaching Oaxaca I waited with a group of fellow passengers until
daylight, before venturing onto the streets. Two English tourists
invited me to join them and stay at a nearby hotel 'Casa Arnel' but I
had already decided to make a sentimental journey back to 'Hotel
Pombo'. This time I walked past the courtyards and took a large and
sunny room on the first floor. The door opened onto a small balcony
from where I could glimpse the cathedral spire.
There was an attached bathroom. I glanced with some trepidation
at the water heating-monster, a challenge awaiting me. Approaching
with caution, I took a deep breath, and with fingers crossed, pushed
those sawdust rolls deep into the heater's gaping mouth. It blazed
smoke and fire and choked madly. I jumped back, but as the roar
grew louder I ran forward and turned on the tap. Warm water
gushed forth. Victory was mine! Feeling a great sense of
achievement, I bathed, wrapped a towel around me, and still
needing sleep, dropped onto the large bed. Nervousness regarding
my daily encounter with the heater stayed, but as I became more
sensitive to its inner workings it accepted my intrusions and
rewarded me with ample hot water.
Still feeling unsettled after my experiences in Mexico City, I
decided to change plans and move on earlier to Zipoliti Beach.
Reaching there two days before New Year's Eve, I was eager to see
Gloria, and was disappointed when staff insisted she was
unavailable and I could not persuade them to deliver the note I
wrote. Tiring of drinking coffee in the café, I decided to walk to
Meditation Hill. There she was, her vibrant voice enthusing the
large group gathered around her. It was their final practice for the
New Year's Eve rituals, held annually at Shambhala. "A celebration
of minds," she was saying. "A time of connecting with the energy of
the universe; a time to enforce the knowledge that we are all one;
one with each other, one with the Source, one with all creation." As
we hugged, I felt her unspoken question. "I don't know why I have
come now." I said. She answered, "I do, my sister."
Shambhala was overflowing with guests. I suggested I put up my
tent but when Gloria insisted I must not leave a thing in it, for fear
of theft, I accepted her invitation to stay in an area set aside for
personal guests. This was the loft room directly above the
restaurant. Hammocks hung close together and everyone was
friendly but I found sleeping all night in a hammock difficult, and
was grateful when a small bed replaced it. Then, despite loud music
and laughter from the restaurant, I managed well.
The day prior to the New Year was one of great activity at
Shambhala. Masses of fresh flowers, transported from distant
Oaxaca hills, and blessed by Sharman healers, were mixed with
freshly picked herbs, the same herbs used at spiritual gatherings
since ancient times. Willing helpers created halos to be worn by
dancers, while others worked on shaping two hundred and fifty
small bouquets. Gloria's eyes were everywhere. Each small detail
was attended to. The kitchen was busy. There were salads to be
prepared, juices to be squeezed, soups to be made, vegetables to be
steamed and huge baskets of smoked fish to be flaked. I found
myself involved.
As darkness closed in, men, women and children, all dressed in
white, quietly gathered on Meditation Hill. With the crashing sea an
orchestral background, bare arms rose in unison and the sacred
sound of "Aum" echoed around the hill and along the beach. Arms
linked, bodies swayed, voices chanted and bare feet stamping in
rhythm moved slowly around the edge of the mountain top kiva,
evoking the power of the Source to cleanse the dancers of sin. As
clear channels they then passed the bouquets around the bodies and
over the heads of the watching crowd, allowing all to receive the
same blessing.
Ritual continued. Flowers and ribbons were tied to a large
wooden cross, being symbolic of the Tree of Life. The 'tree' was
then raised high above the crowd and carried down the hill.
Onlookers, as well as those involved in the ceremony, each carrying
a lighted candle, followed in single file to the beach. A huge bonfire
was already blazing. It was midnight. The flower laden 'tree' was
thrown into the flames. The New Year had arrived. Flames roared.
The crowd cheered.
The feasting began. 'Loco Coco', a local drink made from pure
alcohol and coconut juice was served. My one sip left me
breathless! As the bonfire died down, a whole sheep wrapped in foil
was placed to bake beneath red-hot coals. Only those who stayed to
watch the sunrise would enjoy this second feast. Meanwhile
revellers moved to the ocean, holding folded paper boats about three
inches in length. Each tiny vessel carried its own lighted candle.
Everyone waded into the sea to launch their 'ship' on the outgoing
tide. A wish was made, and if your vessel returned to shore, the
wish could be expected to come true. I lost sight of mine among the
fleet. My wish failed to materialise so maybe my boat floated out to
Time passed slowly at Shambhala. I moved from the loft to my
own little room with a view to the beach. Huge waves crashed and
roared. That surf can be a lion. It demands respect. Most tourists
stay close to the shore, wary of its many moods. I love the wildness
but take care to surf only in the areas Gloria indicates are safe.
Shambhala stands, as always, a beacon of light at one end of the
beach. Holidaymakers return, year after year, to re-experience the
The other end is a continual party. Music blares, discotheques
swing and drugs of all descriptions are cheaply available. The
accompanying violence can sometimes erupt, and personal
belongings need to be well guarded. Sometimes I feel that God and
the Devil are fighting for that beautiful stretch of white sand. This is
a growing sadness to Gloria, though she and her hill stand firm.
Two years had passed since L.A. and I delivered the message.
There have been positive changes at Shambhala, however Gloria's
special peace and joy is now to be found at 'El Enchanto', a small
retreat she is developing in Indian Country. To reach there one must
walk for an hour across barren hilltops. Gloria wanted to show it to
me and with a small group of her friends we left Shambhala by taxi
along the Oaxaca road, stopping at a small roadside café which
serves cold beer and coconut juice. The tops of small coconuts are
expertly removed by machete, and a straw inserted before drinking
the clear juice; the coconut is then split in half, again by machete,
allowing access to delicious coconut meat.
Now the sun was high. The temperature was soaring when we
walked towards the hills, carrying tents, food and backpacks. Gloria
spoke nostalgically of the small donkey which once transported
heavy supplies across the rough terrain. One day he wandered away.
Later, a donkey skull, found on the other side of the river, was
carried 'home'. It now occupies his empty corral, a stark reminder to
stay close to camp.
Long before reaching our destination the roar of a fast flowing
river could be heard. As we turned the last corner, there it was, wild
and free, bouncing around and over rocks. We turned left at the
bank and on the other side of a small stream a wooden sign 'el
enchanto' hangs from a low tree branch. We were indeed in an
enchanted forest.
Hard-packed earth paths wind up a slight rise from the water's
edge, passing by a rustic open-air kitchen before continuing on to
tent sites. Railings, constructed from naturally twisted vines of the
forest, or wood salvaged from the river as it carries logs to the sea
from higher up the mountain, define all areas. Gloria and a friend
had many times trekked toward the river's source, and finding
interesting shaped logs near the waters edge, pushed them into the
bouncing current, 'riding' them to her retreat where they were
beached ready for future use.
A cooking facility dominated the kitchen area. It was an
enormous table packed high with hard mud and stones of all sizes.
These were placed in such a way that they formed fire pits and
supports to hold pots and pans: one fire, two, or three could be lit as
necessity required. The cupboards were slatted to keep out forest
animals and all edible supplies kept in a huge hanging safe
suspended from tree branches.
Small oil lamps, reminiscent of Shambhala, were everywhere. At
night, by their flickering light, the forest became a fairy glen. We
were there at the time of the full moon so the lamps were merely for
effect. Moonlight danced upon the water and splashed silver along
pathways. During the day, as I walked alone beside that swift
flowing river, I felt a peace descend on me. I once watched a blood
red leaf floating well below the surface of the water, every small
vein clearly visible; with sadness I imagined how the world must
have been prior to pollution by man. Sometimes I waded into the
crystal clear water to gather coloured stones from the riverbed. Two
of these treasures, one marked clearly with a green quarter moon,
and the other in the shape of a heart, I carried back to the retreat.
Carefree as a child I slid down waterfalls and swam where they
emptied into deeper pools. It was a very special place for me, and
on the second day I knew I too was meant to open a retreat, a place
of time out. There would be no courses; no organised activities, no
expectations. A place to just be. A place where water could be heard
running over stones. The name would be 'La Paz' (The Peace). I
resolved to do this when I returned to Australia.
After a hot walk back across dry hills, another cold coconut drink
was welcome when we reached the café. This time a jukebox played
loudly and although it was well before noon, three young men were
drinking beer straight from bottles as they danced wildly on the
dusty roadway. Disinterested dogs watched from shady positions
under small tables. It was almost bizarre. I looked back twice before
entering our pre-ordered taxi.
During my two weeks at Zipolite Beach Gloria was evaluating
certain areas of her life. She made no firm decisions. It was a time
for us to be together.
The bus returning me to Oaxaca passed through the village where
L.A. and I had eaten the mushrooms. This time, at a small café, I
drank delicious hot chocolate from a chipped, blue cup. As I sipped
I pondered on changes to my life. I'd felt so sad after leaving L.A. in
Arizona, but having done so I'd been forced to stand alone on my
spiritual path, following direction given to me on the mountain.
When I arrived at Oaxaca I again booked into the Hotel Pombo.
This time the only available accommodation was in one of the
courtyard rooms. The residing monster of the outside bathroom was
a wild one. Ashes and fire fell freely from a broken base and it
roared in protest at my interference. After extinguishing a small fire
on the bathroom floor it was clearly time to leave Oaxaca or change
hotels. At the zocalo that day, a tourist sitting beside me on a park
bench spoke in glowing terms of 'Casa Arnel', the hotel where the
English girls, on my arrival in Oaxaca, had asked me to stay.
This recommendation was well timed. I moved there the
following morning. This small hotel was quaint, and water, hot and
plentiful, came without the daily necessity to fight the dragon. My
room, painted deep blue, grew warm as morning sun crossed the
tree-filled courtyard, giving joy to leafy plants on my small balcony,
before leaping through the tiny window to touch my pillow. I woke
with joy to another day and opened wide the door to see blue, blue
sky. In this room, the least expensive in the hotel, I was at peace,
though I could not understand why I was still there.
I knew I was waiting for something, but did not know what.
Guests came and went, staying the customary four or five days,
ample time to explore the area and enjoy the many delights this
ancient, colonial town has to offer. I resisted the invitations of many
who asked me to travel on with them, knowing I could not yet
leave. So I walked the cobbled streets, past high front walls of
houses enclosing fascinating courtyards. Occasionally wide gates
were left ajar, and I looked with wonder at large pots overflowing
with brilliantly coloured flowers. Sometimes a family group would
be eating their meal under a central tree, guarded from the now hot
sun by its protective branches.
Oh the colour of Mexico! These walks I did daily on my way to
the busy market to buy freshly squeezed juice from my special
place; the one where the smiling young Mexican boy greets me with
"Buenos Dias Senora." It is here at these tiny stands of the extensive
market that one senses the interconnectedness between the vendor
and the person who purchases the offered product. One feels the
beauty of a people whose spirit is ignited and sustained through
interaction with others. Hand touches hand and a deeper exchange is
made, the beauty of contact with another soul.
I weave my way through aisles where goods in every colour
known to nature, or created by science, are represented in eye-
popping display. I pass pottery, clothing, fruits and vegetables until
I stumble upon a section dedicated to commodities of the hoof. Here
are poultry with beaks intact, rope-like animal entrails tenuously
hanging from fresh meat booths and huge hog heads that seem to be
staring at me, daring me to take them home. I hurry by until masses
of flowers greet me with sweet and exotic fragrance.
Each day, even on my small budget, I was able to place flaming
wild flowers and the loveliest of sweet scented roses in my room.
My six feet by eight feet home became a delight. I found myself
becoming quite isolated, spending my time reading and meditating.
Gradually I came to understand I was actually in retreat, my tiny
room my cell, the pebbled footpaths, the cloister. But my routine
was to change.
One day, on opening the courtyard gate, I saw a stranger (in this
lifetime), a woman seated at the long communal dining table. She
was eating chicken soup and smiled as I approached. I knew my
waiting time was over. Darla Degeneffe and I had reconnected. To
my question as to how long she planned to stay in Oaxaca, she
replied with a slight American drawl: "I was planning to buy a home
in Mitla but there has been an earthquake since I last saw it. The
roof has been damaged and I have been advised to let it go. But
would you like to see it? No one has lived there for years." This
village, one of the most unique and best-preserved ancient
archaeological sites in the surrounding area, lies some twenty miles
east of Oaxaca.
Arriving at Mitla the following day Darla was unable to unlock
the large entrance gates. Undaunted, two, far from young women,
accepted the offer of the friendly Mexican family living next door,
to use a rickety home-made ladder to climb over the crumbling
eight feet high adobe wall. Holding tightly to the branch of a
conveniently placed tree, hearts thumping madly, we managed to
swing down through a sea of green into the garden. Brilliant red and
yellow bougainvillea hugged trees and splashed across an ancient
well. Two stone lion heads, carved by hands long gone, peered
defiantly through masses of blossom. A rusty bucket dangled by a
twisted old rope. Ankle deep leaves rustled as we walked towards a
small house with high adobe walls, large arched windows and huge
wooden entrance doors.
We did not speak as we pushed open these creaking old doors. A
spacious room, complete with an ornate fireplace, beamed ceiling
and terracotta floor met our astonished eyes. It was enchanting. It
was holy. It was peace personified. Despite the fact thick cobwebs
draped low from the ceiling, the room was heavy with dust and the
roof tilted precariously, we knew this would be Darla's home.
We decided to clean. Every day we caught the small bus from
Oaxaca and rolled up our sleeves to dust and scrub. Sometimes we
moved to the garden to pull at vines or rake up barrow loads of
leaves, pausing at the well to peer intently through cracked boards
in the vain hope of detecting water deep down in the murky depths.
Occasionally, too, we'd sit in a sunny corner drinking coffee, dream
of what the long neglected casa could become and wonder about
what it had already known.
The ghosts of the past stand watch. One can feel and sometimes
glimpse an earlier owner. It is recorded she was an impeccable
housekeeper. She still sits, wearing her long gored skirt and primly
tucked shirtwaist, gently rocking in her favourite chair. From her
belt dangles a heavy ring of large keys, worn always since the day
the Zapatistas broke through the hacienda doors seeking revenge
upon wealthy landowners. This was the bloody revolution of 1910.

Darla and her husband have now lived for many years in that
sacred place and peace continues to descend on all who visit their
little Casa within the walled garden.
And I, four months after leaving Sydney, returned home.

1995/6 Australia

Back in Australia, enjoying the company of friends and family,

the idea of opening a retreat was still with me. It came to mind
frequently but energy did not follow thought. This was to change.
A month after my return, when attending my regular meditation
class, a member of the group said to me. "Lexie, I have been given
something to tell you. I don't know what it means but the words are,
"Don't forget your resolve." I knew immediately of what she spoke
and the next day drove north to the Hunter Valley in search of a
property suitable for my retreat.
By telephone, a real estate agent in the small town of Dungog,
spoke of a house he expected to be coming up for rent at Glenn
William. "Yes, it is situated in a country area, and yes, it is by a
river, but as it is not yet listed on my books, I cannot take you to see
it." Giving my name but no other details I decided to drive to Glenn
William. At a house set well back from the road a man was painting
a wall. I knew instinctively this was the place and stopped to speak
with him. "Yes," he said, "This house is at present unoccupied," but
looked surprised when I spoke of having contacted a real estate
agent. "It's already been let," he informed me. "I'm a friend of the
owner and he told me to find a tenant. A family is moving in next
Disappointed, I returned to Sydney. Although unable to see inside
the residence, I had glimpsed enough to know it would be perfect
for my needs. Resuming my search two weeks later, I decided,
before driving further up the valley, to go to the agency at Dungog
in the hope another country property may be available. When I gave
my name, the man at the desk looked puzzled and quickly flipped
through a book before answering. "But we already have a property
for you. It's on twelve acres beside the river at Glenn William. We
couldn't contact you as you didn't leave a telephone number. We
have been waiting for your call. When do you want to move in?"
It was of course the house I'd seen earlier. The family had at the
last minute decided against taking it. He continued, "You do realise
it is only available for six months before going up for sale." I chose
to ignore this, believing if needed longer it would be there for me. I
was not asked for references or any other details. I signed the lease
and eight weeks after returning from Mexico I opened 'La Paz'.
Friends, as well as complete strangers came. There was no
charge. Some brought supplies to add to my pantry and others
contributed to the 'kitty' jar. I always had extras and together we
cooked our meals on the huge wood-burning stove. Rocking chairs
and a hammock were placed on wide verandahs and I spread deck
chairs across the lawns. Thick lantana bushes were cleared to allow
a broad view of the river and masses of petunias, marigolds and
herbs were planted in large blue pots. Sunflowers grew tall against
verandah posts. A wood fire warmed the house on cold winter
nights whilst on warmer days French doors opened wide to catch
the breeze.
The birds became friends. Kookaburras would tap on my window
if I failed to give them meat when absorbed in writing. Brilliant
coloured parrots and tiny wrens came for grain. Families of rabbits
frolicked outside my kitchen window in the early morning and
evening. Cows grazed in the paddocks. My morning alarm was a
bird chorus.
On still summer evenings, I could sometimes hear, from further
up the river, water bubbling over stones. I painted 'La Paz' (the
peace) on a white river stone and placed it by the front door. My
little retreat opened at week-ends for up to three days and I could
accommodate four people simultaneously. Occasionally a bed might
be placed in the meditation room. I felt it important separate rooms
be offered, although sometimes friends were happy to share.
Following direction given at Gloria's resort in the Mexican hills,
there were no organized activities and no expectations. A place to
'just be'.
Native animals and birds in their country setting filled in for
television and radio. There was always a live show to be viewed
from the house. Everyone was welcome; all were special guests in
my home. Together we walked a country road, swam or canoed on
the river, while others chose to relax with a book in deck chairs.
Sometimes too, we'd drink tea sitting on the shady verandah,
serenaded by kookaburras, magpies and butcher birds. At night
there were long discussions on life and meaning as we lit candles
and lingered over dinner with a glass of wine. This meal was
usually shared at the round oak table which stood by the French
doors in the living room. It was more intimate than the formal
dining area.
I was always amazed to see how quickly these women, complete
strangers, bonded with trust and openness. Looking beyond
individual differences they reached out to each other, giving and
accepting the warmth and support sisterhood offers. Never was
there a word of criticism or judgment, only compassion and
understanding. Maybe we glimpsed our own vulnerability mirrored
in another's eyes. Some came with fresh pain close to their hearts,
some carrying deep hurt from childhood, others escaping work
pressures or taking a brief 'time-out'.
A few just came. All left uplifted by nature's blessings. The faces
of these women have faded and names forgotten (I didn't keep
records) but they remain within a corner of my heart. Their warmth,
togetherness, laughter, and occasional tears are forever woven into
the magic of my time at Glenn William.
Six months passed and the sale of the property was delayed a
further three months. I was happy there and unconcerned though my
time of leaving was drawing close. Deep within me I knew my life
was again to change.
Then a letter arrived from L.A. It was three years since he'd made
contact and once more I smiled at the brevity he used when
corresponding. He gave no information about himself, merely
enquired about my life and wrote his address and telephone number.
I did not reply immediately, asking and waiting for a sign giving
Two weeks later I saw a cent on the floor beside my open front
door. This surprised me. It was a long time since cents had been
legal tender in Australia. I was even more surprised to see it was an
American coin. When my daughter came to visit, I said to her, "L.A.
is going to ask me to join him in America." She laughed and said, "I
think you'd better ask for a second sign Lex. Anyway, let me see it.
I don't believe it is an American coin. Where could it have come
from?" She looked at it intently, turning it over in her hand a few
times. "The only word I can see here is 'trust'." Engraved on all
American coins are the words 'In God we trust'. I had my second

1996/7/8 USA & Mexico

My stay at Glenn William ended in January 1996. I arranged to

meet L.A. in Oregon at the beginning of the American spring. We
spent a few months together, then again in 1997.
Our roads crossed for the last time in 1998, in Mexico where it all
began. He was on his way to Costa Rica to open a spiritual retreat
and had detoured to say hello to me at Zipolite Beach where I was
visiting Gloria. I knew I could not accept his invitation to later visit
Costa Rica and maybe work with him there. My road led elsewhere.
So we met, and we parted.
I take comfort in the words of a very old friend who once said,
"The dance doesn't have to last forever."
The wheel turns.


“I have been here before,

but when or how, I cannot tell.
I know the grass beyond the door,
the sweet keen smell,
the sighing sound : the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before - how long ago I may not know,
but just when at that swallow's soar, your neck turned so,
some veil did fall, - I knew it all of yore.”

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

2000 England & Wales

It was the year of 1993 when Peter, a wise and loving spirit, first
re-blessed me with his presence. I was to later learn of the many
lifetimes we had spent together. He is a much loved and trusted
As the years pass and my backpack and I continue to travel the
world, I always make a detour to Mexico so Darla and I can be
together. We are spiritual sisters. During this time Peter is able to
make closer contact with me. Darla clearly sees spirit; I never fail to
feel his presence. His love for me and mine for him reveals itself as
we relax there together, and my emotion and tears settle. Then we
three are able to joke and laugh, to remember the past and ponder on
the future.
One night Peter told us of a special lifetime when I was his wife. I
had lived in Wales. Darla and I were immediately shown a vision of
a huge stone building with a tower standing tall against the sky.
"Peter," I said in amazement. "Was it a castle?" He smiled. "Some
called it that." "If I go there, could I see it?" "The stones are still
there," he replied. Darla and I were intrigued, and it wasn't long
before we decided to travel to Wales in search of my mysterious
home. It was then Peter began to give us information to open the
He gave us the following:
*Castle Roach
*Two children: a boy and a girl.
*White cliffs (and do not go too close!)
*The Valley of the Roses
*See the lions at the Tower of London
*London Museum
*St. David's Cathedral: Castle Roach is a half-hour horse ride
from the cathedral.
One night a friend of Peter's visited us in spirit. He brought with
him a three-pronged crown. I asked who it was for. As he handed it
to me he said, "You know." I did not feel it was mine to wear, or
feel I should put it on, so I gave it back. He also told us Peter stood
for the crown during England's War of Independence.
We started to piece together our cryptic puzzle. Using
Pembrokeshire as our main clue it was not long before we identified
Castle Roach as being Castle Roch. It is situated in Pembrokeshire,
Wales, half an hour's horse ride from St. David's Cathedral. Here
too, is where we located the Vale of Roses. Castle Roch's high
tower is visible for miles before one arrives at the small village of
Roch. In some areas dangerous cliffs drop sharply to the sea.
This part of Wales stood staunchly true to the king during the
Wars of Independence and Cromwell's troops severely damaged
Roch Castle. William Walter, the owner of the Castle and estate at
that time, had a daughter Lucy. Adding the given date of 1632, we
established beyond doubt that I could have been no other than Lucy
Walter. Meanwhile we searched further for information about
Wales. Darla, in America, when asking for a travel book on Wales
was instead handed a novel called "The Child from the Sea." As she
flicked through the pages, intending to hand it back to the assistant
in the bookshop, the name Castle Roch caught her eye.
Nothing is a coincidence.
That small book was to become the blueprint for our sojourn in
Wales. The author, Elisabeth Goodge wrote:
"On a visit to St. David's in Pembrokeshire, overwhelmed by the magic of
the place, I saw in the distance a castle appearing through the mist, high up
against the sky and I became obsessed by the idea that I had to write about
someone who had lived there ... a Welsh friend told me I had seen Roch
Castle, which had belonged to the Walter family, and that Lucy Walter, the
mother of the Duke of Monmouth, had probably been born there. The only
thing I knew about Lucy was that very little is known about her, and that little
not to her credit. Then I was lent a book written by Lord George Scott, one of
her descendents and the whole picture changed ... now a storyteller who is
told a historical character may have been entirely different to what we have
previously supposed is lost...”

Lucy claimed she had married Charles 11 in Wales when they
were both eighteen. If so, their son James, who was later to become
the Duke of Monmouth, was true heir to the throne of England.
Charles immediately acknowledged him as his son and it is well
recorded he and Lucy met many times in different countries when
Charles was 'King in Exile'. A daughter, Mary, was later born to
Lucy but Charles did not claim parentage.
The Crown of England was in peril. Charles' own father, Charles
1, had been publicly beheaded, and Oliver Cromwell was Lord
Protector of England. A politically correct marriage was essential if
Charles was to gain the necessary support to allow him to return to
England and take his rightful place as King. His beloved Lucy did
not fulfil that category. Later a diplomatic marriage to a Portuguese
princess was arranged. She was never loved by him and brought no
heirs to the throne.
His younger brother, James, became the recognised heir and it
was he who became James 1 of England. James, son of Lucy and
Charles 11, was, at a very young age, taken from his mother. He
grew to manhood at the Royal Court, while Lucy was to die before
Charles ascended the throne.
But where was all this leading? If I was Lucy, was Peter then
Charles? A question to be pondered.
Peter urged us "not to tarry", so on the 14th September, 2000,
Darla and I met at a pre-arranged hotel behind Victoria Station, she
travelling from her home in Mexico, and I from mine in Australia.

The next day it was raining when we set out to follow Peter's
clues. Our first destination was the British Museum. Later Peter was
to tell us that we goofed that one, he had directed us to the London
Museum, so our enquiries for information on Charles 11 and the
Duke of Monmouth were unproductive. We looked intently at the
few items on display and read the little information on file, before
again stepping out into the heavy rain. Although now quite wet and
uncomfortable, we decided to go to the Tower of London 'to see the
lions'. Knowing there were none did not deter us.
We did know the Duke of Monmouth was once interned within its
walls. Charles and Lucy had, from the time their son was born,
fondly called him Jackie, and as I write I shall call him that too,
simply because I feel more comfortable doing so. It was at the
Tower that Jackie was beheaded as a traitor. Charles was already
dead and Jackie's uncle, James, wore the crown. We approached a
beefeater to enquire about the lions.
"Yes, they were here. There was once a zoo." He pointed to
ground nearby. "They wandered there." Not finding this information
relevant we asked about the Duke of Monmouth. "He was held in
Thomas Moore's cellar for a few days before his execution. It just
happens that for this year, 2000, it has been open to the public. It
will then be resealed. You cannot enter without a guide. A beefeater
holding a flag will be under that tree in an hour. But don't be late, he
only takes a small number."
We wandered towards Traitor's Gate, aware that Lucy and

Jackie together, had at another time been imprisoned in the Tower.
As we looked to where their boat would have entered, and listened
to the lap of the Thames against cold, grey stone, Lucy's heartache
became our own. With slow steps and tear filled eyes we walked on.
This imprisonment occurred when Lucy returned to England after
her mother's death. She had come to collect her inheritance, which
included a beautiful string of pearls. Lucy by this time was
becoming an embarrassment in government circles, as well as to
Charles' mother, who was desperate for him to make a marriage that
would profit England.
Focusing on being on time for the tour of the cellar, I became
agitated when Darla followed slowly. As I approached the meeting
place under the tree, I kept turning to look back, fearing that unless
we were early we would not be included in the limited tour number.
I had decided if necessary, I would go on alone, when she arrived to
make the last of the group. Later she explained how she had
experienced great difficulty in moving, as with every slow step she
became more and more aware of the possible perilous commitment
we were making.
We stood at the back of the group while the attendant spoke of
Thomas Moore's life. No mention was made of Jackie but Darla and
I already knew within our hearts we had been given wrong
information. We would have felt Jackie's earlier presence in the
room. Before leaving I spoke to the guard and he answered my
question: "Yes, he was held here, or it could have been somewhere
close by." He went on to speak negatively of Lord Monmouth, and
I, Lucy, like any mother, was sharply defensive of my son. As we
left, assuming after my outburst we were one of Jackie's
descendants, he pointed to a nearby building. "He is buried in that
chapel, right under the silver cross. You must go there."
We entered the building and I sat in a front pew, the one closest to
the cross which had been placed on the altar, in front of Jackie's
grave. I sobbed. Overcome with the sadness of my/Lucy's life, the
loss of her husband Charles and her son, her loneliness and early
death, I could not stop my tears. Darla, while dealing with her own
sorrow, comforted me before speaking to the guard. He told her
Jackie's shield was placed with his body. An ermine bar indicating
to the world he was born 'out of wedlock' had only later been added.
My grief became stronger and my sobs deeper before I felt a
familiar and loving presence standing behind me. As he enclosed
me with his cloak, Darla saw Charles 11, I felt Peter.
Finally, still in mourning, we left the chapel. Stumbling and
weeping we moved into the rain. In the chapel Darla had said to me,
"you must hold your baby. You must hold him in your arms." I
attempted to visualize and feel Jackie as a small baby but was
unable to do so. On reaching the hotel, both feeling emotionally and
physically exhausted, we lay side by side on the bed, and closed our
eyes. Darla said again, "you must hold him." It was still too difficult
for me to do. She continued. "So I'm to rock the cradle. You must be
alone with Charles. You must not worry about Jackie. He will be
well cared for. You must be alone with Charles."

At that moment I stepped into the 17th century. I was Lucy,
holding Charles in my arms. I felt his body, and knew his deep
sorrow and despair, but needed Darla to allow me to communicate
verbally with him. His words, at this time, could reach me only
through her. From Charles, "you came!" He had been deeply fearful
until I actually arrived in England. "You promised once before, but
you forgot, and only by your coming could Jackie be freed from his
frozen pain. This is the last time this opportunity could be allowed."
I realised these promises must be made before birth, and in that
lifetime I must have indeed forgotten.
But here in the year 2000, Darla lovingly held Jackie, again a tiny
baby. She too had stepped back in time. Once more Mary, Jackie's
younger sister, held a very familiar little bundle. She felt acutely his
deep feelings of innermost pain, and the accumulated agonies of
that past life. Again and again these were expressed telepathically
from Jackie; "They didn't hold me. It was so unfair. They didn't hold
me." Lucy's loving arms had been sorely missed, and no adequate
substitute had been provided. Then we slept. Jackie in Darla's arms,
and Charles in mine.
The following day and night this reconnecting continued. There
were centuries of missed love to experience. Darla and I were in a
special place and time. Effortlessly we crossed to the 17th century.
Instantaneously we were there. The transfer and the time were never
of our making. Although in our world I had only to hold out my
right hand to feel Charles take it. Darla continued to see Charles as
clearly as she did me. I felt his touch, his warmth, and his love.
After two days in London, we knew it was time to go to Wales. Our
destination, Roch Castle.
From London, it is a seven-hour bus journey to Haverford West.
The next day we planned to take a local bus to the village of Roch.
The winding road, often following the coastline, is beautiful, but
Darla suffers severe motion sickness and for her the journey was
torturous. We soon realised Jackie was no longer travelling with us
but glimpsed Charles, accompanied by friends, riding beside us on
his magnificent black horse. It rained and rained. At dusk we
arrived at Haverford West. Darla was exhausted and the rain
We decided we must take the first available accommodations for
the night, even if the cost was to be more than our limited budget
warranted. A short distance from the bus stop was a small English
pub. We were taken up a rather steep wooden stairway to find
awaiting us a beautiful room with a huge bathroom attached.
Shelves packed with bubble bath, shampoo, and body lotion were at
our disposal. For two weary travellers this was indeed heaven.
Through lace curtains we could see a rather dreary restaurant but
felt elated at finding food and shelter so quickly.
We knew we must rest, as tomorrow was to be a very special day.
Lucy and her daughter Mary were going home. We arrived at Roch,
feeling both excited and calm at the same time. We'd glimpsed the
tall tower of the castle many times as we drove towards it. First
thing on our agenda was to find suitable accommodation. Our
backpacks were heavy. I looked towards a shabby hotel nearby.
Darla knew it was not where we were to go. Much further down the
road we could see a bed and breakfast. I did not feel like walking
the distance, but Darla, whom I knew was more tired than I, said,
"Come on, Lex. We can go that far." I looked at her in surprise but
did not argue.
As we moved towards our destination I paused to speak to a
woman standing in her front garden. In answer to my query she
said; "Why, yes. There is a good place to stay, just two doors down
from here." There was certainly no sign to indicate this when I
knocked on the door of the small cottage called 'Bali Hai'. The
friendly owner, looking surprised, informed us they were no longer
receiving guests. "We have been closed for two years." Pointing to
our planned destination he suggested, "There is 'A Cottage by the
Sea'. Why don't I ring the owner, and ask her to pick you two ladies
While waiting for our transport to arrive, we were surprised to
find we had knocked on the door of the very person who could
answer some of our questions about Roch Castle. "Many, many
years ago, I was able to rent it myself. Do you know, on a clear day,
from the roof of the tower you can see to Ireland?" He went on to
give us the information we needed to make contact with the present
owners. "They don't live in the Castle now. They live nearby. I can
direct you to their house, but you will not be able to see inside. It
has been rented out as holiday accommodation for years now and
never is anyone allowed inside, or even to enter the grounds. The

bookings have to be made several years in advance. Anyway, their
name is Berry."
This information did in no way deter us. We knew we had not
been guided this far to be turned away. We would step inside our
earlier home. But first we had to settle our own accommodation for
the night. We were warmly welcomed by Fritz and Judy Newcombe
when we arrived at 'The Cottage by the Sea', and what a wonderful
room we were given. French doors opened onto a glass-enclosed
porch, where a small table and two chairs had been placed. This
sun-drenched area, protected from cold winds blowing off the sea
was alive with brightly coloured potted plants. Peace washed over
us. This was only one of the many times our comfort was cared for,
and our resting place prepared. We were in safe and loving hands.
The queen-sized bed called to our weary limbs, but we were
unable to refuse the kind offer of our host to drop us back to Roch
village. Leaving our luggage unpacked allowed us to be, just fifteen
minutes later, within close proximity of our castle. As we walked up
the winding road, I felt Charles take my hand. Darla and I were
becoming more emotional with each eager step. Only when Darla
said, with surprise, "It seems as if Charles is seeing the castle for the
first time”, did we remember that when Charles was there with Lucy
it had been severely damaged.
It has since been restored. Our plan had been to approach the
Berry's the following day. Suddenly it came strongly to me this
approach must be made now, in fact we must hurry to their house.
Darla turned to me, "Lexie, are you sure?" To my own surprise,
because it is most unusual for me to be sure in these matters, I
answered, "Yes." Without further discussion, Darla said, "Come on
then," and we hurried to where we thought we would find the
Berry's house.
In the process we took two wrong turns, which conveniently
delayed us a little. As we walked up their driveway we heard voices.
The timing was perfect. Mr. Berry was stepping through his front
door to join a friend on the porch for coffee. His wife followed,
carrying her still untouched cup. Darla stepped forward offering her
business card in an outstretched hand. "We are looking for the
Berrys." Mr. Berry laughed and pointed towards his wife. "There,
you've found one."
Darla continued. "We're interested in renting the castle for a long
term lease. I believe there are two sections. It is the original part,
which is of interest. Twelve months is the period we have in mind."
When he mentioned the cost would be 1,500 English pounds a
week, Darla didn't blink an eyelid. I watched in silent admiration as
she went on to speak of the convenience of a nearby airfield,
explaining that her husband flies his own plane. Later, she was to
explain to me, "I didn't at any time lie, Lexie. My husband really
could afford to rent the castle, and as you know, he does fly his own
plane. And just imagine, how you could write here!"
This was not the last time I was to see Darla working. To her, the
impossible just does not exist. I grew to completely trust her extra
ordinary powers, and never argue against any decision she makes,
realising that her guidance comes from outside this world.
"You know," said Mr. Berry, "this is the only week in years that
there has not been a tenant in the castle, so we never take anyone
through it. In fact, those who now holiday here are all children or
friends of those who came to us twenty years ago. If we were not in
the middle of a nation wide petrol strike, it would be occupied. It is
the only week anyone could possibly see inside. No one is leaving
home this week in case they cannot get back." Again, our timing
was perfect. Turning to his wife, he said, "Why don't you get the
keys and show these people through?" Even when she replied she
really wanted to drink her coffee he urged her to take it with her.
Reluctantly, she complied. She and Darla walked ahead. I
dropped behind in order to more fully experience my former home.
Mrs. Berry and Darla spoke of their common interest in tapestry,
before realising they had both spent time living in the same foreign
countries. They relaxed with each other. Her husband, recuperating
from a knee operation, became curious about our extended absence
and pulled himself on his crutches up the winding stone staircase.
"You know," he said, "people come from all over the world with
ridiculous stories in an attempt to see inside the castle. In fact, had I
not needed to speak privately to the man who had just arrived, and
had we not been out front when you came, even though the castle is
empty, I would have given you the brush off."
Darla said (and meant it), "Well, seeing it is vacant, and we are
here, may we rent it for the week?" Mrs. Berry quickly replied, as
she turned towards her husband, "The people who have paid may
still arrive." He reminded her they had already cancelled. "If it
becomes necessary, we will leave immediately," said Darla. "Why
don't you just think about it, and we will drop by tomorrow for your
answer." They were agreeable to this suggestion.
We then decided to find the centuries old church we knew was
situated close to the castle. It was there, Charles told us, that our
marriage had taken place. It is, of course, a little changed, though
still remains an active parish. As we moved away from the castle, I
felt strong emotions and whispered to Darla. "There is where
Charles and Lucy always said goodbye." Charles had told me our
marriage must, in my time space, be repeated in the church. We
were devastated to find the doors locked. Eventually, not knowing
what else to do, as Darla explored the church grounds looking at old
tombstones, I 'stepped along the aisle' outside the church,
envisioning that Charles and I were within its walls. I took us
through the marriage lines, strongly aware that Lucy's younger
brother, Dewi, was there with us.
Darla came around the corner of the church just as the ceremony
finished, and Charles and I were walking from the grounds. At that
moment church bells began to peel loudly. Darla's eyes opened
wide. She looked at me in amazement. "Lexie, did you do that?"
The church bells, now electronically timed, ring daily at twelve
We were really tired by now, needing rest. Returning to our room,
we lay on the large bed beneath a cover printed with full-blown
cabbage roses. (Many times over the years Peter has given me roses,
and sometimes, I, and others who happen to be with me at the time,
enjoy the rose perfume, which without explanation, can surround
me.) Feelings of exhaustion were with us almost continually. But
there were occasions too, when we, in our own time and space,
laughed together, and felt our closeness. The stepping back and
forth between centuries continued to occur frequently. It happened
almost every time we rested.
Occasionally we ordered a local beer with our evening meal.
Charles always joined us, laughing with enjoyment as he drank ale
from his pewter mug. His sexually charged charisma filled the air.
With his long black curly hair and wearing a white shirt, green
waistcoat, and long trousers tucked into high riding boots, he would
tilt his head to touch me, his Lucy. I loved feeling him beside me,
while envying Darla who continued to see him clearly. The roaring
fire burning brightly in the old stone fireplace, and the drowsy
ginger-coloured cat resting upon the hearth added atmosphere to our
local pub. Charles would look in on us when we entered an English
tea room but never stayed when we ordered Darla's favourite 'cream
A rapidly growing Jackie rejoined us. We were now a foursome.
But there was a division. Charles's interaction was solely with me,
as Jackie's was with Darla alone. There was never any
communication between father and son. It seemed neither was
aware of the other's presence. Soon Jackie began to make his own
demands, bringing added difficulties for his sister Mary.
Darla/Mary, while giving him love and attention, was also dealing
with her own emotions from that lifetime. As she found her love
and loyalties leaning more strongly toward Jackie, resentment to her
father, Charles, surfaced. After being taken from his mother, Jackie
had been deprived of love. Darla was blaming Charles for this
neglect. At the same time, I was growing closer to Charles.
In reliving our love, Lucy's love became my own. When in the
17th Century I was Lucy - completely so, aware only of my
existence in her time. No knowledge of Lexie or her life in the 21st
century stayed with me.
The next day we again walked to the Berry's house. We needed
their decision as to whether they would allow us to rent the castle
for the week. "The money must not be a deterrent," said Darla. "We
have not been sent on this journey to be stopped by that." As we
grew nearer to the house, it became clearer to her that they would
answer no. Just before arriving there she stopped to say, "Lexie, this
is very important. What do you want to happen? Your answer is
very, very, important." I replied that it would not be a problem if
they said no, but added that just one night at the castle would be
great. I knew Charles and Lucy had spent their wedding night there,
and this was meant to be repeated in my time. "You realise you may
have to go in spirit don't you?" said Darla. "And Lexie, if you had
been upset about the decision, I would have had to let Mary and
Jackie go, in order to comfort you." We walked on.
There was no answer when we knocked at the Berry's door so we
went again to the church. Finding the door still locked we sat on
stones opposite the entrance. As we pondered on what to do next,
they drove past. They waved, but did not stop, which of course
confirmed our position. We would not be renting Roch Castle that
A few minutes later another car approached us. This one stopped.
The owner of 'Bali Hai' stepped out, accompanied by his wife. We
were greeted with "Hello there. Have you seen inside the church? If
it's locked we can get the key for you." Darla and I looked at each
other. Help never failed to come. They were there to place flowers
on their son's grave.
Nothing is a coincidence.
So once more I entered the church. The church where, when both
aged eighteen, Lucy married her Charles, over three hundred years
ago. I asked permission to leave the others and walked down the
aisle to the altar. I left Darla conversing with the accommodating
couple as they waited for me in the vestibule. Darla's eyes were
drawn to a framed poem, which she asked me to photograph. It
wasn't until back in Mexico, with the aid of a powerful magnifying
glass, was she able to read the words.
They held significant meaning for our journey:
I am the fresh fragrance of flowers
impregnating the air after April shed showers.
For I am the lonely flight of a bird,
unnoticed, uncared for, unhurried, unheard.
For I am the verdant voice of springtime,
the life force of living;
nature's rhythm sublime.
For I am the gentle mist of the morning,
shrouding the headlands of each day's new dawning.

For I am the bemused sounds of the city;
of sharing and caring, or a callous unpity.
For I am the voice of another new birth,
proclaiming aloud the new Heaven and Earth.
For I am the spark of mankind's new learning,
the gifts of all knowledge,
the unconscious yearning
for a bridge between God and a bridge between man.
For man cannot build it, only I can.
For I am the love of the lovelorn,
for a love that flares hot, or breathes cool.
For I am the life that must be reborn
to create a new law, a new rule,
that will fashion man's hope for the future,
that will quench their fears of the 'now'.
that will stifle the questions, the lies, the half-truths,
the 'ifs' and the 'buts' and the 'hows'.
For I am the wind in the heather,
and I am the gorse on the hill.
For I am all seasons, all ages, all weathers,
and the end of all things is my will.
For I am the laws of all history,
and I am the experience of all.
For the truth that I am is a mystery,
from Creation - and Satan's great fall.
For I am the calm, tranquil ocean,
and I am the moon-caressed sea.
And I have set all things in motion,
and I have said "Let all things be."

For the sound of church bells on a Sunday,
the cries of young children at play,
the "blues" of a workday Monday,
all mirror your thoughts for the day.
For I am where you should go,
for time is fast passing, remember,
and there is so much for all to askew.
For I am the sound and the fury,
for I pronounce judgment on all.
For I am both judge and jury,
to stand and be seen, or to fall!
For I have fashioned my love deep within you,
the works and the deeds that you do.
the light, so extinguished by many,
and the truth, so ennobled by few.
For mine was the life,
mine the grieving.
for mine was the suffering, too.
For yours is the choice
twixt believing, or not,
Or that Hell
and not Heaven awaits you.

Inside the church I knew that this was our 'real' second wedding.
I, Lucy, wearing my much-loved green silk dress and my golden
locket, knelt with Charles before the altar as we repeated our
wedding vows. Deciding a celebration should follow, and with
Charles in merry mood, we joined him as he again drank ale from
his pewter mug. We had a local beer.
After the wedding the crossover to the 17th century became more
frequent. I was now completely Lucy. Lexie did not exist. Charles
and I were both young, beautiful, married and deeply in love. We
again wandered the fields around Roch Castle, laughing and singing
together, carefree and full of the joy of each other.
Then Darla and I, in our time, walked across a pasture below the
castle to rest upon the green, green grass, of home. The picturesque
bay stretched before us. Tiny white cottages nestled on a small hill.
Again we were blessed with a feeling of great peace.
As I lay back to look towards the sky, I felt Charles beside me
holding my hand. Now he was with me almost continually, night
and day. If I were not in his world, he joined me in mine.
We did in spirit spend our wedding night at Roch Castle. He sang
to me, his beautiful voice giving added meaning to the words of the
When thou sigh'st though sigh'st not wind,
but sigh'st my soul away.
When thou weep'st unkindly kind
My life's blood doth decay.
It cannot be that thou love'st me as thou say'st,
if in thine my love thou waste
that is the best of me.
Let not thou divining heart
forethink me any ill.
Destiny may take thy part
and may thy fears fulfil.
But think that we are

but turned aside to sleep.
They who one another keep alive
Ne'er parted be.

I wiped the tears from my eyes.

Arising early, Charles and I rode our horses to St. David's
Cathedral. There we knelt to pray for our marriage and for England,
well aware of the peril that could overtake both. Later that day, this
time with Darla, I again travelled to the cathedral. We went humbly,
as pilgrims. There Lexie's pewter brooch was given to her through
Darla, from Charles. "You had the love, strength and courage to
bring me here once again." The brooch is a replica for pilgrims
since St. David's was consecrated as a cathedral.
Peter had earlier told Darla to buy rosemary for remembrance. I
followed as she searched shop after shop in the village. When, in
desperation, she was looking at small pot plants, we both saw the
humour of her efforts. We laughed and decided to once again enjoy
Darla's favourite 'cream-teas'. (How often I think back and picture
her great enjoyment in this simple pleasure.) As she became
interested in exploring the fascinating little teashop, we suddenly
realized the last bus would have left for Roch.
Our search for rosemary and cream-teas had caused us to be
stranded miles from our B&B. A local bus driver we appealed to for
help shook his head, telling us we would need to stay the night in
the village. He did give us the number of the only taxi in the area.
"But he won't be in town, he is never available." Of course he was.

"The only day in weeks," he said as he drove us back to our special
little pub by the sea. We settled contentedly by the fire and the cat,
and ordered tomato soup. I laughed as I savoured the first mouthful,
realizing the strong flavour was rosemary. We knew Peter was
laughing too. We asked the cook for the recipe and have since made
and enjoyed it many times. We call it Lucy's soup.

Lucy's Soup.
2 cups vegetable stock
4 tomatoes
Rosemary, and thyme
11/2 cups skimmed milk
Combine the first 3 ingredients and heat until serving temperature. Heat
the milk in a separate pan until it reaches the same temperature as the stock.
Blend, season to taste.

As Charles and I relived our lives together, Darla watched Jackie

experiencing rapid growth. He was quickly reaching the age when
formal education would be necessary in order for him to fulfil his
right as future king. It was decided he be placed at Eton. Again he
left us. Darla, now free of the responsibility of Jackie, found herself
an observer in Charles' and Lucy's time, and friend and support to
Lexie in the 21st century.
The second day after the wedding, I awoke knowing we were to
return to London. In order to be in time for the bus, we had a very
quick breakfast and threw our belongings into our backpacks. We
were on our way. As we passed Eton, Darla could clearly hear
Jackie singing in the choir. "He has a beautiful singing voice, just
like his father."
A room was available at our London hotel, and this time we were
not surprised when we were transported to the 17th century. Charles
told me: "You must now concentrate on joy, sunshine, flowers,
laughter, beauty, and, above all, on happiness." The following day
we planned to go to Windsor Castle, where Charles 1 was interred
after his tragic death.
Before sleeping I read aloud to Darla excerpts I'd photocopied
from the book "Charles 11” by Antonia Fraser, before leaving
Australia. We had not had time to look at it once our incredible
journey began. As I read unremembered words, we felt more fully
the pain and sorrow endured by Jackie during that lifetime. Darla
experienced a rush of anger towards Charles and was telling him so.
I quickly defended him. This was happening in our time-space.
Almost immediately I found myself alone with Charles in his
time. He was experiencing deep emotional pain, distress and grief,
coming from intense awareness of his earlier treatment of Jackie
and Lucy. He explained that in these hundreds of years since
Jackie's death he had been unable to make contact with him. I,
Lucy, the child's mother, was the necessary element to enable this to
happen. This was my most difficult period. I thought Charles was
lost to me. His grief so deep I could not reach him.
I tried first to give comfort, and when this failed, to apply
pressure. This being of no avail I refused to leave the 17th century
without him. He feared his treatment of Lucy, especially the taking
of Jackie, had caused her early death. I told him I was already dying
at that time. Finally love and understanding for each other overcame
all and we both slept. The next morning, emotionally drained from
the night's events, I realized all this happened when I had not
followed Charles' suggestion to concentrate on beauty and
happiness. I told Darla instead of accompanying her to Windsor
Castle, I intended to find a garden and walk in the sun. "But," said
Darla, "there will be a beautiful garden at the castle, and Charles
was so happy there." Changing my mind, we both caught the bus.
Darla was to tell me later this was the only time during the whole
journey she thought our mission could fail.
As our destination drew near we both felt Charles' joy and
excitement mounting. Once the castle came into view, he let go my
hand and went on ahead. We walked with tourists, and it wasn't
until reaching Charles 11's staterooms that I, feeling Lucy's sorrow,
said to myself, "But I was never here." I held out my hand to
Charles and felt him grip it tightly. Darla had been told to listen to
anyone offering information.
In following these directions she dropped to the rear of the tour
group. I went on ahead. After lingering for a long time in Charles'
personal apartment, I moved on to the Queen's rooms before Darla
reached me. As we left these rooms Darla said, "We must look to
the ceiling in a room where there has been a recent fire. I have been
told where to stand in order to see clearly an actual painting of
Charles. It is done on plaster." An attendant noting our interest said,
"But you have already passed through the Queen's chamber. Did
you see the portrait of Charles 1's children?" He personally guided
us back, and Darla instantly recognized a strong likeness between
the young Charles 11 and Jackie, although he is very much like
Lucy too. Charles was later to tell me he saw Lucy in Jackie's face.
This family portrait mesmerized me. Charles' younger brother
James stands beside him, his hand resting with complete trust on his
older brother's arm. I understood in a moment how difficult it would
have been for Charles to later declare his marriage to Lucy, enabling
Jackie, his true heir, to ascend the throne. At the time it was crucial
to allow this to happen, Lucy was long dead. However it would
have caused deep hurt to both his brother and his wife. Although
Charles did not love her, she always received his respect and
protection. Charles' promise of the Crown of England to his son was
never fulfilled and Jackie was to die a terrible death as he attempted
to seize his birthright.
We felt sad and emotional on reaching the large hall displaying
the shields of the knights of the Order of the Garter. Where Jackie's
shield should be there is an empty space, signifying a degraded
knight. When an attendant spoke of Jackie in detrimental terms, I,
aware of the terrible injustice suffered by him, again swiftly jumped
to my son's defence.
We moved on to the bookshop before leaving the castle,
completely forgetting our main purpose in going there was to visit
Charles 1's tomb; Of course we were guided back. As we had
neared the exit, a beefeater approached us: "You have I suppose
visited the Chapel of St. George?" We looked aghast at each other.
How could we have both forgotten? Once inside the chapel I walked
ahead of Darla. When she reached me, I was sitting on a bench
beside the plaque covering the remains of Charles 1. The pain of
Charles 11's life filled my heart. His long years in forced exile from
England, and the pain he'd endured when his father was beheaded
almost overwhelmed me. Darla, coming to sit beside me whispered,
"Charles and Jackie are also here." Together for the first time since
death, they knelt side by side at the end of the marble slab. Jackie,
once again a small boy, clasped his little hands together in childish
prayer before his grandfather's remains. The love between father
and son filled the chapel.
Our work was now finished. Old wrongs were righted. Their
world was at peace. For a moment time stood still.
Without looking back we quietly left the chapel, feeling it no
longer necessary, or even possible, for us to step into their world.
Dewi, Lucy's brother, stood on guard at the door, still a faithful
servant to Charles. It has been recorded in Samuel Pepy‟s diary that
there was a David (Dewi in Welsh) Walter at the court of Charles
11, who claimed his sister Lucy had married the King in Wales.
In an attempt to bring some normality back into our lives, we
decided to partake of cream tea, but I, in my time, found myself
crying Lucy's tears. It was impossible to stop. They flowed tap-like.
I knew she/I rejoiced in the reunion of father and son; still, Lucy's
sadness at again being alone, was devastating. Soon, however, Darla
and I, in the London of our time, drank tea, and ate scones dripping
with strawberry jam and clotted cream.
That night we were prepared for a long-awaited and well-
deserved sleep, but once again found ourselves in the 17th century.
This time we were observers. We watched Charles, his love almost
palpable, walk with his long striding steps, on the right side of
Lucy. Still wearing her long green dress, she danced and twirled
beside her husband as they moved towards his state apartments at
Windsor Castle. She turned, smiled, and waved to us, before
moving out of sight. The previous night Darla dreamed we were
searching through a dusty box, high in an old castle, where we
found a string of pearls. Although we did not notice at the time if
Lucy was wearing her mother's necklace, I have no doubt she was
when Charles at last took his wife home.
The next morning as I packed to leave London, I felt a distinct tap
on my shoulder. I turned around, to face myself, Lexie, smiling,
confident and happy. So, twelve days after our arrival in London,
Darla left for America and I travelled to Weymouth. I was planning
to rest a week by the sea before moving on to Egypt. I knew my
next appointment was there.
When I arrived at Weymouth it was raining heavily, and with
night fast approaching I decided to check for accommodation at the
local tourist centre. I was directed to a house overlooking the bay
and given a front room. It was no surprise to find the walls covered
with full-blown red rose wallpaper. Before Darla left for U.S.A.
Charles had prompted her to buy me a red rose. "It is an affirmation
of my love." I placed the rose in a glass of water on the wide

windowsill. It continued to travel with me as loose petals all the
way back to Australia. I have them still.
It was becoming clearer to me that Charles and Peter, being in
some ways separate entities, were also one. This concept was hard
to grasp. Had my journey been with Charles? Yes, that was certain.
Somehow also with Peter, or was it sometimes with Peter, and
sometimes with Charles? Sometimes with both? That night as I laid
my head on the pillow, I became aware I had a decision to make, a
very important decision.
Since leaving London I had been attempting to put Charles and
Lucy out of my mind. When thoughts of them began to intrude, I
would either make a cup of coffee or go for a walk. In an effort to
keep focused I also bought books to read but could not concentrate
on the words. I knew now that Charles (?) Peter was again with me.
I was being asked, not taken this time, to step into the seventeenth
century. I had a strong fear if I agreed to do this I may not be able to
return. My thoughts went to my children of this time and I felt great
pain at the possibility of being separated from them. But I clearly
knew, without it being spoken, all spiritual progress in this lifetime
would end if I decided against giving myself wholly and without
conditions to what was being asked of me.
Peter has at different times given Darla and me words of great
wisdom. I found, "no conditions: faith is enough" going through my
mind. I still felt fear. I became aware that at this same time Darla in
America was also experiencing great concern about the decision on
which I was pondering. Then came more of Peter's words, "with
love there is no fear." I was to think a long time before saying, "It's
all right, Darla," as I agreed to the unknown.
Immediately I was Lucy, holding Charles' hand as we climbed the
stairs within the tower at Windsor Castle. (It has been closed to the
public for many years. I had walked there in spirit with him before,
but being tired at the time had not appreciated the view. I'd regretted
this, remembering when in Wales, Charles had wanted to take me
there, "Because, like your Roch Castle, on a clear day, from the very
top, you can see to Ireland.") Later, we wandered together through
dark Sydney streets. I understood I was being shown he would also
be with me when I returned to Australia. Then he was gone and
suddenly I was alone in the chapel at the Tower of London.
I remembered the guide previously saying the chapel had never
been consecrated. This time I was neither Lucy nor Lexie. I was a
lady of light. I stood tall in the centre of the chapel with my arms
raised high above my head. Twirling around and around, I was the
centre of a light force that radiated to the furthest corner. Brilliant
light emanated from me. It bounced off the walls as dozens of tear
shaped souls shot upwards. Directing light into every crevice, I
laughed with joy until the last one was free.
I then remembered. When Darla and I returned, tired and fraught,
to our hotel after our first visit to the chapel, Peter had told me I
must return there. It was dark, and I knew I was to go alone. This
was very frightening to me and I tried to make conditions. "Peter, I
will go, if you come too." "No conditions, faith is enough" was his
definite reply. I appealed to Darla. She repeated Peter's words. I was
becoming quite distraught. Was I going to fail now? With great
warmth and support they both tried to help me. "If you agree to do
it, you don't have to do it." Seeing me so distressed was very
difficult for both of them. I could not be convinced enough to go.
But, before leaving London I again found myself in that chapel.
Later, when an observer in Charles and Lucy's world, I noticed a
woman heavy with child and realized this baby about to be born was
Jackie. When an opening representing a birth canal was shown me, I
understood it was me who was to give him birth. Jackie was to be
born into spirit. The reliving of Charles and Lucy's lives together
had not yet come to completion. Again, fully Lucy, I felt a hand
gently holding Jackie's head. There was no pain, only complete
peace. Charles came to me after the babe was placed in my arms. As
I touched the little golden head I felt great maternal love. Someone
had wrapped him tightly in a small blanket and only his head could
be seen. Charles and I felt more strongly our love with the joy of
our son's rebirth. Charles was to later say, "You gave me Jackie
The next day in deep meditation I found myself walking, but now
there was a difference. It was no longer Charles holding my right
hand. I grew tired but felt warm and safe with my new companion,
although I knew not who was with me. That night as I closed my
eyes I was given a vision of my backpack standing on a long
railway station. There was a row of columns and the back wall was
covered with marble tiles. "Oh, I thought, I'm to go to Rome."

Immediately the scene changed to the pyramids of Egypt. "Okay," I
said, "I know it is Egypt later, but first I will go to Rome."
To prepare for this change of plan, I decided to purchase a travel
guide. In the bookstore, as I leafed through the pages, I suddenly
felt nauseated and was forced to leave the book and hurry from the
shop. Once outside the nausea quickly passed. Believing I had been
given a sign I was about to buy the wrong book, I purchased a
different one. Then, with a flash of insight, I realized I was being
told I was to go to Egypt now. (When my train later arrived in
Luxor (Thebes), I was to step onto the station I had 'seen'… How I
miss Darla's quickness in these matters; I remember the night before
we had parted she dreamed we'd caught the wrong plane.)
I was dismayed and concerned about the delay in travelling,
fearing I may have already missed necessary connections. Timing is
so important. But all I could do now was to make my way as
quickly as possible to London, and board the first available plane to
Would the Great Pyramid of Giza be closed? What if it closed
yesterday for repairs? What if it was where I was meant to go? Was
my connection still there? I tortured myself with useless questions.
Meanwhile Charles continued to step into my time. Would he come
with me to Egypt? I did not know. He looked different now. He was
wearing court clothes instead of the shirt, waistcoat, pants and high
boots of Wales. I knew it was time to move from England and there
would be different work to do. I was worried and confused. Peter
came to me. I asked him to understand my position. It was not that I
wanted out. I knew it all came back to "Faith is enough", and I had
chosen. Still, being human, my understanding was limited. The love
I felt for Charles was strong, but my work must come first.
That night there was no intrusion from the seventeenth century. I
knew upon awakening help had been given. I could not remember
how or by whom. I knew I had, in spirit, travelled elsewhere and
there had been a discussion. I felt settled within myself. Charles did
not come the next day and I came to terms with the belief we had
finally parted. I would miss him but I knew all was well and as it
should be. I accepted this. However, a day later he was again by my
side. At the time I had been thinking of Jackie and his welfare.
Again I became an observer in Charles' realm and I saw Jackie
and Charles standing together. To my amazement Jackie was a tall
young man. Charles was so proud of him. I was there as Lexie, and
although Charles (or was it Peter?) had obviously guided me
through to his time, neither he nor Jackie seemed aware of my
presence. I decided to look for Lucy but she was nowhere to be
found. This alarmed me. Had I upset their world with my complete
inability to stop being transferred to their time and space? But of
course, this could not be. The transfer was never of my making. It
was impossible for me to go there unaided. In choosing 'faith is
enough' I had given myself to their world too.
Reminiscing about our journey, I thought how difficult this
odyssey had become without Darla, but I knew I was never alone.
Two more of Peter's wise sayings ran through my head. “If you can
hold love in your hand, you can hold time in your hand.” And of
course, the one very relevant to our journey; “When blood calls,
blood must come.” That night I wrote in my diary, “Tomorrow is
another day, may it bring peace, joy and happiness.”
On the 4th October 2000, I left London for Cairo. Charles had
again moved further from me. Perhaps the love between us was too
intense to allow me to concentrate on what was now ahead. There
were people to meet and work to be done in Egypt.

Addendum: Samuel Pepys left us much information about the court of

Charles 11 (which he attended regularly) in the form of his now published
He wrote:
"It is whispered that young James Crofts (Jackie's given name when he was
first taken to the Court, after the Restoration) is lawful son to the King, the
King being married to his mother.”
"This day the little Duke of Monmouth was married at White Hall, in the
King's Chamber, and tonight is a great supper and dancing at his lodging,
near Charing-Cross. I observed his coate at the tail of his coach: it gives the
arms of England, Scotland and France, quartered upon some other fields, but
what it speaks of his being a bastard I know not”
Author's notation here: there was no ermine bar on his coat of arms,
(which is placed to signify a bastard).

"The Queene it seems was at Windsor, at the late St. George's feast there:
and the Duke of Monmouth dancing with his hat in his hand, the King came in
and kissed him and made him put on his hat, which everybody took notice of.”
Author's notation: only a Prince of the blood royal might dance with the
Queen with his hat on.

2000 Egypt

Egypt. Land of my dreams. Land of the Pharaohs. The God Kings

who walked this earth and created a civilization that was the
greatest in the ancient world. Monuments, temples and tombs stand
majestically on desert sands. I have, since I was twelve years old,
known this land was my destiny. It both beckoned and frightened
me. When did I live there? What would I remember when I stood
once more beside the Nile? And why was it now that the time had
Cairo, home to sixteen million. People and cars jostled for space
on crowded streets. I prepared myself for the familiar but arduous
task of finding a clean, inexpensive, safe, and convenient room in an
unknown city. I had tried, without success, three hotels, well
recommended by my guidebook, before a well-dressed Egyptian
man answered my need for directions to the fourth establishment.
He looked with empathy at my backpack and tired face. "I can show
you the way, but there is a hotel just along here, on Sherif Street. It
is clean, friendly, safe and comfortable. Why don't you try there?
But take a double room. It is very reasonably priced." This I did,
and was greeted by a friendly young man speaking perfect English.
I was quickly installed in a huge room containing three single beds,
a dressing table, an old mirror, a fan, and a wardrobe. A tiny
balcony could be accessed through tall French-doors. Gratefully I
accepted a cup of tea, one of many I was to enjoy during my
extended stay there.
My first destination in search of my past was the pyramids and
the sphinx. I walked quickly by those offering camel and horse
rides, feeling I must go to the Great Pyramid of Cheops, the oldest
in Giza, and the largest in Egypt. Upon entering the pyramid, I
joined a long line of tourists to make the steep climb to the King's
Chamber. This climb culminated in a room five metres wide and ten
metres long. Fresh air still flows as it has since the pyramid was
built in 2600 B.C.E. It was awesome, as was the sphinx, but I knew
immediately answers were not to be found there. Peter was not near,
so with no help forthcoming I decided to go to the Cairo Museum.
I knew this would be a joy. I had spoken with many who cited its
100,000 relics and antiquities from every period of Egyptian
history. The golden funerary mask of Tutankhamen is there, and his
golden throne, recovered from his tomb in the Valley of the Kings.
These items excited me. The Royal Mummy Room would be one I
would 'pass'. Forgetting my mission, I wandered mesmerized by
these wonderful artefacts.
Then I found myself, with no explanation, standing outside the
Royal Mummy Room. I did not want to enter but was finding it
difficult not to. I would walk quickly away but invariably found
myself drawn back. This extended my time in the museum by hours.
I did not want to face, whatever it was, awaiting me there.
Eventually I purchased a ticket and forced myself to walk through
the door.
Upon entering the room I felt very emotional. I was both sad and
angry. How could this be allowed? Bodies placed under glass for
public viewing. People were expected to pass by respectfully but
this was not happening. Irreverent groups talked and laughed,
ignoring many requests from the guards for silence. Moving from
one mummified remains to another, I sent love and healing from my
heart. Strong vibrations emanated from my right hand as I held it
above each body. I was torn between leaving as quickly as possible
and a strong need to stay.
I was still upset when I returned to my hotel. Peter was waiting
for me. It was a comfort to have him close by, and knowing I would
be protected throughout the night, I finally fell into a deep sleep.
Awaking refreshed the next morning, I knew I must return to the
museum. My spiritual path led straight to the Royal Mummy Room.
Once there, I found myself unable to approach the door. A feeling
of complete exhaustion swept over me. Again I waited hours before
It was not fear or revulsion holding me back. Like Darla, at the
tower, I was becoming aware I was committing myself to a possible
perilous journey. And this time I was alone. I did not even have a
telephone number to contact her. Still, I knew what was to be done,
must be done. Help would always be near. I entered the room and
moved towards the glass-topped platforms displaying individual
kings, aware I was being directed to only one.
My choice narrowed to three. These were Seti 1, his son
Ramesses 11, and his grandson Merneptah. I continued to move
back and forth between them. Which one was I to choose? Peter
joined me. Still I hesitated, but eventually, fearing the guards would
notice and request I move on, I appealed to Peter: " I need a sign.
Please help me as I pass by just once more." The familiar physical
sign Peter has used many times to answer yes to my questions came
strongly as I stood beside Seti 1. Still fearful of making a mistake on
such an important issue, I thought I would pass by Ramesses 11
As I started to move from Seti 1 a fragrance engulfed me. It was
as if I'd walked into a perfumed garden. Vibrations within the palm
of my hand became burning hot. There was no doubt; Seti 1, the
great pharaoh, King of Egypt from 1306 to 1290 B.C.E., was my
starting point in Egypt.
Treating myself to coffee and cake before returning to the hotel, I
thought how far I had travelled, both physically and spiritually,
during these last few weeks. To have accomplished this work alone
was to me almost unbelievable. I had barely succeeded. Peter
certainly worked hard to get his message through.
That evening as I sat on the side of my bed looking at my
reflection in the old blemished mirror, I saw Peter's face gradually
overshadow mine. It was to be many days before I would be able to
distinguish his fair hair, thick moustache, warm blue eyes and short
beard. While intently focusing on his likeness, I unknowingly
folded my arms, mummy-like, across my chest. Connecting this
action with Seti's tomb, I said to Peter: "No. I will bring him up to
the light but I am not going there!" Without Darla's support I felt
stressed and frightened and decided that the next morning, instead
of returning to the museum, I would find a garden and walk in the
sunshine. I was in need of lightness and normality. My night was
sleepless, but Peter was nearby, giving comfort and understanding.
To find a garden open to the public in central Cairo is impossible.
I walked to where I had earlier noticed a park not far from my hotel,
only to find all entrances locked. I could only gaze longingly
through the high wire fence. I felt deprived and then angry. How
could the men, women and children of this greatly overcrowded city
exist spiritually, emotionally and physically in this concrete jungle?
I decided I would go to the Nile Hilton to be close to greenery and
flowers while I splurged on more expensive coffee.
Again, I was fulfilling my need to anchor myself in my present
world. Peter was with me as I walked back to my room. I thanked
him. "I am always with you," he said. (I do know he is aware of my
every thought. I find this rather disconcerting at times.)
Whenever I entered my room, my eyes would immediately be
drawn to the mirror. Peter's gentle face surrounded by his wide aura
of mauve, green, and gold became very familiar. Then came the day
when Peter's face moved aside to reveal another. This was not the
smiling Peter. This face was very stern. It was the face of Seti 1!
Now there were two overshadowing my face. Always Peter came
first, before he moved aside to reveal Seti. Only the knowledge that
Peter brought him allowed me to contain my fear.
This mirror gazing continued by day and half the night.
Sometimes I would watch for two hours without taking my focus
from the one point. My eyes felt sore and hollow. Once I was
woken at 3 a.m. to continue. I tried very hard, aware of lost time in
England when I felt directed to Rome. Maybe, I thought, my contact
in Egypt is close to leaving, unaware that I am to be met. Then,
although very tired, I would return once more to the mirror. I
accepted without doubt that what was happening between Seti,
Peter, and myself was important - understanding would come later.
Gradually, I was able to communicate with Seti. Always he
addressed me as "My Wife." He spoke of our eldest son who had
died young. We grieved together. I asked if I had been brought to
him because of the boy. The answer was "No." Then I asked if I had
come for him. Seti cried and said, "Yes." Remembering the pain I
experienced in England and Wales I asked whether I would cry as
much in Egypt. "More," was his reply. This I felt would be almost
unbearable without Darla's comforting presence, but I continued to
And so the days passed, with the mirror being my only focus. My
eyes became even more painful, as I now left the room only for
sustenance. After seven days I decided to look at a book containing
information on the lives of the Pharaohs. As I read of Seti's life and
of the harem, Lucy's pain again came close to me.

With no understanding of Pharaonic times, I wrongly imagined
that I, Tuya, Seti's wife, had also suffered. The Great Wife of Seti 1,
or of any Pharaoh, held a very privileged and honoured position in
this matrilineal society. She was always treated with great respect.
Indeed, it was through the female bloodline that the next Pharaoh
would ascend the throne. In my ignorance I covered the mirror, and
meditated on the pink crystal mountain, a place within my mind
where I take myself when I need personal space. I knew that Seti
and Peter would not be able to reach me there. Everything was
becoming too much.
I would go home to Australia! This was too emotionally draining.
I was unwilling to continue. But the thought of losing contact with
Peter was more than I could bear. Once, some years ago, I had sent
him away and it was months before he answered my plea to return.
He had then said firmly, "Never send me away again." I promised I
never would.
I stepped from my safe haven and uncovered the mirror. Again I
focused my attention there. Neither Seti nor Peter appeared. I was
devastated. I felt completely alone. It was hours before I was
allowed to reconnect. Finally I fell into a restless sleep.
The next morning it was Seti who came, telling me I had been
allowed the experience of aloneness as he thought I had gone from
him, and he had been alone so long. I was, he explained, the only
one who could heal this. I asked if it had been two thousand years?
"Longer," he replied.

He went on to explain his loneliness was because of something he
had done to me when I was his wife. "I killed our eldest son, and
you knew it was going to happen." We cried together. "Seti," I said.
"You have suffered long enough. I forgive you." We grew close as
we continued to mourn our son. I was not to know, until later told
by the contact awaiting me in Luxor, I had been in full agreement
with the boy's early and tragic death. Seti told me," There is one
more thing you must do. You must go to our son's resting place in
Twelve days after arriving in Cairo, and with my need to
continually peer into the mirror passed, I left for Luxor (Thebes). I
was confident, despite the apparent impossibility of my mission, I
would find where my son, whose name I did not know, had been
laid to rest in an unmarked place. But where to start on a quest
without a starting point, in a country where I understood neither the
language nor the customs?
Luxor, being adjacent to the Valley of the Kings, is a tourist town,
so some English is spoken. My first stop was the tourist office. I
asked where I could find information on the burial place of the son
of a Pharaoh. "I am not an Egyptologist," said the attendant as he
scribbled a name on a piece of paper. "This man has an office
around the corner from the museum." A young man asked for my
card, and looked at me incredulously when I indicated in English,
which he did not understand, that I did not have one. Reluctantly he
accepted my hastily written note. I hoped that someone, somewhere,
would be able and willing to read it.
The small office filled rapidly with people from many nations.
Seated near me were two English speaking Egyptologists and on
overhearing their conversation, I realized the man I had been
directed to see was indeed an expert. Apparently this was the place
where those working on excavations came to check the correctness
of their findings. There are many countries involved with helping
uncover the secrets of this timeless land. Should I wait? My
thoughts went to Darla. What would she do?
I waited. Most of the day had passed before I, along with the two
men beside me, were summoned before the man I now realized was
'the expert.' He turned first to me, and speaking in English said, "I
do not understand your note, but how can I help?" At that point a
telephone rang. While he answered the two men asked if they could
be of assistance. One was stern and reprimanded me for the taking
of such a great man's time. "All the Pharaohs had many sons. What
was the boy's name? "I looked to the other and was grateful for the
twinkle in his eye. He said gently, "If the name were known, the
records would be available in Australia. Go to the universities there.
This man could not possibly take the time to look it up for you."
Finally finishing his phone conversation, the highly esteemed
Egyptologist turned to me and in a warm, friendly voice said, "Now
I am free. Can I help you?" I mumbled, "No. I'm sorry." Feeling
about two inches high I scurried towards the door, barely resisting
the urge to turn and bow low before leaving.
Walking towards the town centre and realizing I needed to buy
water, I entered a mini arcade. As I passed a woman sitting on a
bench outside a jewellery shop, I felt compelled to stop and sit
beside her. Hilda, from Germany, smiled at me and we exchanged
words of greeting. She had lived in Luxor for four years... "Drawn
'to home'. I know I have lived here in an earlier life. I cannot leave."
Without discussing my mission, I spoke of being interested in the
name of Seti 1's eldest son. We had coffee together and laughed
about my morning's experience. She told me of a book called "Om
Seti" and suggested that it may contain useful information. "You
can buy a copy here in Luxor." The book certainly held my interest.
I read that Seti's eldest son 'went to his death', and of this son being
disgraced. Apparently in these circumstances, names are never
spoken again, and bodies are thrown into unmarked pits. This was
becoming more difficult, but I had complete faith I would be
The next morning I stood on the bank of the Nile, the wet-nurse
of Egypt. From time immemorial she has given succour to thirsty
sand. The Aswan Dam now controls this life force. I looked across
the broad stretch of river and raised my eyes to the hills.
Somewhere out there was the Valley of the Kings; the valley where
Tutankhamen, Seti 1, and many other Pharaohs were entombed. The
Valley of the Queens was nearby. Could I expect to find my
nameless son? I thought not. But where else to begin?
I boarded the local ferry and crossed to the West Bank, land of the
ancient dead, tombs, and mortuary temples. Passing those offering
donkey, horse, camel, taxi, and mini-bus transport, I decided I
would walk the three kilometres to the distant hills.
My energy, under the hot Egyptian sun, soon depleted, so I joined
the locals and rode in a truck-taxi back to the river. Wooden
benches are built onto the back of small trucks, to provide seating,
and short plump women, dressed in black, with only hands and
faces exposed to view, moved closer together to make space for me.
I was to learn, after a few mistakes, woman sits next to woman in
this land of Islam. There were smiles and many greetings of 'salam
alekum', from both genders. Strangely, I felt perfectly at ease. I was
comfortable with these people and I smiled back.
Nothing had been gained this day to bring me closer to the end of
my search. Reboarding the ferry to return to the East side, I noticed
an Egyptian woman sitting opposite me looked very ill. I was
wondering if it would be correct to offer water when an English
woman, accompanied by her Egyptian guide, passed by. Turning
back she said, "I think I will sit here beside you."
I indicated the sick woman and asked if I might give her my water
bottle. "I will do it for you," said Anne. When she returned we
conversed. She spoke of coming frequently to Luxor, often to work
on excavation sites. I hesitated a moment, then asked if she knew
the name of Seti 1's son, who died young. "Yes, I do, but I cannot
bring it to mind right now. Meet me another time and I will be able
to tell you. Some say he died from the plague, while others maintain
he was poisoned."
"If it is one of the two, it has to be poison," was my definite reply.
Turning quickly she looked intently at my face before saying, "Why
don't we have a cup of tea together when we leave the ferry?"… I
spoke of my wish to find the burial place of Seti's son. Without
asking questions Anne arranged to meet me two days later at the
ferry. We would cross the river together. "I will help you find what
you are searching for.” Upon leaving she called, “And don't forget
to bring a flower."
Later she was to say, although she knew someone would come to
help with her work, she was not sure it was me until I offered water
to an ill woman, "I knew then that you were Egyptian, Lexie.
Egyptian women always offer water."
Anne and I met at the ferry. Not knowing where to buy flowers
and sure it was important, I picked two small blooms from a nearby
public garden, hoping I would not feel the strong arm of the law on
my shoulder. Anne was cheerful but non-committal when we started
to cross the Nile. She indicated, as she was always to do, we must
not speak as we near the West Bank. "We do not know who will be
meeting us there." We took a taxi, and the only thing she said to the
previously unknown driver was, "Well I don't know where to go
today. Where will you take us?" He suggested a location and she
said, "Okay." All I could do was follow.
I knew we were not being taken to the Valley of the Kings, and
remembering Anne saying the day we met, "Maybe that boy rests
near his mother," I thought our destination might be the Valley of
the Queens. Not so, our driver took us elsewhere. He appeared to
have become our unofficial guide, without knowing where or what
we were seeking. I felt I was wasting time. He walked ahead,
pointing out this or that. I followed uninterested, until suddenly
Anne and I were alone. Nothing marked this spot but when she
pointed without speaking to a deep crevice, I knew.
I knew.
The agony was no less three thousand years later. The cry of
anguish was the same I'd made as my child was wrenched from my
arms when I was Queen of Egypt. Back then, at that moment, I had
dismissed any responsibility for the decision made jointly with my
husband, and I withdrew my love from him for the rest of his
"Ssh," said Anne firmly. "They are sleeping here." Seti's eldest
son, who died by a dagger held in a loving father's hand, was not
left to rest alone. I reached into my backpack for the two flowers.
The first one thrown missed the crevice, but becoming calmer I
threw the next accurately. Anne was later to say in amazement,
"Didn't you see the arm that reached up to catch it." The official
Keeper of the Tomb, who had joined us when I screamed, saw it
*Now, I must ask you to forgive me for not being more specific
about my son's resting place. Please respect where Shana sleeps,
and do not attempt to seek and so disturb that sacred place.
As we left the West Bank, I was aware it was Seti, not Peter, who
now held my hand. Mission completed, Anne and I drank coffee at
an outdoor café while Seti walked around the garden. "He has a
small fair-haired child with him," said Anne. "No, it is not Shana.
He is your grandson from this time-space. He is his grandson too."

She continued," You do understand. It was not me who chose this
place for coffee. I merely followed where Peter directed."
At this stage of my journey, I had come far enough to accept what
she said as truth. From first reaching Luxor, I was able, as in Cairo,
to see Peter and Seti if I even glanced into my bedroom mirror. We
were all smiling now. I still had some difficulty accepting Peter and
Seti were one and the same, that Charles and Seti were both facets
of Peter.
It had been easier to connect Charles and Peter, as I realized,
when Peter first came to me and gave his name, it was as Charles he
stood behind my chair. On that particular night I had been
privileged to be with a special group of people who had worked
together for a number of years. I had been attending self-
development classes conducted by Mandy Coles, a well-known
spiritual teacher and clairvoyant based in Australia. As a novice I
had persevered for months without result, until that night, during
guided meditation, I became aware of a presence standing behind
me. I felt emotional and tearful. At the end of the session Mandy
explained, with tears in her eyes. "It is a strong love from over three
hundred years ago." She went on to describe Charles. "He left you a
red rose and the message "The time has come the walrus said."
What a strange message, I had thought, until I remembered more
words of that old song: "The Walrus and the Carpenter” by Lewis
“ The time has come, the walrus said,
to talk of many things:

of shoes and ships and sealing wax,
of cabbages and kings,
and why the sea is boiling hot,
and whether pigs have wings.”
Further information regarding my spiritual associates had
„arrived‟ when in Wales. Darla and I had been given the words 'love
is three'. It seemed some clarity was at last emerging. It was now
mainly as Seti that Peter held my hand and walked the temples with
Anne and me.
Thinking of Shana one evening I felt quite sad. "Look into the
mirror," Peter told me. "That won't help," I answered, but of course
I did look. Gazing back at me was a very familiar and much loved
face. My tears fell freely as I met the eyes of my son Shana. He was
young, maybe twelve or fourteen. There was a large V painted on
his forehead, filled in with white paint, from the hairline to a point
between his eyes. Our hearts met. And we both knew our love and
felt at peace.
That same night I was again drawn to the mirror. Now I saw a
strange image, which looked rather like a distorted bear face. As it
turned from me I noticed a long nose. Was this Seti? I shivered. I
did not know, but at that moment I became aware of Karma owing
for my agreement to my son's death. Seti had paid for this for so
long, and I had also punished him. That was a very hard night for
me, but my hand was held the whole time. How else could I have

Speaking next day with Anne of these happenings, she said, "but
the payment has already been made. It was during a lifetime in
England or Wales. Your name was Lucy. You were murdered."
(Like Darla, Anne has been blessed with many gifts. She told me of
lifetimes we have spent together in Egypt and other places in the
Middle East. Always there are strong bonds between us. We
rejoined with love.) It was not long before (as I had earlier feared) it
was time for Anne to leave Luxor. When she was unable to extend
her ticket, I left too. We agreed to meet again in Egypt. I returned to
Australia, but I was never alone again. Peter, Seti, or Charles'
shadow is always close.
Anne and I did keep that appointment at Luxor. Peter and Seti
joined us too. (Charles never came to Egypt, although he has visited
Anne in England.) Each morning in Egypt Anne would inform me
which tomb or temple we were to visit that day. Laughing, she
would say, "You know, it is Peter who is in charge of this schedule.
I take you to where he directs." So we visited places important to
our earlier lives. I was to find other connections to Peter in the
Valley of the Kings.
Anne and I spent most of our days together. She spoke again and
again of ancient Thebes. My head whirled. "I'll never remember all
this." "You will. And you do know of course, it is not me telling you
these things. It is Peter, he is merely using my voice." She would go
on to read hieroglyphs carved deep into temple walls while
explaining, "I didn't have to learn this. I just remembered." I listened
in awe at Karnak Temple while she read almost word for word the
23rd Psalm as it is written in the Christian bible. How could that
have been placed there during an earlier time?
What is time? I was beginning to wonder about that.
Questions rushed through my mind. Knowledge of the political,
spiritual, and social life of the period known as the New Kingdom,
the 'Golden Age of Egypt' was stirring in my mind. I listened and
tried to remember. Again I was reconnecting to an earlier lifetime. I
thrilled to the wisdom, the spirituality, the sacred devotion and the
honour that was given to Amun (God) at a time when the universe
was held to be worthy of reverent wonder.
I know of the daily ritual Pharaoh and his priests enacted to Amun
and the Netterew, who represent different aspects of the one hidden
God. This was to ensure the success of the harvest and the
continuing wisdom of Pharaoh, so he in turn, would lead his people
in a manner that would open their hearts to truth, brotherhood and
Herodotus records: "Of all the nations in the world, the Egyptians
were the healthiest, happiest, and most religious."
Yes, I know too of the many festivals when Pharaoh joined with
his people to celebrate the Gods, life, the harvest, and the Nile. Men
and women, rich and poor, young and old, feasted and danced. They
clapped hands and sang to the music of ancient harps, flutes and
percussion instruments.
Strict codes of conduct were expected of all and I will list but a
few of many rules to live by that have survived on papyri:

*Don't be proud of your own learning, but take counsel with all,
for it is possible to learn from all.
*Treat a wise man with respect, but correct your equal when he
maintains a wrong opinion.
*Don't be proud of earthly goods or riches, for they come to you
from God without your help.
*Don't repeat slanders.
*Be content.
*Be industrious. An idle man is not honourable.
*Speak not too much, for a man's ruin lies in his tongue.
*Don't eat bread while another person is present unless you share
bread with him.
*He who is rich this year may become a pauper next year.
Communicating more closely with Seti and Peter was bringing
me nearer to acceptance of an overall energy. The name does not
Few, when visiting Egypt today, looking upon temples carved
with sacred symbols and Holy Hieroglyphs, think back to the
spirituality of an ancient civilisation: back to a time when man in
search of truth, worshipped more fully the Creator, while gazing
with wonder and reverence at nature and the Universe. As a child I
had been loosely introduced to Christianity but it was a man-
changed Christianity, where more fear than love was taught. As an
adult I quickly rejected this.
Once, during a crisis in my life, I became quite depressed and
unable to sleep for many nights. In desperation I tried to reclaim
what I had cast aside. Stepping onto the balcony outside my room, I
looked to the sky and called loudly, "If there is anyone or anything
out there, I need help and I need it now." That night I slept but still
did not accept I had been given help.
Now things were changing. Once I asked Seti for help with God
and holiness. I found myself, Tuya, walking with Seti, my husband,
up the central steps, from the second court of the Rammeseum. I
accompanied him until we approached the inner sanctum/the Holy
of Holies. I knew I must not enter. He was to go on alone. He was
already doing so, seemingly oblivious of my presence. I stayed and
watched for a while, as he stood tall and strong before his God. I felt
joy and great love for Seti as I witnessed this connecting but I knew
I must not stay, and moved back to join the others waiting in the
court. Seti turned around and walked down the steps. As he did so
the cheers and adoration of his people greeted him.
I had been to the Ramesseum before and seen the ruins of this
magnificent place, but this night, as I held Seti's hand, I looked upon
its former glory; the colours, the gold. I had stepped back in time
over 3,000 years.
Later, in our time space, I attended a village wedding. Men,
wearing traditional galabiyyas rested their hands on each other's
shoulders, and facing the crowd danced the vigorous dances of
Upper Egypt. They stepped back and women in black came
forward, moving their bodies rhythmically back and forth. I needed
to close my eyes for only a moment to see them dressed in fine

linen, clapping, singing, and playing percussion instruments, as they
danced single file from the ancient Karnak Temple of Thebes.
Occasionally I would glimpse a school girl, her eyes identical to
those painted on tomb walls and once I looked into a poor man's
eyes and saw the soul of a Pharaoh. But these people now belong to
the brotherhood of Islam, as deeply entrenched in their beliefs as the
rest of the world is in theirs.
At this point I am pressed to quote the words of Thrice Great
"Oh Egypt!
The land which was the seat of divinity,
shall be deprived of the presence of the gods.
There shall not remain more of thy religion than tales,
than words inscribed on stone and telling of thy lost piety.
A day will come, alas,
when the sacred hieroglyphs will become but idols.
The world will mistake the symbols of wisdom for gods
and accuse great Egypt of having worshipped hell-monsters."
This prophecy did come true. Many hierophants died without
worthy successors to their line. The few remaining, prevented by
corrupt High Priests from continuing their work in honour and truth,
closed the sacred books of the mysteries. They left their
underground crypts and temple chambers, knowing that others,
walking slowly across the sands of time, would one day when the
need is great, rekindle the temple flame. Then will the ancient
wisdoms again be available to all who, in search of truth, knock on
the temple door.
So Egypt sleeps.
Anne left Luxor two weeks later. Within days I too left my
beloved Egypt; the home of my heart for over three thousand years.

2000/2001 Mexico

I returned to Australia via Mexico to allow Darla and I to spend a

short time together. Peter, Charles, and Seti all communicated with
me there:
Peter: "There is one more place I have to take you, we have yet to
be. We will drink wine in Israel as we have together many times in
the past. But you haven't been travelling too well lately."
Apparently he was close when I spent hours at Mexico City
Airport, waiting for my mislaid backpack to arrive. (I am ever
aware of Peter's love and strength, always there in the shadows.
Once, when I was feeling low, he said, "Weep no more pretty
sweetie”… It was many months before the following line came to
me, "At journey's end comes lovers meeting.")

Seti came with the wind.
S: "Remember you are now Egyptian, you have made your
Me: "I am also half Australian."

S: "No. You were already Egyptian. We cannot be all our past
lives at the same time. You cannot be Lucy and my wife at the same
time. There is a certain amount of choosing. We are shown the way
but we can refuse to follow the path. Other lives are still there and
not neglected while we move on another plane. You must do, not
question, and I am with you. Remember what you hold in your
hand. If you hold love in your hand, you can hold time in your

C: "Remember when we were at Crete."
Me: "I will go there."
C: "You may have to. You look like Lucy."
In answer to my questions Charles told me:
C: "I am still riding my horses and sometimes Jackie comes too. I
would come to you more often if you would give me the time."
And with his usual love and emotion,
C: "Do not fear. I will enclose you in my cloak, and always
protect you."
Me: "I have not seen you for a long time Charles."
C: "I've seen you. The biggest test is yet to come."

Darla spoke of 'seeing' Seti's spirit standing over Tutankhamen's
body during the first stage of embalming.

S: "He must be beautiful for he is a representation of all that is
beautiful in our land. He must be beautiful, as my wife will show
forth her beauty. It is to show you how important is my will and that
it must be obeyed."
Darla asked me to enquire about the people who had desecrated
the body of Tutankhamen. And does Seti's will still hold?
S: "His body is guarded by me."

I expressed the feeling that I needed to take my emotions in hand.
My tears come easily, and sometimes I feel embarrassed by this.
P: "To deny the emotion is to deny the feeling."
Speaking of time:
P: "It is not the length of time but the depth of time that is

Before I left Mexico the three appeared together, telling me this

would not happen again. Each will come according to my need.
Charles was slightly amused I was now an Egyptian woman and
also by the fact "we three are so different". (Charles is extremely
witty and there is always laughter in the room when he joins us.)

J: "You forgot me, and I was a king too."

We were not expecting him at this time, and apparently he was
waiting to come. This was a great lesson to us. He bowed as he left.
We had much to regret and to remember.

Once Darla made up my eyes as they were done in Pharaonic

S: "I like your eye makeup."

My hair was also coloured with an auburn rinse.

C: "I have a horse that colour. Do you need anything?"
Still feeling some concern regarding forgetting Jackie, I asked:
"How is Jackie?"
C: "He is OK, but he won't forget. He is new."

(I was reading DECEPTION, the untold story of Ancient Egypt ,by
Moustafa Gadalla)
S: "You must keep reading that book, there are grains of gold
there, but not solid gold."

Darla and I were taken in spirit to ancient Abydos. We saw it as it

was in Seti's time. I felt love and joy. Seti and my children were
there. After Darla went to bed, I found myself again at Abydos. I
was sitting with Seti on a bench under the large tree. A beautiful

perfume engulfed us; not lemon, but like that, with musk added.
(Later I was to know it was the same Tuya used.. When Darla
travelled in the Middle East she was compelled to buy a particular
perfume. It was identical. She gave it to me as a gift.)
Seti brought a small boy with him.
Me: "Is it Shana?"
S: "Some call him that."
I felt very emotional on seeing my son, especially seeing him with
his father. They walked towards the shady tree and Seti sat on the
bench beneath it. Shana sat at his feet.
S: "You must 'see' with your heart not your mind."
S: "There is something you must do before too long. What is to be
done will be done."

Peter and Seti together gave me healing. It was so intense I had to

ask them to stop.
S: "We were showing 'oneness'. There is no limit to power when
done with love."
Seti and I had been dwelling on personal matters. That night I felt
a negative force within me. I voiced rejection of what was
happening and the problem was overcome. I needed comfort. Still
shaking, I woke Darla. She was at the time having a very
frightening nightmare. I called Seti.
S: "You are new at this. Step into the sun, and if it feels warm, all
is well. I can always be contacted by you. Choose your own place."
Me: "At the Ramasseum under the wings of Ra."
At Darla's request I asked Seti:
Me: "Are there negative forces, now, or in the future, for us to be
aware of?"
S: "I cannot tell you the future as doing so could change it."

Charles spent a long time with me today. A sweetness always. The

rose perfume came with him.

It was growing close to the time I should return to Australia.
S: "No decision is yet made. You will know tomorrow."
I was concerned as I needed to reserve a bus seat to reach
Mexico City in time, eight hours travel, for my plane.
S: "Queens don't worry about bus tickets."

The morning dawned and a bus ticket being available, I left

Mexico City for Australia.

2002 Mexico

Peter told me in Australia (and told Darla in Mexico) we had

another journey to make. Peter chose the time and the itinerary.
I was to leave for Mexico on the 28th January 2002.
We were to travel to Israel on the 2nd April 2002, the interim
time being for the writing of this book.

I was quite nervous about my ability to become a writer.

P: "Don't worry. I'm going to channel it."

28th January 2002:

Today Darla and I sit within her walled garden and sip tea.
Brightly coloured flowers in blue painted pots stand by the front
door. Brick paths wind their way between roses, bougainvillea,
impatiens and green ferns. The scent of lemon wafts from numerous
citrus trees and the sweet smell of jasmine pervades. We sit quietly,
in large cane rocking chairs under shade giving trees, not wanting to

venture outside these walls to where the Mexican sun beams
strongly. I write and write.

Five years have passed since Peter first urged me to begin. I'd
repeatedly asked him to give me the first line.
P: “No, but I'll give you the last...'And the end was the

28th January 2002:

Once more in Darla's living room Peter was the first to greet me.
P: "Are you willing to do the work offered you? If so, repeat three
times: I choose to do the work offered me."
I did so.
P: "And so you shall."
P: "Come ye back. If in doubt step out with your left foot and turn
left. Do not expect the movement that has been before. In stillness
there is power. And you will remember. There is no doubt. I will be
there of course. You will see yourself anew."

J: "Mummy, I've planted the roses."

S: "The sands are stirring in Egypt politically. Never go there
when the sands are stirring. Anger disturbs the sands. You must
always leave when the sand is disturbed. I will let you know when."

P: "There are places where you must not go. You will be led away
from there. It is because of physical danger. You will be given total
freedom of choice this time. Cover your head. I want to see you in
the veil again. It must be black and it must be worn much of the
time. It is for both safety and remembrance. Go to the western wall
and offer your prayer. I will not be with you. It is yours alone. You
have only one prayer and it will be answered at that time. Therefore
be careful. A prayer you have prayed before, one of the many times
you were there. Go there as soon as possible. It is the starting point.
At that time I must stand back. The wall is your sole journey."
P: "Do not forget laughter too. Are you prepared to pour out your
love? Radiate it."
P: "Do not break the thread, the thread that binds you to your
purpose. You know the purpose. Keep focused. When I return there
are questions I may ask of you. You should answer with an open

C: "We relive our joy. To grow old is to grow young again.(not
referring to re-birth.) Have you noticed my boots? "
I had, they were brown this time.
C: "They were especially made for an outing with you and
Jackie. They became dirty when we crossed a field. You wiped
them clean with the bottom of your skirt. I will protect you with my

Amanda Millman: (child)

A.M: "You were my mother. Your name was Jane."
(Jane Millman was the maiden name of my great, great
A.M: "I was a full-term, still-born child. I live in a forest and my
job is to bring joy to the earth. You will meet me when you die, if I
am still here."

30th January 2002:

P: "The main purpose of this journey is to search for a house. It
has a round topped timber door with yellow and pink, almost white,
climbing roses around the door. It is in a very barren area. It is built
of stone with cobblestone floors."
Darla and I both saw a vision of the house. There was a wide
expanse of water to the right.
P: "There is a chimney but it may not look like a proper chimney
to you. It is in the same country where we lived before. It is not in
Egypt. If you cannot find it you can build it. Build it in the shape of
your spirit. It must be built of stone."
Me: "Why are we to find it?"
P: "To fulfil a promise that was made. I will be there with you if it
is emotionally and physically safe. The house is very modest. You
will be back where you started."

R: "I sojourned from Egypt to Israel with you. We were both born
during the Exodus."
Me: "How long ago was that?"
R: "3,021 years ago by my calendar. We were girls together."
Me: "Was the journey difficult?"
R: "Some left willingly. Ours did, as they were the leaders. Some
were forced to go."
Me: "Were you pursued by Pharaoh?"
R: "Yes. We were pursued by Pharaoh, but not for long. There
were greater dangers from the people in the areas through which we
wandered. I have returned because you are a wanderer again and I
have come to be with you."
Me: "Have we met since that time?"
R: "No, but if you remember, remember the woman who nursed
us both."

Rajees has also been with me for many years. He stands pointing
to the East. A few years ago he told me to look to the stars and I

would see his face. I have given little time to doing this. Last year he
gave me a tiny red coloured heart covered with silver stars, saying:
Rajees: "Watch for the miracles as they come in many ways."
He then placed a cloak of 'high' colours around me.
Rajees: "Indicative of the journey you are about to make. I come
to help you with your writing."

31st January 2002:

Amanda Millman:
A.M: "I am busy spreading joy to others. I spread joy to my
(She giggles).
Me: "What do you eat Amanda?"
A.M: "Silver pears and golden apples."
Me: "Do you pick them from the trees?"
A.M: "No. I simply hold out my hand when I am hungry and one
is put there. I do not meet many people. Some of my mothers but
only a few of my fathers."

Rajees: "You may call me by another name if you wish ... Merlin
Emrys. I have taught you much and there is much to come from
many directions. Be open to every aspect."
Me: "I remember the times when I came to your cave to ride the
large wooden horse. I remember how huge it looked to me as a
child. I can see it still. It was roughly put together from logs."
Rajees: "Remember the horse and how hard you had to try to ride

S: "Do not close me out of your heart."
Me: "It is difficult for me with so many loves."
S: "What would you give up?"
Me: "None."
S: "A woman loves a man differently to how a man loves a
woman but I understand. Do not close your heart to me. Remember
with your heart. Remember the wonderful time we had together in
Me: "How is Egypt?"
S: "Egypt waits. From where I am I see all and I know all.
Wisdom is knowledge correctly applied."
Me: "I feel guilty about the way I treated you during our lifetime
S: "There is no guilt, only growth. Three is love. There is a light
about you, around you, and through you."
Me: "I have no questions."
S: "There are no questions, only answers. If one has the answers
there is no need to ask the questions. True peace. Have no sorrow
my wife; the best is yet to come. If you will take my hand you will
see far."
Me: "If you hold out your hand and I am aware of it, I will come."

S: "No. I have held mine out many times to you. You must hold
out yours."
Me: "I will come when I feel worthy."
S: “You came into my world worthy to be my wife, and I worthy
to have you as my wife. It was decreed. Rise up and let your spirit
rise up. There is pure understanding from where I am."
Me: "Have you spent other lifetimes with me?"
S: "No. I have been in touch with you since you were twelve.
Your beauty and your wisdom were unsurpassed."
S: "This book is for universal spiritual growth. Allow it to be, and
by allowing, it shall become. There will be a sorting out to allow
everyone to come back. Remember the light we shared together,
still share, and will always share. You must wear shining armour, a
symbol of my love. I stand aside and leave for a while."

2nd February 2002:

Mary (My daughter to Charles):
M: "Everyone is busy but pleased with what you are doing. I wish
you could have been a mummy to me!"
Me: "I have regrets too Mary. You were only a small child when I
M: "I have joy now from my children. I never had beauty,
grandeur or riches, but always safety. I no longer yearn for these
things. I am past that."

3rd February 2002:

Amanda Millman:
AM: "I have a puppy."
Me: "What is his name?"
AM: "Puppy."
Darla and I then spoke together about a tiny mouse, which at that
moment ran across the floor. Amanda was interested in our
AM: "What is a mouse? Maybe I could have a mouse. I think I
would like a mouse."
Me: "Maybe the mouse would not be happy to leave here. What
does your puppy eat?"
AM: "My puppy eats silver pears."
Me: "Are you happy Amanda?"
AM: "Yes. I am happy. I live alone with the animals in the
For many years we have watched this little girl peeping at us
from behind trees. She would giggle if we attempted to speak with
her. We knew she was pleased to come to us and I always feel happy
when she appears. In fact, I find myself smiling before she actually
shows herself.
AM: "Maybe I won't have a mouse. The other animals may not
like it and they are so happy together. I sleep on leaves with my
animals. I have important work to do. I make people happy."

S: "I am feeling very old tonight."
He was silent for a long time but stood close to me.
S: "The greatest words are spoken in silence. The yellow wind
will blow the sands from the hills."
We could smell some type of gas.
Seti gave us the word 'hasum'. We did not know the meaning but
felt it had some connection to 'the yellow wind'.
S: "Where I am I see all and know all. I feel power slipping from
my hands."
S: "I am concerned that Egypt will be scattered. If this time comes
you must leave. I will not have you in harm's way."
Me: "I will pray for Egypt."
S: "No. To pray for one is to condemn the other. You are my
comfort and my dream. Guard your steps, for each one will lead you
to a destination unknown to you in the beginning. I must leave, but I
leave my love with my wife."
Me: "If you wish please return to me tonight."
S: "I would like to rest with you in a perfumed garden."

I felt my hand being tightly held.
M: "I came because I thought you might be frightened."
She stayed with us quite a long time.
Me: "Are you close to your father Mary?"
M: "No. He is close to Jackie. I do not see him often. I will come
back again."

4th February 2002:
S: "The day dawned heavy. We must pray for our children. Ask
nothing of me tonight but allow me to be with you. There can be no
joy, no pleasure, while things stand as they are. We must pray for
our people. Remember comfort comes from the heart, not from
words. There is a street where people run in terror, with death their
Darla was shown this horror. I knew she had been given a vision
of the scene but I didn't ask about it.
S: "I have great weariness. I am sending love and peace to the
area. I find comfort in coming to you."
Me: "Has the situation in the Middle East changed?"
S: "Overall, no, and many more to come."
To fill the long silence and maybe lift the heaviness,
Me: "We have been working."
S: "I approve. We will talk no more, but perhaps one day there
will be time left for that. If I cannot be with you tonight, you will
Me: "I hope you will take some rest."
S: "There will be no rest. That is not the job of a leader."
Me: "Where you are, can this make you ill?"
S: "I do not grow ill but become older or younger as the situation
Me: "If you wish I will sit in silence and understand."
S: "Thank you my wife."
Darla, to me: "There is something wrong with Seti's throat."
S: "I have no pain, only the pain of my people, only watching the
pain. You must not worry. Use your energy giving love and light."
Seti asked permission to leave but returned almost immediately.
We felt peace fill the room.

5th February 2002:

Today while sitting in Darla's beautiful garden I felt Seti join me.
That night when he came to us:
S: "Thank you for the garden."
Me: "Can you see the beautiful red roses on the table in this
S: "No. I am elsewhere."
Me: "Do you receive my love when I send it from my heart?"
S: "Always it reaches me."
Me: "How is your pain?"
S: "The pain is still great."
Me: "I send love."
S: "Love is far more than words. Do not be misled that all is well.
Think of peace for our people. Leave me my wife for a while. I
must step aside, but I will stay close."
Darla(to me): "There is a strangeness. Something Seti is not
prepared to share."
We could smell a chemical odour and we were both given the
same vision. Many dead and injured lying on the ground. People
were searching frantically for their own; running hither and thither.
There was great confusion. Darla felt ill from the gas fumes. Then,
another type of chemical odour came. Because we were finding it
difficult to breathe we were forced to step back from the situation.

7th February 2002:

Seti: (He looked older and very tired.)
S: "I come to you for comfort. It is good for the righteous to pray
for peace. Many plans I had with you my wife must be delayed."
Me: "Am I still to go to Egypt?"
S: "I will be with you if you do. Things change rapidly in this
world. Not so in the world of the Pharaohs. Thank you. You bring
comfort to me by allowing me to come."
S: "I must stand apart now as my eyes see many things. Do not
feel my pain for it will destroy your work. It is expected of you."

He has visited Darla frequently since she returned from Wales.
He meets her in the garden. One day I felt a tiny hand in mine and a
small boy walked beside me. I am unable to see him. Darla
described him. About four years old, sturdy little legs, his golden
hair a little darker now. It is cut shoulder length. He usually wears
a dark green or a russet-brown velvet suit and is quite nervous
about getting wet or dirty.
J: "I saw a butterfly mummy. Sometimes I get tired."

I lifted him onto my hip and we continued our adventures. He
loves the flowers and shows interest in the fruit trees. Sometimes we
float leaves in a large tin tub of water, pretending they are boats.
J: "Nanny doesn't like me to get dirty."
Me: "How is daddy?"
J: "Big."
Me: "What do you eat Jackie?" (A mother always.)
J: "I eat porridge, milk, bread, oranges, but oranges make my
fingers sticky. Daddy lets me ride in front of him on his horse
sometimes. We have three swans, two white and one black. Nanny
comes with me to see them. I sing with Daddy sometimes. He sings
when the lady with the harp comes. I must go now. I have a dog
called Louie. He won't let me ride him. I like to play soldiers with a
sword. I must go now, I can hear Nanny calling me."

Jackie comes to me everyday and we play in the garden.

8th February 2002:

S: "I am very weary."
Me: "Is there no hope?"
S: "There is hope everywhere. Great people are not here. Hope is
like the lotus blossom that blooms. If it is cut down by men there is
no beauty. Peace can only come through understanding of the heart,
letting go of pride."
Me: "And greed?"
S: "There is always greed and when there is not enough, greed
grows more. Man thinks not of his brother, only of himself. There
are men who say they wish for peace. It is a lie. True power does
not permit greed; it only comes through love. Then can we build
and grow together: by true men in power. Where are the good men?
A leader without followers has no power. Time to let the light shine
my wife. May it never be extinguished. I must step aside now, as
there are many things in my world to observe. I must be aware."

10th February 2002:

Me: "Can you take some rest?"
S: "There is no rest in conflict. Remember it is the smallest snake
that is the most poisonous. Much preparation is being made as
brother turns against brother, man against man, and man against his
family, for we all belong to the family of man. To teach is not
enough without those who would learn and listen. Nor can a speaker
speak to the air."
S: "These things you must know in order to understand. If all
continues the Nile will run red with blood and the Sea of Galilee
will give forth no life. Long are the days when it was possible to
rule in righteousness and true faith. Pray for peace."

12th February 2002:


S: "As sand runs through my fingers, so are the lives of my people
running beyond reach and beyond help. There is hunger and sorrow,
and more to come. And who is there to control the desire of the
people to rage war? The answer must come from within each
person. Beware of the youth. They have not wisdom. Youth, with so
little to lose and nothing to gain. Those who have so little can be
used by those who have so much and false pride is among them."
S: "How does one change the heart and mind of man when they
desire only death and destruction for themselves and others? It is
man that does not understand. As for my family I shall not have it
so. Teach the little ones and also pray for them. If each person takes
but one child and teaches him righteousness, the world can change."

13th February 2002:

S: "Tonight my head bends low with weariness. I see no progress.
I leave my shadow and my love. You have only to feel them."

14th February 2002:

A young man with fair shoulder length hair:
"I am here simply for your safety. I have been sent to guard you
from going astray. If holding your hand disturbs you, I will simply
stand behind your chair. I will lead you to a land outside where
contact will be easier for you. You shall know when, I shall pull
your hand upwards. Remember your heart must be pure to follow.
So, I leave you now."
S: "I have sent someone to show you the way to my world. This is
my gift to you."
Me: "Is there any preparation?"
S: "Continue as you are."

15th February 2002:

S: "It is good your heart is pure. Harken to the signs I have given
you as you travel through life so that we may journey together at
another time. I step aside now as other things await me but I leave
comfort and my eternal love. The love that you sometimes feel
when you see the shadow."
And, from Seti:
“The time will come when devastation shall be across the land. The crops
will wither; the grass will die. Hope will be lost, and the children will cry. All
talk will be as hollow words. Man is not ready to keep this world. The Angels
shall call and many will come. My son. My son. The rivers will not run and
darkness and famine will overcome. The burdens will be heavy; the clarion
will call. Mothers will search for their children, but find them not. Crops will
rot. Is this to be Man's lot?”
S: "The time has come for you to go in spirit to comfort the
innocent with your light and love. Many will come for you to be
near. There will be occasions for great caution, so that your light
will not be extinguished as the flame of a candle, which leaves only

smoke behind. There is more to come but I would like to stop. I do
not wish to overburden you with things that are yet to come."

The original plan had been to leave Mexico City for Israel on the
2nd March. When Darla was given a vision of Jerusalem with the
streets empty of people, we understood that we must not go when
crowds were gathering for Easter and Passover. Our departure date
is now 9th March.

16th February 2002:

S: "The crops are better this year my wife."
Seti brought corn to show me the quality of the harvest.
S: "You must be aware of rioting in the streets. You must stay
away from crowds in all places."
Me: "That will be difficult in Egypt."
S: "It must be done. When a fire ignites it spreads. Life without
honour is living death, and those who live it shall know the true
sting of death. There will be an accounting. Pray for the honourable
men, that they may be found and rise at the time. Power comes from
many places. In prayer there is much power, and in righteous living.
Do you need clarification?"
Me: "No."

17th February 2002:

S: "There must be a beginning."
Me: "A new beginning?"
S: "Perhaps. Should we escape the sorrow of this time. You must
be aware of the sly ones who smile before they kill. There is to be
great caution. Do not be concerned if you are moved even unto the
ends of the earth, for man cannot plan nor can he predict the hour
the danger will come. I come to you so that you will understand and
not let your thoughts interfere with a larger plan, for it may not be
shown you until it is finished. I am weary of talking to those who
will not listen. Would that I could give you a drop of my blood so
that we could be forever united at this time. I stand aside now my
wife in preparation for the time when I may be forced to retire from
you for a while."

19th February 2002:

S: "I tarry not long with you but I come that you will know more
surely my presence and my power. There must be prayers filled
with light. The light we must bring to the darkness. I leave the
shadow of my love. Have no fear. The way will be shown you and
at times you must walk in faith alone. Some have fled when faced
with trial, but you have not. Nor will you ever fail me. I must slip
quietly away now, my love, my wife."

22nd February 2002:

S: "Many in the world have their own false truth and sense of
self-righteousness. One cannot touch hearts unless they allow it.
Reach out your hand to those who would reach out to you."
Me: "But surely there is hope for all?"
S: "There is hope for each, but only if they have an open heart.
There must be fertile ground watered by the rain of tears and the
sunshine of love to shine, in order for it to grow. You must try with
every one, but know when it is time to move on."
S: "My words are worthy and powerful. Those are blessed who
receive them. You have seen the hearts of those with whom I am
working, so know my weariness."
Seti was referring to a group of people Darla and I had recently
met. Their self-oriented opinions were deeply set, allowing no
compassion for those different in any way from themselves.
S: "This is your example to learn from. I am pleased my wife you
do not forget my teachings."
Me: "You have been watching me?"
S: "Of course. I shall stand aside now and show what your love
has done. Sit quietly and feel. A small boy grown tall and straight
with love, and his father stands behind him."
We were shown Jackie and Charles standing together. They were
smiling at each other. Jackie looked about nineteen years old.
S: "They are close in love. Close in light. All good things you
made possible by blessing them with your love."
Me: "Thank you."

S: "It is my gift to you. I leave now but as always my shadow

We were then shown Amanda.

Amanda Millman:
AM: "I am being very good. I have work to do. I am sending
down moonbeams to make people happy."
Me: "It is lovely to see you again Amanda."
AM: "I have a red dress today. It makes me feel strong and happy.
When I wear my blue dress I feel peace. But, my rainbow dress is
my real favourite."
Me: "Do you talk with Puppy?"
AM: "I just think I love you too puppy and he does the same to
me. I do my job very good."
Me: "How do you know what to do?"
AM: "I just know what to do. Would you like me better if I were
Me: "No, I love you just as you are."
AM: (giggle, giggle) "I see you many times. I watch for you. It's
my job, but it makes me happy too. I have trees with pink and white
flowers. When enough people are happy I will get a golden ring on
my finger to remind me it is good to make people happy. I hope it
doesn't squeeze my finger. I remember another time when I had a
golden ring. "
Me: "Maybe someday I will get a golden ring too."
AM: "Probably so, if you make people happy."
S: "There is a fire in the hills and the towns."
Me: "Is it in Jerusalem?"
S: "Close to Jerusalem. When will my people learn? I am very
Me: "I am not worried about you Seti, but I send my love."
S: "Thank you for caring."

24th February 2002:

I asked for confirmation regarding a paragraph in the book:
S: "It is easier to change a word than a heart."
Me: "Does this come from childhood or other lives?"
S: "The river flows downhill and as it flows it gathers goodness
and light, or hatred and hardness, till it comes to the end. Watch the
path the river takes. You may change the direction of the stream. It
is your choice."
Me: "But surely, it is harder for some."
S: "No. It all begins equal."
Me: "It must be difficult for you not to become discouraged."
S: "From where I am there is no notion of discouragement. I grow
weary. Your hand is lovely my wife. Never forget my shadow
stands nearby."
Me: "I feel your pain." (I felt it physically, in my heart.)
S: "The pain is for my people. Farewell my wife."
25th February 2002:
A man who has never shown himself to us before:
"I come only to observe."
With him came intense heat. Darla and I felt uncomfortably hot.

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife."
I thanked Seti for being with me when I was working with healing.
S: "It is only through you it is possible."
Me: "Does it intrude on your time when I do this?"
S: "No. Healing is another part of me."
The heat brought by our first visitor was becoming very difficult
for us to bear.
S: "He comes to show you the fires."
Darla was given a vision of people surrounded by fire. Some were
throwing home made bombs.
S: "Fires can purify. This fire brings destruction."
Me: "The same fires?"
S: "Yes. In the surrounding hills but larger. Many people are
suffering and agitated and more people come. They will be
destroyed. They come as lambs to the slaughter. There is rioting in
the streets at Ramallah. At Safed old men sit to pray but the steps
will again be covered with blood. There are those, the South and the
East, who will join together in false brotherhood and false pride.
The only brotherhood is the Brotherhood of Man. Our visitor will
leave now. I brought him here to show you the danger. You must
heed the warning and the words. So I leave you. Be comforted by
my shadow. You must think of these things at later times."

26th February 2002:

S: "Fire and destruction. Heavy black smoke swirls in the air."
Darla saw it and felt the heat strongly. I could see her face
becoming very red. She felt burning.
S: "These things you must not experience. The fire - I will not
have you in its midst. That is why he comes. He will come when
needed. He is your warning. You must not go where it is. I go to the
East now, and leave you for a while. You have my shadow always.
You remain aware of the dangers? I would that I could take them
away. Things change not."
Me: "Seti, what was I called when I was your wife in Egypt?"
S: "You were called Tuya. I called you always 'my wife' and all
others called you 'Great Wife'. A Great Wife handles all things. No
matter what you do, it is right. If you weep, it is right. Lightness is
right. Do not repress emotions. If you cannot feel, you cannot give
out light and love to others and work will not be done."
I had been dwelling on a personal issue.
Me: "Sometimes I judge myself harshly."
S: "Judging yourself is like judging others. You must not judge.
With knowledge comes responsibility which when fulfilled
becomes wisdom. I would that you be wise as you have always
been. There are many things that I have to show you. They may not
be what you expect. There is growth in hard times. Remember
laughter and light."
Me: "I have been thinking of my children on this earthly plane."
S: "And well you should. I chose for you and to not understand
your responsibility would be to deny my gift. Perhaps your greatest
work will be with them. Do not be dismayed. I will not leave them
to wander alone. Your wisdom and counsel may be needed. There is
no substitute for your wisdom. But that is why I saw these souls
come through you and they were given to you. As I chose to be with
you my wife, I could have chosen to be with someone else."
Me: "I chose to be with you?"
S: "It was ordained and destiny. You were not given total free
Me: " Why me?"
S: "Because of your qualifications, your need to others. Should
you be in need to your children I will send you there. Some things
you can do there that I cannot do in my realm. That is why we are
not together now. If you must choose between a stranger's child and
your own children, you must choose yours."
S: "Adult children walk their own steps, and they are not yours to
direct at this time, only to support. They are your work and some of
your finest. They are good souls. I chose wisely and well."

S: "The East continues to deepen in danger. There are people who
beat themselves and cut themselves with knives that they may be
angry and attack."
Me: "In desperation?"
S: "And ignorance. They have been given a choice, but they
choose incorrectly. They might of their own freewill step back, but
it never happens. It is the taste of blood that drives them on. Have
you any questions? Then I stand aside, and bid you farewell for only
a little time my wife."

28th February 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife. It is my wish to be with you."
Me: "I have no questions."
S: "There is no advice. There are warnings. We will speak of that
as the time grows nearer to departure. The situation continues to
worsen and you must heed my words."
Me: "Thank you for the perfume and the healing for Darla."
Seti had filled the room with a perfume familiar to me.
S: "It is my gift. You have only to ask."
Me: "Thank you. It is an honour. I feel wiser, clearer, and closer
to you."
S: "You grow wise my wife."
Me: "Although I was not given complete choice in my marriage
to you, at this time I am pleased it happened."
S: "That pleases me."
Me: "I am concerned that I have so little sight and hearing of
spirit. I am wondering how I will be able to converse with you when
Darla and I are no longer together?"
S: "Do not feel concerned if you do not feel with your eyes. You
feel with your heart, and that is most important. Each person has a
number of gifts. No one has everything. Try to open your heart and
your ears will follow but you must have great faith in me. It is good
for you to be in this spot at this time (With Darla, in her home at
Mitla). It is your period of growing and opening, as a flower does."
Me: "I send my love."
S: "And you mine. Are you clear on all issues, and at peace?
Remember the shadow that covers you and reaches to your heart."

Young Jackie comes frequently for cuddles and to walk in the
garden with me. He spoke of the nightmares he sometimes has about
being left alone. I told him he could come to mummy if it happens
and he does. Sometimes I find he just slips into my bed anyway and
goes to sleep.
J: "Nanny says I am too big to be kissed goodnight. Daddy and
Nanny don't know I come to you. Why don't you talk to Daddy? He
has friends who come to the big house. No children come. Daddy
tells me I must be very good and I could grow up to be the king of a
great country. I tried Daddy's big boots on one day but I fell over

and he got angry. I have small ones the same as his. Do you think I
can get big ones when I am big?"
Me: "Of course you can. Daddy will get you some Jackie."
J: "Louie doesn't let me ride him, and he runs too fast."
Jackie is really very good, and careful not to get his clothes wet
or dirty...too careful. I am trying to loosen him up a little.

If Seti is with me in the garden when Jackie comes, he steps aside

to allow my son time with his mother.
S: "It would please me for you to wear perfume. You know,
because you will remember my favourite from many years ago."
Me: "When opportunity presents."
S: "Opportunities are made. I would have you walk in peace and
dignity as befits your position."
Me: "I will remember."
S: "When you come before me it is good to prepare yourself, for
always you will be my beautiful wife."

1st March 2002:

I felt the intensity of Seti, Peter, and Charles overshadowing me
at the same time.
S: "It is showing you it is possible for three to dwell in one, as
Lucy, Tuya, and Lexie are one. Some of the lessons learned from
you went towards making me who I am. Some lessons were very
difficult for both of us and we never repeated our errors. As must
not you in the realm in which you walk."
Me: "My life as Lexie?"
S: "A life that you chose with my approval. Your duties remain
there, as do your joys. One day it will all be brought together. That
is the moment of ultimate growth. You need only to take one step.
Should I tell you the steps should be backwards that is the way you
must go."
Me: "You see me all the time?"
S: "Of course. Did you doubt it?"
Me: "Sometimes this is disconcerting."
S: "For privacy you may withdraw from my shadow at any time."
Me: "Would that upset you?"
S: "Do you not know I am beyond that emotion?"
Me: "I do now. Sometimes, it is difficult for me. I do not have the
understanding you have from where you are."
S: "You may call on me at any time. Is there anymore you
require? Then I will step aside as there is much to do."

2nd March 2002:

This morning Darla and I discussed the 21st century, and
specifically the role of western women of our time, including issues
of independence and feminism, comparing it to women in Tuya's
time. We spoke of what we gathered from writings about this period
before appealing for help from Seti.
S: "I understand your time but on a different level. Do you feel
our love? This is what is important at this time. The circle of our
love, and the lesson is patience. I wish you to be in the best of
health (I had an ear infection). I remember what it was like to
Me: "You lived a long life, and I have read of the painful
conditions you endured. I have very good health at present."
S: "At your age so did I. There was much to do so I stayed long.
Now I work in a different way."
Me: "May I ask how many times you have lived here since that
S: "Only once. Your perfume surrounds you."
Me: "It is not quite the one you spoke of, but it is from the East,
and it is for you."
S: "And that is all that matters. It is good for you not to see death
and desolation, or the future to come. Should brother fight brother
you must not take sides. Both are your brothers. Have you a
Me: "No. I am attempting to have patience."
S: "You must attain rather than attempt. You are a good mother.
The little one comes to play. I have much on my mind."
Me: "Then I will not bother you with frivolous questions."
S: "The only frivolous questions are the ones you do not ask. You
must ask anything you doubt. In your heart there is a knowing.
Listen to your heart in time of doubt. I step aside for now, for there
is trouble in our land, and I must calm."
3rd March 2002:
Today, becoming involved with working on the book, I had not
noticed the passing of time. It was later than usual when I thought
of Jackie. I found him waiting at the door. In future I must
remember. He is so precious.

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife. It is imperative that you have alternative plans
if the gates of Egypt and Israel are closed. I will help you but you
must decide where you will go. Things are not progressing. Prepare
yourself for any event. Your light cannot shine if it is the worst of
all times, only before and after. What is required of you may not be
what you expect. Would that there was peace that we may walk the
land. Do you understand the depth of what I do? Support through
prayers is imperative. Are you well? You must have more healing
Seti has been giving me healing for my ear problem.
S: "My healing is always good. Do not doubt it. No matter where
you go your light will shine, and peace is needed throughout the
Me: "I am learning so much."
S: "And with each learning comes another opportunity. People are
preparing in secret awaiting the time they rally."

Rivka: "I come to comfort you and remind you that to wander in
the wilderness is not a bad thing as long as in the end you know
where you are going. Our children played together."
Me: "Shall we meet again as I travel the world?"
Rivka: "Yes."
S: "What would you have, my wife? My shadow whirls around
you and intermingles with yours."
Me: "It is a comfort."

4th March 2002:

Last night, in spirit I visited Jackie in his world. We ran, laughed,
and played in the woods together. It was wonderful being with him
and seeing him so happy and carefree. I did not approach the 'big
house', not wishing to intrude on Charles in his world.
Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "I come only to show you the situation remains in conflict."
Me: "You are very weary."
S: "Yes. I do not wish to describe the scenes I see. Walk with me
one day in a perfumed garden. I find you pleasing in my sight. I
decide to step aside as time grows short."


Jackie comes more frequently now. Sometimes three times a day I
feel his little hand slip into mine. He rarely stays long before
J: "I can hear Nanny calling me. "
J: "Nanny wears a cap, so I don't know the colour of her hair. She
likes me to be very clean and she is very clean too. I don't always
want to be clean. Louis is my general when I play wars. Once I
poked him with my sword and he bit me. Have you any boots
mummy? Those are not real shoes you are wearing." (As he looks at
my sandals.)
Me: "I'll wear them tomorrow."

5th March 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife. My heart is heavy. In Hebron a young soldier
lies face down on a dusty street with his red beret soaked in blood.
His mother does not know her only son is dead. There are
happenings occurring very rapidly. The area must be settled before
you go there. I will not have your light extinguished. You have great
gifts not to be laid waste on a dusty road."
S: "Be prepared my wife for changes that might come and
although you have freewill, in this I would you heed my advice and
wishes. Never again will I deny you freewill. If there is not a peace
agreement soon the war will escalate. First in Israel, for the
Palestinians riot and if there can be no agreement between Israel
and Palestine, the other Arab Nations will stand together. I cannot
imagine the devastation. Even our Egypt, which voted for peace,
will be equally involved because it borders the conflicting lands.
Pakistan supplies weapons, nuclear and chemical, to Palestine, and I
fear a dark cloud at this moment. All is unsure and unsettled. It
could change for better or worse: depending on the hearts of the
people. This is the ill wind, the yellow wind of which we spoke."
S: "The thirteen righteous have great power, but men will decide
the outcome. I will advise you of all changes and convey my wishes
and desires to you. I must leave you and stand aside, for many may
die. There is a depression of news and false hope. America sells
weapons to both sides for monetary gain as they seek to control the
Middle East for their own benefits, and it is very dangerous. I leave
you with my love. If I can I will come later to give comfort and take
comfort. Goodbye my wife."

Me: "Do you play with a top?"
J: "What is a top? Will you get me one? Will you help me climb a
I did. He is growing very fast. He seems two or three years older
than when I arrived in Mexico only weeks ago.
J: "Nanny doesn't run with me mummy but you do."
Sometimes I have to as he will take my hand and pull me very

J: "I will have fruit pudding tonight. Cook makes it. Sometimes I
go to the kitchen and Cook gives me sweets."

6th March 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife. I come tonight to be powerful and would you
heed my words. It is not for you to step into the land of the Pharaohs
at this time, nor to Israel and Palestine. In my saying this you are
free to choose. Events have changed much since you were first told
of the journey. Now is not your time. There will be another and I
will tell you when it is advisable. There are many things to do with
your light and power. Your children in the land of your birth also
need your strength and light. Writing you will continue wherever
you may be. Your help is always needed. I do not come to cause
confusion or unhappiness but the world is changing and you must
be aware of this. I would that you continue to grow as I have
watched you blossom and though at times I may seem far away my
love is always with you."
S: "Do you have questions or confusion? For the place you were
to go, where you were necessary, is untouchable. You have done
well in your preparation. Always I have great pride in you. Focus on
the two main gifts you have at this time. Many will be added later. I
see you, as you were when you first came to me in all your beauty.
Yet I am most pleased with your wisdom."

S: "As always the road divides. You must choose which path to
walk. I will love you and honour you on any path. I will come to
you tonight if you are unsettled and confused about this. Remember
this is a delay and not a cancellation. You are an honourable
woman. Do you wish to speak of other things?"
Me: "Not of importance, considering other matters."
S: "My wife grows wiser by the day. My wife, I am loath to leave
you but I must go. I stand aside but my shadow shall permeate your
very being."
Me: "Will you be as close as this all my lifetime?"
S: "If you choose."
Me: "I now remember you contacted me about five years ago, but
the information regarding the future you were giving frightened
S: "It was your stage of growth. Change brings fear. It is not the
nature of man to change."
Me: "There will be much suffering?"
S: "Continue prayers and you must gather other groups. You will
be a shining light to them."
Me: "Shall we finish the book at this point?"
S: "No….It will continue until the end of your time in this realm.
There is much to be said. There is wisdom to be given and many
thoughts to know. It is a guide for a journey and a remembrance of
your journey. It will help others. People will read of this book. If
one soul is saved that is a great accomplishment. "
Me: "Is this book to be published in my lifetime?"
S: "Then the way will be shown you. My words are not to be
taken lightly."
Me: "You are aware of all I have written?"
S: "I see no change at this point."
Me: "I imagine if change is to come I will hold the pen while you
add or delete what is necessary."
S: "You are my wife and my scribe."
Me: "How are you?"
S: "Only work is important."
Me: "It is my concern for you."
S: "Your love is good and strong."
Me: "You have given me so much and I have returned so little."
S: "Your growth is your gift to me. If you have no thoughts I will
step away."
Seti quickly returned, feeling concerned about how the news he
had just given us was affecting me.
Me: "In knowing my strength, you must not be concerned for me.
There are many in need."
S: "I step aside."

So my itinerary was about to change. Darla will accompany me

when we make the now delayed journey to Israel and Egypt.

J: "Some men work in our garden. They are just gardeners."

I explained these men have children, maybe little boys like him,
and they work for his daddy so they can buy food and clothing for
J: "Do you think I could go and play with them at their house?"

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife."
Me: "I have no questions."
S: "Do you have answers?"
Me: "Yes. I will visit London, Greece, and Crete on my way back
to Australia."
Me: "I have been with Jackie, using imagination. I am not
confident with this method. Was he with me?"
S: "Of course."
Me: "He is a joy to me."
S: "You have added much to his existence. He will always be a
joy to you. How is your health?"
Me: "My ear problem has improved with your healing. Thank
you. Things have not changed in the East?"
S: "Do not despair my wife. All is not lost. It is not known. I take
my leave. We will meet in a little while."

7th March 2002:

Me: "Welcome Charles. I have not seen you for a long time."
C: "I came to thank you. You are giving our son what he needs."
Me: "Charles, may we talk together about Jackie if the time ever
comes when doing so would be helpful to him?"
C: "Yes, and I don't forget."
Me: "I was with Jackie last night. I checked him when he was
C: "I know."
Our interaction was warm and caring. The earlier emotion and
passion did not arise. The focus centred on our son.

8th March 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife. Please be reminded that as long as the righteous
live it is possible for them to prevail. And we will pray for these to
be made strong and take their place and lead their people to lessen
the conflict. All cannot be stopped. Remember the power of prayer.
Do not struggle with those who know not, and know not they know
not. They are fools; shun them. Those that know not and know that
they know not are fertile ground for your teaching. You work hard
my wife."
Me: "Not as hard as you, my Husband."
S: "We labour for good reasons."
Me: "Yes."
S: "Practical situations remain the same. Pray for peace. I shall
return to you tonight. You must rest. And so I stand aside."
I spent a restless night. I had seen a desperately poor man at
Oaxaca during the day. He had no legs and using only his arms he
was pulling himself across a crowded street. His body and clothes
were filthy, but that all ignored his plight touched me greatly. Then
I dreamed of a young girl who was crying as she showed me she too
had no legs. Was that myself?
I realized how emotionally fragile I had become. Then residue
from earlier lives intruded upon me. I did not deal well with this.
Next morning when I spoke of my feelings Seti was comforting
and understanding.
S: "Your life is like a bee hive. All enter by the one door and live
in different cells. There are many cells. One cell is your life now.
One cell is your past lives on earth. One is your life with me. One is
your work. One is your personal growth. One is your future life, and
many more cells to be filled. I am pleased with your work."

Merlin Emrys:
Me: "I am pleased to see you but it is not the best day for you to
come. I am feeling very emotional. "
Merlin: "My child, remember the cave where you came to ride the
horse, and how you tried and tried before you conquered. And
remember the crystal there that you loved and how it shone as it
turned and how it made you laugh. You were emotional then, and it
was your emotion I loved the most. I will stay beside you all day

and you have only to say Merlin to call me. I give you a good day,
sunbeams and moonbeams."
Later in the day, again feeling strong, I thanked Merlin.
Me: "I am confident I can cope now. I hope we will meet again
M: "We will. The magic ordains it. I, Merlin Emrys, exit."

10th March 2002:

S: "The situation remains the same as far as world news may go.
However, I approve of your companion today."
I had met a friend for lunch in Oaxaca.
Me: "Yes. He is a good soul and a good friend."
S: "And therefore to be valued. It is good to see you seek fertile
Me: "He is growing very fast."
S: "Yes. Your work is very good."
Me: "Men like him are very valuable to our world."
S: "Yes, and so few of them step forward. Do you have any
questions or need clarification?"
Me: "No. I have been communicating in my world."
S: "As have I. That is necessary too."
Me: "Yes. I sometimes need to anchor myself here on this plane
for a while."

S: "You must have roots as well as wings. I am pleased with you
today. I know you are saddened by reports of death but we will not
dwell on them because it is well known."
I bought a newspaper in Oaxaca today and read that the last
week has been the bloodiest in Israel and Palestine since September
S: "As a mother it is good for you to pray for the mothers of those
who have died. Theirs is the sharpest pain. And so my wife, if
nothing is required I will step aside. I will guard you through the
night and be with you if possible."
Me: "Go with my love, my Husband."
S: "And I leave mine with you."

J: "I am nine and a half now. I know my letters, and my
Me: "That is really good. Do you have a tutor?"
J: "Yes."
Me: "Do you like him?"
J: "He is very serious."
Me: "He will teach you well."
J: "I have a friend now. He is a stable boy. My grandmother sent
him to help me to ride. He is a little taller than me."
Me: "Does your grandmother visit you?"
J: "No, but sometimes we visit her. She does not love me. Daddy
would like her to. I do not love her either. I love you Mummy."
Me: "And I love you too."
J: "I am always polite with my grandmother. She and Daddy
shout sometimes. She told me I was born on the wrong side of the
Me: "Does Daddy know she told you that?"
J: " No."

This information concerned me greatly as I have long suspected it

was Charles' mother who was responsible for Lucy's untimely
death. The fact that she sent the stable boy to my son struck fear
into my heart. It was Darla who reminded me all would be well as
we had already been given a vision of Jackie grown tall and
straight. However that night I was to find myself, as Lucy, sitting in
a chair beside his bed, guarding him from danger while he slept. I
was patting him as I had when he was a baby. I lingered long, and
before leaving secured all the windows.
This morning, still concerned, I picked up my pen and found
Lucy's thoughts come through me:
My son. My son,
The room is safe; I know that's true, and I can no longer be with you.
May angels guard your bed at night and keep you always in their sight.
I cried,
From silence came these words:

The trumpets roar, the clarions call,

slowly, slowly turn the clock.
The God of Ages rejects thee not.
The way will open.
The mists will fall, and a peace comes over all.
The mountain streams will forever run,
and the world turn round.
My son. My son.

11th March 2002:

Me: "I guess you are too big to sit on my lap now."
J: "Yes. I will sit beside you."
Me: "Do you ever get sick Jackie?"
J: "I had a tummy-ache once. Daddy says I'm part French."
(Charles' mother was French)
Me: "You are also part Welsh."
J: "Yes. Daddy says I am half Welsh. Mummy lived in a castle.
There was a big war and the castle was knocked down. He built it
again because he promised Mummy he would. I would like to go
there one day. I am going to learn Latin. Daddy wants me to be
good at my lessons. The lady with the harp still comes and brings a
girl with a flute."
Me: "Would you like to play an instrument Jackie?"
J: "Yes but I don't know what yet. Nanny says I am growing quite
Me: "And so you are."
J: "Louie sleeps a lot now. He is getting old."
Me: "Is he still your general?"

J: "Sometimes. I have toy soldiers now and we fight wars.
Sometimes Daddy shows me where to put them and Daddy gives
them names."
Me: "I guess you are too old to play boats in the water tub like we
used to do."
J: "Only if you want to. I would like to go on a real boat."
Me: "Ask Daddy. He has one. I suppose you are getting too big
for me to kiss you too."
J: "You can kiss me on my right cheek and I can kiss you too."
Me: "Mary too?"
J: "Yes. I must go back to my studies now."

Me: "Welcome, my Husband."
S: "And my wife."
S: "The news continues to be bad. I thank you for your concern
and your prayers. It is good to see you are well this evening."
Me: "I thank you for your caring. I feel you were involved with
Merlin coming to me."
S: "All things must work together if we are to have harmony in
our lives and in the world. And I remind you about the children.
Before much time has passed you will return home to see them and
that pleases me."
Me: "I have omitted some conversation which I consider to be
personal between you and me. Is that all right by you?"
S: "If I had wished it to be otherwise I would have told you."
I laughed, knowing that of course he would have done so.
S: "Did you think you were doing it alone?"
Me: "It is good to laugh at myself sometimes."
S: "It is good to laugh. Joy, happiness and laughter can overcome
many ills of the body, mind and spirit. Remember to keep all things
in balance. I will not give you in detail tonight what is happening in
the world. Details are no longer necessary. I have spoken to you
before so you could see the seriousness of it." Me: "Yes. We
understand the seriousness."
S: "You must learn to read my thoughts my wife."
Me: "I wish to do so. I did once before but the information you
were giving frightened me. I will try."
S: "Of course. Then shall you. Do not worry yourself over it. It
will come as the book has come. Things are as they should be."
Me: "I shall try in quietness to hear you. I know it is essential for
you, for me, and for our work. I have no questions. I have just been
S: "And each day we grow and learn progress is made."
Me: "The days pass quickly."
S: "Yes. I have many things on my mind, but I will come. You
spoke of our son today. Speak of him only with love and reverence.
Guard your words. Better no contact is made at present. There is
nothing done wrong, I give only advice and counsel. I do not want
you hurt. I feel more than sorrow. It was from my seed he came and
by my right hand he left. You have only to hold out your hand to
feel my love. So I stand aside my wife and bid you goodnight."
Me: "And I you."

Looking older and very confident.
Me: "How is your friend the stable boy?"
J: "Father dismissed him. He said he was not doing his duties
Me: "Do you miss him?"
J: "No. Father said he was a false friend. But I have other friends
now. Father's friends bring their children to visit. I have my own
horse now and Father has a new filly. My Grandmother is dead.
Father cried but I didn't. He said there was no love lost between us.
Father says it is important to be affectionate with your children."
Me: "Does he put his arm around you?"
J: "Yes. Nanny is old now. Father says she was a loyal servant. I
have a lady tutor now. She comes three times a week to teach me
Latin and French. I can now row Father's boat on the lake myself.
Sometimes my friends come with me."
Me: "You call Daddy 'Father', now you are older. Would you like
to call me something different?"
J: "What would you like to be called?"
Me: "Whatever mothers are called by boys your age."
J: "It's mother or madam."
Me: "I choose Mother."
Jackie now speaks of 'Our Estate'.
Me: "Can I come and visit you there?"
J: "I would like that."
Me: "Where will we meet?"
J: "Under the big tree by the lake."
Me: "Maybe you can take me for a row on the lake?"
J: "Yes. I will bring some fruit, and maybe some cheese."
Me: "And I will bring bread."
J: "Will Father come?"
Me: "I don't know. You can ask him if you wish. Do you like the
boots I am wearing today Jackie. I see you have new ones."
J: "Yes, yours are very handsome. Can I kiss you on the cheek
before I leave? I go hunting with Father but I don't go with Father's
friends. They have matters to discuss. I often wonder what they
speak of. Father has very important work you know."
Me: "I suppose they talk about that. What else do you think they
talk about?"
J: "I think they would talk about their sons. Father says he is very
proud of me. I often wonder what that means."
I explained.
J: "Father says I will always be called Jackie. I was called after
my Uncle James."
Me: "Do you see him?"
J: "No. Father went to see him once."
Me: "But he didn't take you did he?"
J: "No."

He kissed Darla and me formally on the right cheek and left to
attend to his studies. Never a day passes that he does not come to

11th March 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife. So you go to the water?"
I planned to visit Gloria at Zipoliti Beach.
Me: "Have you been reading my e-mail?"
S: "No. Maybe my words will come to you more loudly there in
the quietness."
Me: "Did I get some of your words last night?"
S: "Yes. You work hard. Your labour will be rewarded."
Me: "I relearn as I type your words. That and your love is reward
S: "The fragrance is beautiful."
Me: "Is this your favourite perfume?"
(I knew it was the one he loved when I was his wife in Egypt)
"I will look for it again in the future. My days remain the
S: "I learn also my wife, with the promise I will return, I step

Last night I spoke to Seti regarding my concern that having
arranged to meet Jackie by the lake, I may not be able to converse
with him, hear what he is saying, or even see him.
Almost immediately I found myself as Lucy, looking beautiful in
my green dress and carrying a flower-decorated hat. A picnic
basket was by my side. I was amazed when Jackie came, as he was
again so much older. I kissed him on the right cheek and he kissed
mine, before we walked to the rowing boat. He rowed very well. We
unpacked our basket on reaching our picnic place further up the
lake. Jackie had planned our outing. Servants were waiting to hold
the boat steady as my son assisted me to disembark. I spoke of my
girlhood in Wales and went on to tell him how his father and I
would ride together at Roch, of how much we were in love, and of
the wondrous day when we wandered hand in hand across the fields
below the castle, before running down to the sea.
After a perfect day together, enjoying experiences missed during
a lifetime when we parted too early, I left Jackie by the tree. Jackie
is now very tall, handsome, and confident. And secure in the love of
his father, his mother, and his sister Mary.

12th March, 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife."

Seti did not speak after that. I asked about the world situation,
fearing bad news.
S: "I prefer not to discuss it, but I am watching. It is best I step
aside now but I leave my shadow."
We felt he had been called away.

13th March 2002:

Me: “Welcome my Husband.”
S: “And my wife.”
Me: “I have been looking forward to seeing you this morning.”
S: “There is so much to be done. One day if all goes well we may
spend time together”.
Me: “I hope so. I understand if you are unable to stay.”
S: “When the world calls it is my duty. Nor would you shirk your
Me: “The children have been in touch. All is well”.
S: “Yes. All is well, but they still need their mother‟s wisdom
and her touch”.
Me: Jackie is growing”.
S: “Yes”.
Me: “He is a joy to me”.
S: “I am pleased. I knew it would be so. He will always be able
to find you, and you him”.
Me: “And thank you for placing me beside the lake”.

S” “It was my joy also. My wife, I must step aside. I will come if
you need me; you have only to hold out your hand. My shadow
stays with you. But before I step aside I will stay a little while.”
Me: “I am growing closer to you my Husband.”

Today I did not walk in the garden. (It is there Jackie meets me).
Earlier I found myself in a room where Jackie was sitting at a
desk doing his lessons. I'd stayed with him for a while and did not
expect he would come again. However he needed to share
something with his mother and came to where I was working at the
J: "We had rowing races on the lake today when friends came
Me: "Did your father's friends stay at the big house?"
J: "No. They came to watch us."
Me: "I'm sure your father was cheering you on."
J: "Yes and I won."
Me: "That is great Jackie. Is Father still winning his horse races
J: "Yes."
Me: "Sometimes Jackie, your father and I would race each other
on our horses in Wales, and sometimes Jackie, I won."
J: "Father says sometimes he let you win."

Just as I was about to say some words about that I was called to
the phone. While I was absent Jackie told Darla that his father had
written a book in gold lettering.
J: "He wrote it about himself and my mother. It is for me to read
when I am older."
Then, some of his friends dropped by and he left with them.

14th March 2002:

Again Jackie came to find me at the typewriter. Two years had
passed in his world.
Me: "Did you have trouble finding me?"
J: "No. I never have trouble finding you. I have been away at
school for the last year. Father sent me to Eton."
I asked many questions to which the answers followed:
J: "Yes we play many sports. We wrestle and have running and
jumping competitions. Father predicts a bright future for me. I am
almost as tall as Father now I am sixteen. This afternoon I am going
riding with a friend from the next estate. We ride to the river on the
horse trail that goes through the woods."
J: "No, we do not see many animals Mother, because we ride very
Me: "What do you and your friends talk about? Do you talk
about girls?"

J: "Sometimes, but mainly we speak of world affairs. My friend's
name is Henry. Are you happy Mother? Father says it is a young
man's duty to make his mother happy."
Further answers to my questions:
J: "I can give you a hug. Father says it is all right for me to give
just my mother and my father a hug. Yes, I give him one too. Yes I
did get a new dog. Her name is Leah. Our old one grew old and
died. Father buried him on the hill. I had a chestnut colt waiting for
me when I came home. Father still rides the filly. He says it is
important to look after animals and that we can learn a lot from
them. "
“Father is working in his study. He says he is a 'man among
(I know he is too.)
J: "No. I do not bring my friends home to stay during holidays as
Father thinks it important we have this time together."
"With your leave Mother I will go now."
And my son, wearing his russet-coloured shirt, brown leather
waistcoat, and his trousers tucked into long brown riding boots, left.
My heart goes out to Charles for the loving care he gives our son.

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife. I see you were in conflict today."
I had been pondering on some personal issues between Seti and
Me: "Yes, but I am able to handle it."
S: "I have dealt many times with conflict. Do not forget my
shadow and my hand."
Me: "I knew you were with me. I prefer to deal with this myself.
If it becomes detrimental to my work, please speak of it."
S: "Of course. As you choose."
Me: "It is not a problem now."
S: "You please me my wife."
Me: "Thank you. I am growing stronger I know."
S: "And wiser."
Me: "I miss not knowing what is going on in the world."
We were in a situation where we had no newspaper, radio, or
television. Information regarding world events, except for the one
newspaper bought the day I travelled to Oaxaca, came from Seti.
S: "Sending your light is enough."
Me: "What I say is for myself. I miss knowing."
S: "Do not concern yourself over this. I will share the good things
with you."
Me: "I would like to know."
S: "It is my job. Would you change places and you be responsible
for the World?"
Me: "No."
S: "Enough said my wife. You spoke of a land of plenty and a
land of nothingness."
In meditation today I had found myself drifting on a flat raft in the
centre of a stream. To my left was what I called 'The Land of
Nothingness'. The banks were lined with people dressed in
colourless clothes, silently still as they looked towards the river. Or
were they looking across to the other side of the water from their
barren and desolate land? On the other side in 'The Land of Plenty '
the vegetation was lush and green. Trees were laden with fruits of
all colours, shapes and sizes. Branches bent low with the weight.
Numerous tables were piled high with delicious food and children
paused to help themselves to large portions, as they ran joyfully
hither and thither, calling to their parents who watched and joined
in the games. Happiness and love permeated the air.
Me: "Did you show this to me?"
S: "Yes, that is our work. It is for all to have plenty, to take the
opportunity to choose. This is our hope for the future, 'The Land of
Plenty'. If you have no further need of me I desire to step aside.
Remember to reach out your hand."

15th March 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "Welcome my wife. And how is your health?"
Me: "You came to the doctor with me this morning? They were
amazed, with the seriousness of the complaint, I was not suffering
more pain. You took care of that I know. Thank you."
S: "I too have suffered much in the physical realm. Your wisdom
grows daily."
Me: "I trust I learn every day, sometimes painfully."
S: "Have you any questions?"
Me: "There are some things I do not understand. I do need
explanation but I prefer to leave it for now. I am working on
S: "All things come in time. One day you will understand and can
then say 'I understand all'."
Me: "Did I deal with my earlier issue myself or did you help?"
S: "You always have my help."
Me: "Well I did at last have a goodnight‟s sleep."
S: "Rest is blessed because it refreshes the soul."
Me: "And your day?"
S: "My day continues day and night. There is no day for me. The
time will come when we can walk in a perfumed garden, but that
time is not now."
Me: "I look forward to it greatly."
S: "If all is well I will step aside. I will come again."

16th March 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
Yesterday I succumbed to negative thoughts. It had been a
restless night for me as I looked within.
S: "And my wife."
Me: "There was more learning for me last night."
S: "Our existence is a cycle of learning."
Me: "I hope to make progress."
S: "Hope is not enough. Action must follow the intent."
Me: "I have the thought and some understanding."
S: "I would that you understand the trials are for your growth as it
was for me."
Me: "Sometimes in the darkness of the night issues arise that are
very difficult."
S: "You have only to ask. You must sift the wheat from the chaff.
It is necessary for your own growth. Power comes from within and
from growth, self power. If anyone or anything seeks to do you
harm, take your own strength. Your eyes will be opened. I, as a
Pharaoh, took you to be my Queen, and with it came your trust. I
cannot clear your confusion. Clearance comes from inside your
I requested to be given clarity in an area regarding the future.
S: "Do not be concerned with things yet to come, the day only.
You have not been given a light task. Remember the laughter. If
there is no more discourse I will step aside."

19th March 2002:

Over the last two days I had been discussing with Seti some
personal issues stemming from our earlier lifetime together, and
some too of this time.
S: "The solution must be based on intelligent consideration, not
personal trauma. The fog will lift one day and you will know the
truth. Sometimes progress is to stand still, not always going
forward. Take stock of your knowledge. Should you be overcome
by sadness, step away for a while. You must take your own strength
and not lean on me, for to do so would deter your complete
development. Remember the light, the laughter, and the happiness
you must share with others. If there is no more discourse I will step

20th March 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife."
Me: "I am feeling clearer, happier within myself."
S: "That is good."
Me: "But I prefer not to discuss it at this time."
S: "Then it shall be as you wish. You go to the waters?"
Me: "The day after tomorrow."
S: "And your health?"
Me: "Improving."
S: "You will meet more people there."
Me: "I have worked there before as I am sure you know."
S: "You know I am busy?"
Me: "Yes, but I would have liked you to stay longer."
S: "I will come. You have only to call me."
Me: "I hesitate when you are so busy."

S: "It is for your personal growth and also mine. I would linger
longer with you but I cannot. So I step aside with the promise I will

22nd March 2002:

Today I travelled down the mountain to Zipolite Beach. The road
is torturous. It twists and turns, taking approximately eight hours to
reach the Pacific Ocean. It is always a joy to spend time with

23rd March 2002:

S: “All I have written can be said in these three sentences:
Behold the might of the glory to come.
The world is one.
The choice is yours.”
S: “Come ye children, come ye now. The valley mists forever fall,
and a peace comes overall. The rivers run, the sun will rise. Come
ye now, come ye back. Walk my child along the track. The seasons
change, Know ye all the time has come to call, to call to all. They
must come further, further, to the sun.”

27th March 2002:

In spirit I found myself in Jerusalem. Although in this lifetime I
have never been there, I knew I was walking towards the Western
I heard a voice speak to me:
"Who do you come with?"
Me: "I come alone."
Voice: "Do you want pride?"
I hesitated. Pride is an issue I have to battle. If this were my
desire it would be absolutely impossible to ask for anything else.
There was no choice in this situation - just acknowledgement or
otherwise. The question must be answered. I searched deeply within
myself before lifting my hand to touch the wall.
Me: "No. I ask for truth, to know truth."
Stepping back, I found Peter and Seti waiting for me.

3rd April 2002:

I had returned from the beach and I was now again at Mitla.
Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife. You leave tomorrow?"
Me: "Yes."
S: "It is good."
Me: "Athens on Monday."
I was unable, with my ticket, to travel to London and Crete, so I
was going to Australia via Greece and Thailand.
S: "I will watch over you."
Me: "I do have difficulty travelling sometimes."
S: "I too have had my difficulties in travelling."

Me: "We of course know things are still difficult in the Middle
East. You are very weary."
S: "Very. But I must leave now my wife, in order to take my place
where I should be."
Me: "Goodnight my Husband."
S: "And my wife."

4th April 2002:

Seti: Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife."
Me: "Thank you for the perfume."
Seti had surrounded me with perfume.
S: "It is my pleasure. So you go to your country?"
Me: "Yes."
S: "I know. I guard your journey."
Me: "I send my love."
S: "It is well received."
Me: "Was the pain I felt in my heart today your pain?"
S: "The pain is with everyone. I must leave my wife. I am being
called, but remember the shadow of love I leave with you. I take my

5th April 2002:

Seti woke me during the night.
Me: "I am awake, that you know."
S: "Yes my love, let it flow, the time has come for you to go."
Me: "Where to Seti? I must know."
S: "Yes my child. You must go. Keep on writing. Let it flow."
Me: "I do. I do. I want to hear. For me you must make it clear."
S: "The world is waiting. The word is now."
Me: "The sentence falls but goes around. Around and around it
goes. Where to go? Is it to the East? Jerusalem?"
S: "No."
Me: "Athens is where I'll be, Athens, Athens, by the sea. Crete?
To Australia? Is all not well? To walk? To talk? I cannot know! Oh
Seti, if only I could hear.”
S: "You must come. Closer, closer to the sun. The way is clear,
the journey long. Listen to the Angel's song. Do not falter. Do not
Me: "We are coming to the gate."
S: "The gate my dear is tall, and strong."
Me: "Seti, Seti, here I come. Walking, walking, all the way, up
the mountain, down the hill."
S: "Further, further, do not stay. Delay thee not. You know the
Me: "The waterfall. I see it, on the left, the snow-topped mountain
on the right. The sun is there, yet out of sight. I walk the road. I sing
the song. I will not falter. I will not wait. Yonder, yes, I see the gate,
the golden glow. The latch is open. That is the way. The dawn is
breaking. Soon it will be day. Is this the day for all to come? Closer,
closer to the sun?"
S: "Yes my dear. Now lead the way. Lift the latch. Walk you
through. The others will follow, you know that is true."
Me: "I hesitate."
S: "No. Push it hard. You are walking your own backyard."
Me: "I'm walking through. I hold open the gate."
S: "No. Keep going. There is another gate."
Me: "It's blue. It's pink, rainbow hue. Seti, I see it. I know that is
true. Walk on I shall. I am through the gate! To the left the valley
deep, stretches before me. I hesitate. There is no sun! Is this the
way? To the right the mountains call. I climb. I climb to reach the
top. I struggle on, but I'm almost there. The sun is rising. This was
the way!
I greet the dawn, another day in all its beauty. All is clear. I
sit on the peak, the highest here.
Seti, Seti, why have I come?"
S: "My hand, my hand. Take it now. Put down the pen. Come,
let's ride, ride my dear, across the sky."

6th April 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife."
Me: "Thank you for last night."
S: "We must always see clearly."
Me: "I feel more confident about hearing."

S: "And so shall it be. Are there any questions? Then I take my

7th April 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "And my wife."
Me: "I have no questions, but this is the last time I will be able to
communicate clearly with you, as Darla will no longer be with me
to channel your words."
S: "Always you can communicate with me."
Me: "Yes."
S: "You sound doubtful my wife."
Me: "Shall I just pick up the pen?"
S: "That is the way."
Me: "I appreciated your presence close to me today."
S: "I always leave my shadow with you."
Me: "I have a long trip ahead."
S: "You are strong and good, and it will pass. May I assist you
this evening? Then, I will take my leave my wife as there is much to
do and the time grows short."

15th April 2002:

I felt Seti close to me and knew it was now I was to visit his land. I
reached for his hand but when I looked up I found I was with the
blonde man who had earlier told me that he would be my guide. I
held tightly to his hand until we arrived where Seti was waiting for
me. We walked the fields where crops were ripe, re-experiencing
our earlier love. It was just Seti and me. I met no others. Our
children were not there and I did not think of them before returning
to my world. I feel they had yet to be born.

17th April 2002:

Today with Seti I stepped back in time.
He guided me to a table where a number of people wearing grey
robes with hoods were seated. He stood behind my chair. I felt
unworthy to be there and unaccepted also. I left.
S: "Well my child. What to know?"
Me: "The group? The table? Who were they?"
S: "You know."
Me: "Shall I go there again?"
S: "It is up to you."
Me: "You give no answers. I want to grow."
S: "Yes. I know."
Me: "Where? Which way? When? I have, my Husband, I have the
S: "Turn the page, then I speak."
Me: "I wait."
S: "This now is the time to grow."
Me: "From here where do I go? The group? The table? Was that
my seat?"
S: "Yes my dear."
Me: "Why did I leave? Was I not ready to take my place? Have I
failed? Is it lost?"
S: "The way now is up to you. The choice is yours. The road is
wide, there are entrances on either side. You must decide which
way to go."
Me: "Will you be with me?"
S: "If you wish."
Me: "Now I grow. Tall and strong I take that road. It's hard I
know, but it's mine to go. Are you leaving me? Is that a yes?"
S: "My child, I will be with you wherever you go. Long or short,
narrow or wide. I am always there, by your side."
Me: "Thank you Seti. I feared you would go, that I'd not
succeeded, not grown enough to keep you by my side. Is it time to
S: "No. Reach the top. Tread the mountain. Walk the road, and
always, always carry your load. Up this side and down the other."
Me: "The table Seti. It worries me that I did not stay. Why?"
S: "You will see."
Me: "I was not ready?"
S: "No. Not today. But there is another way, another road."
I interrupted:
Me: "Why could I not sit? I need to know."
Seti did not answer.
Me: "Okay. I'll walk the road. Another step, another stride and I'll
make it to the other side."
S: "That you will. That you must."
Me: "Oh Seti!"
S: "My dear all is not lost."
Me: "I think I must stop."
S: "There is more to know."
Me: "Tell me please. I am here to grow."
S: "Keep working hard."
Me: "Tell me please. I am here to grow"
S: "You know. You know. It is for you to grow."
Me: "Humility now I know. I have learned this quickly. I put
down the pen. Is that all right? "
S: "Yes. We talk another day."

18th April 2002:

Me: "Welcome my Husband."
S: "Welcome by wife."
Me: "Seti, thank you. It's learning for me. I'll work on ego and on
pride. I know I must."
S: "Just let it go."
Me: "I'll do just that. Have you anything to add?"
S: "No my dear. It's your way to go. It's up and down. It's round
and round. It's over the bridge. It's by the brook. Stand tall child,
you're coming back. Back to the sun, the way is long. Listen to the
Angel's song."
Me: "You say that often."
S: "And well I must."
Me: "Alright then in it I trust. The clarion call comes clear and
strong. I follow, follow all the way. We meet my Husband, another

Being human, sometimes in the middle of the night I succumb to

negative thoughts. Seti has given me these words:
S: "Remember, always there comes the day when light will ease,
the sun will glow. This dear is where you'll go. You'll step forth,
you'll walk the road to other worlds, to other calls. You will answer.
You know it all. Look within, the answer is there, your growth, your
strength. The One, the All, it travels with you. It shows the way."
Another time:
"The sun shines, the rivers run. This entire earth will be
overcome. The world spins, it spins around and around. The day
will come when comes the call for you to go beyond the gate, to
places far, to mountains tall, to places far beyond the sun. The
angel's call forever nigh. You my dear need only sigh for them to
come to take you home."

I again left Mexico. My first stop was Greece, where I looked in

awe at ancient ruins and marvelled at myths lost in time. The
natural beauty of Delphi, with hills, valleys, lakes and abundant
wildflowers was healing to my soul. I returned via Bangkok to my
Australian home.

2003-2006 Australia

Darla and I have waited to be directed to Israel but we have been

told it is not divine timing.
Meanwhile, the unfinished book is to be published.
Our journey will continue at a later date.

Peter: “And the end was the beginning.”



*PETER, CHARLES, SETI, who really wrote this book.

*DARLA, who channelled most of their words, taught, protected
and guided me.
*L.A, who challenged and pushed me to understand. I honour
your uniqueness, fearlessness, and patience.
*(I shall call her ANNE), who recognized me on that ferry and
carried me through another part of my journey.
*AMANDA (MANDY), who came with her daughter and dog, to
live at my house, therefore forcing me to believe the unbelievable.
*MERLIN, for comfort in times of great stress.
*My sister, COLLEEN MORGAN, for her wisdom, love, and
fortitude, as she typed, retyped and corrected my manuscript, never
once raising an eyebrow or challenging what I was presenting.
*UNA MYRTLE, who fulfilled a sacred contract made between
us before birth.
*And to my daughter, Cate, who assisted when the time was right.

Author: Lexie Green


Colleen Morgan (sister)

266 Bent Street South Grafton, NSW, 2460, Australia -

Cate Green (daughter) 90 Bourke Street Maitland, NSW, 2320,

Australia- caterina8@optusnet.com.au

Book Website; www.beyondtime.com.au

e-mail; info@beyondtime.com.au