Rediscovering our innate ability to communicate telepathically with animals is a spiritual journey. This journey prompts us to examine hidden depths of our being to identify what may be hindering fruitful exploration and recovery. The experiences people related in Species Link, Issue 13, October 1993 on their animal communication path are still relevant for students today. Sharing our journeys can help us feel supported along the way.
The Journey Home by Catherine Reimer (Nine months after Penelope’s course at Spring Farm Cares in Clinton, New York, 1992)
I wasn't looking for a spiritual life. Too much religion growing up made me cynical. I just wanted to understand my dog, Magic, better.
You said (quite tactfully), "Let her be. Listen. Be her friend. Lift your grief from her shoulders." I cried all weekend, and listened to Magic and that little old pony, Bubbles. I also worked very hard against myself, discounting what I heard. Bubbles walked away from me in disgust.
I couldn't quite get it. It was too far to travel in one weekend. But nothing has been quite the same since.
When I look back to my childhood home, I remember being four and wanting to name my baby brother "Black Beauty.” I remember sitting on the wall for hours watching the ants, feeling a palpable connection with the llama at the zoo, and a little later when my puppy gave my brother asthma, and we had to give her away, telling a big lie to my father when he asked, "Who do you care about more, your brother or that dog?"
You didn't give out any maps during that workshop. Maps (dogma) would have sent me scurrying in the opposite direction. Instead, you said, "See for yourself," and started me on a journey back home to a more spiritual place. Buster, the dog I always thought of as the silly one, now comes into my dreams and nuzzles me along as if I'm a feral babe. And then there's more and more...
A lot of the time I still can't let myself quite "get it," but there is time to travel slowly, and it's the right journey.
Steps name withheld
I have been specifically focusing on my spiritual growth in recent years by trying to more consciously blend physical cleansing and health, the spiritual development of my female side, and, specifically, the development of my ability to communicate with animals telepathically. As part of this process, I did some self-hypnosis work. At the end of the relaxation portion of the tape I used, I would go from a dark walkway into a beautiful meadow and sit beneath a wonderful oak tree. A collie named Friend would then come and sit down with me as I proceeded through the self-hypnosis. I have never known a collie named Friend in this life, but I felt happy to see him, enjoying his companionship and appreciating his encouragement.
I have felt for several years that there was an invisible barrier to my ability to communicate with animals, in addition to a lack of confidence. Yes, I have had some meaningful experiences, but communication came to me as drops through a funnel. In March 1993, a friend suggested I see a local psychologist who had begun incorporating metaphysics into her practice. This suggestion felt right for me, and I saw the psychologist, Tamara, within the week. When I entered her home, Tamara and a sheltie dog, named Jonquil, greeted me. Jonquil was acting in an unusually friendly manner, which prompted Tamara to say, "You have made a new friend."
In the session, Tamara functioned as a facilitator, using a very structured process consisting of questions and muscle testing. After we determined the primary issue to be addressed, the process directed us to look at the issue from the inherited, past-life, prenatal, and childhood perspectives. What we addressed centered around removing the barrier to using my intuitive or female side, which encompassed telepathic communication with animals. My three-hour session was one of the most traumatic, emotional, and ultimately wonderful experiences of my life.
I discovered that six generations back on my father's side, there had lived a rigid, hateful, puritanical man named John. He was the epitome of "fire and brimstone" and was spiritually full of self-hatred. He denied the goodness in himself and proclaimed the female part of him dead. He had a male collie dog named Friend. Friend understood John and loved him unconditionally. However, when John looked at Friend, he saw love and the good side of himself that he worked so hard to deny. So, he killed Friend. Thus his denial of himself was complete, and his self-hatred could flourish. All of this knowledge of John came from me through the process. I realized that not only was John a blood relative, but I had been John. The horror and grief that I felt upon this realization was deep and overwhelming.
The counseling process included a segment on forgiving and asking for forgiveness. I eventually could feel deeply my forgiveness of John. When this occurred, John "melted" into the earth and became a bright light above my head. He simply said, "Thank you." Although this was symbolic, it felt starkly real. I then asked Friend's forgiveness. He lovingly forgave me. Although I felt emotionally spent upon John's "leaving," it was as though a horrendous weight had been lifted from me.
I had had my eyes closed during the forgiveness portion of the process. Upon opening my eyes, I looked across the room at Jonquil, and I knew who she was. I telepathically asked her if she was Friend. She answered, "Yes." We exchanged a few more thoughts; then she put her head down on her paws and closed her eyes. She had finished her day's work. How loyal and supportive Friend has been to me—with John, during my self-hypnosis work, and then at the counseling session. Since that time, Friend (in spirit) often runs with me when I go jogging. He likes to keep me company particularly when I am outdoors. He brings me pure joy!
I commute fifty miles one way to work each weekday. Since attending your Advanced Course in 1992, one of my teachers, Jo Jo, a guinea pig, has frequently joined me on the mountain portion of my journey. He often runs up and down my arm or sits on my shoulder. Some time ago, he brought a friend with him, a Peruvian guinea pig named Jamie. Jo Jo said he was training Jamie. They both now often ride with me, and we talk about a variety of things.
My ride has become even more interesting. Since John "left," the number of traveling companions has increased significantly. Several weeks ago, as I drove in the mountains, I saw in my peripheral vision something brown sitting in the passenger seat. I looked over, and there was a hound dog approximately one and a half years old. I warmly greeted him and asked him about himself. He responded that he had died recently in a farm accident. He had lived with an older couple in Nebraska. He knew that they were sorry he died, but being familiar with life and death on the farm, they were philosophical about his passing. Consequently, they were going about the business of getting another dog. J.J., the dog, understood this and was fine with it. J.J. came to be with me because he had "heard" that the trip with me was fun, and he wanted to see for himself. I told him he was most welcome anytime, and he continued to take everything in.
Jamie, my guinea pig friend, who was along that day, told me he had helped a poodle who wanted to die. Jamie talked with the poodle, who then determined he wanted to live. Jamie had also helped a cat who was fourteen years old and failing but couldn't disconnect from her body. Jamie showed her how she could do so through her own will. Suddenly, I was aware of something on my left thigh. I looked down, and there was a white cat with a pearl-like sheen to her semi-long coat. I greeted her and asked her name. "Moonlight," she answered. She told me that she had been a companion to a woman who was now elderly and who was having mental lapses. Moonlight was sorry that her relationship with this kindly woman ended; she felt uncertain about her transition to spirit and was happy to have Jamie's help.
Suddenly my French lop-eared rabbit, Pushinka, was lying on my right leg. He had died in May 1990, and I was so happy to see him. I greeted him with joy and love and asked why he hadn't been to see me until now. He said that I had been very sad, and he felt that I wasn't ready to see him. I had to agree. We reminisced together.
Then, my two cats, Tovi and Mishka, came. They had been with me for fourteen years and had passed on several years apart. We talked about old times and also discussed my concern about having had each of them euthanized when they had cancer. I was able to come to grips with my feelings based on their responses. My dog from childhood, Kricket, then joined my growing group of companions. My lilac-crowned Amazon parrot friend, Caesar, perched on my left shoulder, wanting to join the fun. He is a current member of our animal family. Pete, a llama friend I recently met and had an immediate connection with, joined us also.
I was beginning to feel like Noah in a Tercel. It was very thrilling. I was so honored that my old and new animal friends had chosen to join me. It confirmed for me my growing openness and receptivity to animals. Since then, my animal friends have continued to ride with me, coming and going as they please. On some days, a new animal friend will ride along. Sometimes we have discussions, and sometimes we sit in companionable silence. I never know who will pop in and ride with me.
I feel that a whole new world has opened up to me. My success with communicating with earthly animals face-to-face has been somewhat more limited. I've been much more successful communicating with spirit beings or earthly animals when I'm not looking at them. I'll keep practicing. I don't usually discuss this type of personal information, but it seemed important to communicate it.
