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It led me to develop relationships with two different channels that had some important aspects in common.

They each used prayer to create a sacred space before they opened themselves up to other realms; they called on protective beings to help them put aside their egos to allow beings of light, and no others, to speak through them and they worked privately, discreetly and with patience. It was their integrity that helped me identify any information they thought might be dubious where their own opinions may have coloured the information coming through. They would each use filtering mechanisms to keep out wandering, but well meaning, discarnates that populated much of the new age literature, who had facile understanding, spare sermons or scary prophecies to spin to the gullible.

The first of my channels, Dr George Litchfield, was a medical practitioner and a trance medium that was methodical and precise in his professional life. Prior to each session he would ask me to meditate on my questions and request, through prayer, for appropriate guidance to be available to come through him to answer them. At the beginning of a session, he would cross himself, lie on a reclining chair and apparently go to sleep. An entity was calling himself the Gatekeeper, would come through laughing. He was a former Tibetan Llama, named Rimpoche.(Aren't they all!! Tibetan Llamas, that is!) After inquiring about my day’s topics for discussion, he would organise my sessions like an impresario, arranging a line-up of carefully vetted guests who were available to shed light on my issues or he would simply answer all questions himself. He reminded me of Joseph Campbell’s description of a threshold guardian, “who sits at the entrance to the zone of magnified power”. (Hero with a Thousand Faces, p.77). Beyond the Gatekeeper lay darkness and light, mystery and revelation, human and divine. He would birth, like a “spiritual obstetrician”, fully formed adults from the unseen world while Dr Litchfield slept soundly in his chair. The Gatekeeper described himself; “I am tall for a Tibetan with a Mongolian cast of features. I dress in a Llama’s cinnamon and saffron robes, with my three-pointed hat. I died at thirty years in 1786. Nevertheless, I’ve lived once since then. I returned to life to learn about “discarding the world”. In that life, I tasted the sweetness of life before surrendering it to die through pneumonia at eighteen months of age.” [Litchfield,2004]

Two channels are better than one

The Gatekeeper’s other important role was to carefully monitor Dr Litchfield’s heart rate and blood pressure. He ensured that George had no sudden bolts of energy from discarnate beings that could jar his electrical circuitry during the time they settled into his physical body and used his voice box and his vocabulary to express themselves. The Gatekeeper would strictly watch the time, giving wind-up signals to garrulous presenters. When the critical moment came, he would, if he had to, cut them off mid-sentence, saying to me “Count him back from twenty, if you please”. On the count of “one” the Doctor would come groggily awake with no memory of what had occurred in the previous thirty to forty-five minutes. I would then go through the highlights with him from my notes.

Many times I asked to speak to the Comte de Saint Germain and he was never available. His vibrationary force was so strong that Dr Litchfield, who had a pacemaker, could not contain him without risk of a coronary attack. He would, however, occasionally drop in to say something enigmatic in French to the Gatekeeper who would translate it to me.

While Dr Litchfield was English born and educated and fluent in Welsh, he spoke a little French and some smatterings of Italian and Latin, many of the historical beings who came through him used languages he could not speak or understand. They would start their discourses in Latin, Romano British, Chinese, Japanese, Sanskrit, Swedish or Hebrew until I could persuade them to continue speaking in English.

Earlier on in my discussions, I was very skeptical about these shades from the past. Were they being conjured up from Dr Litchfield’s imagination' his historical reading or from his unconscious? Could they simply be other aspects of his personality? Had they truly lived when they said they had lived? So when a seventeenth century Master of Peterhouse, which he described as a college of Cambridge University, lectured me on the meaning of truth, I was dubious about both him and his credentials. I told him I had never heard of Peterhouse and was not sure whether he had ever existed. He said I would have to take him on trust, and verify his biographical details later on.

Determined to check thoroughly historical facts of his message to rule out fantasy, I went to Cambridge making a point of visiting Peterhouse which was the University’s oldest college. But my purpose was to discover if a Matthew Wren ever existed. Near the entrance to the College was the Porter’s room where I asked about past rectors. “Is there an Honour Board of previous masters of Peterhouse somewhere?” I asked. “Who are you interested in?” “A Mathew Wren, Master around 1660”. “Our library is called after him. It’s upstairs.” So I found him. I will never forget the shiver that went through me.

Nevertheless, I constantly sought verification that this array of characters was speaking the truth. Whenever possible I checked any philosophical and historical information I received from channeling in library searches of their biographical backgrounds and followed up any contemporary references they made. Sometimes I could verify them; sometimes their lives were so obscure that they did not leave the slightest trace. I quizzed them about the historical detail of their lives.

Through Dr Litchfield came mainly male personalities, mostly of minor historical significance, who would offer some contemporary commentary, personal or guidance, some insight about the lives of St Germain which were multiplying rapidly. Someone said “Dead men tell no tales”, I could assure them that they did.

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