If you read part 1, then you will know that I became intensely aware of my guardian angel(s) while ‘on the road’. By today’s standards, when people go back-packing in Borneo or get married in Hawaii, my horizons may seem somewhat limited but this, it must be remembered, was the early ’70s when flights were expensive and there were no discount airlines. To go on holiday outside of Europe was quite rare for an English person while crossing the Atlantic was even more so. At that time of my life, say 21-24, I was going through my Jack Kerouac phase. I had little money but very itchy feet. I loved travelling, first around Western Europe, then on to Israel and finally to the USA. With a rucksack on my back, I would throw myself onto providence, believing that in one way or another, everything would be alright.
My longest journey, which I have written about before, was in the USA. I had flown out to Portland Oregon partly to see a girlfriend but also to meet her father: a man with an extraordinary gift for helping others to access forgotten memories of past lives. I learnt much while with the family and maybe sometime I will write about that too. However after a couple of weeks it was clear that it was time to go on and so I hitch-hiked south, from Eugene in Oregon down to San Francsco and later from I LA to Racine Wisconsin. Again the details of these adventures don’t concern us here, though I may write of them at some other time. What does matter is that during this journey I was brought me face to face with one of my principal guides or ‘guardian angels’.
This happened in Denver, where I was staying overnight with a group of hippies. They had been kind enough to take me with them all the way from Barstow California. Where we were staying was an old, shabby apartment. Again this was reminiscent of Jack Kerouac, at least one of whose books I had read enviously while at boarding school years before. Many of his friends were ‘pot heads’ and some of them had lived in or around Denver, which for those who don’t know it, this is called ‘the Mile High City’. Perched on top of the Rocky Mountains it has for a hundred years or more been the primary gateway to California from the East and the Midwest if travelling in the other direction.
At that time—and we are taling November 1973 here—Denver had a certain old west charm to it. It was possible for me to imagine stage coaches galloping through, taking would-be prospectors to the gold mines of 1850s northern California or later to the Rockies themselves. I could also imagine groups of 1930s farmers coming west to escape the dust-bowl and find a better life picking grapes of sweetness in the Napa Valley. My own experience, though, was more in keeping with the ‘Beat Poets’, of whom Kerouac was one, slumping in Denver while travelling on the road for the sheer joy of it.
As I have said, my new friends were hippies and so it was not long before the air in the apartment was filled with a fug of burning Mary Jane and splifs, joints or whatever is the current term for dubious roll-ups were being passed around like the Holy Sacrament. Now I am a non-smmoker and always have been (ever since 1967 when I smoked my first one, a French cigarette while camping with friends in Spain, and vomited Pernod through my nose). I may, however, for the sake of politeness, have partaken of the Denver sacrament, at least in terms of second-hand smoke. This, as it turned out, would turn out to be a seminal moment in my instruction concerning angels.
As I sat on the floor, staring at a candle, so a face appeared before me. He (it was a he) was bearded and wore a turban. I guessed that he was Persian though, as I was then an ardent practitioner of yoga, he may well have been a Hindu. He told me that he was my guide and admonished me against the taking of all psychedelic drugs. These, he said, while they can have a useful function in jolting those who are so ssteeped in materialism that they cannot see beyond it, must be avoided if one wants to follow the path of light. This is for two reasons. First of all, without protection, they open the mind to not just good influences but negative ones as well. Those who take drugs can easily become prey to vampire-like entities who steal energy and cause psychosis. Secondly they undermine the Will. For while floating in a drug-induced haze of blissful imaginings, most people lose their edge. They do not have the drive or will-power to progress a career or often to even hold down an ordinary job. As a result they remain poor, confused and very frequently will end their lives as tramps. I must not do this as I had important work to do. It was imperative that I clean up my act, get focused and seek my true destiny. After that his face faded away and all I could see was the candle.
Now as you can imagine I was quite shocked by all of this. I was n ot used to seeing turbaned heads appearing, genie-like, out of candles. Nevertheless, something inside me told me that what I had witnessed was the truth. I might not understand how it happens but it was perfectly possible for my guides to appear to me in this way if that was what they chose to do. I accepted it and took his words to heart.
(In the next blog I will take you through the different orders and types of guides that you can expect to meet or at least experience. Some will seem all too familiar while others may surprise you!)