Dawn Paul, “A Healer of Souls”

Enjoy this excerpt from this new release from British Healer, Dawn Paul. Her vision at Machu Picchu is the beginning of her great spiritual adventure…

How it all began….by Dawn Paul, Master Shaman and Spiritual Teacher

A Healer of Souls: A helping hand on your journey through lifeI had been drawn to Machu Picchu for years but for some reason, had never managed to get there. Machu Picchu is cited as one of the new Seven Wonders of the World, and is often referred to as ‘The Lost City of the Inca.’ A mountain rising to just under eight thousand feet above sea level, covered in 15th Century Inca ruins, it surely is a sight to behold, and breathtaking in more ways than one.

 As so often happens when one is on a spiritual path, as soon as I admitted defeat and stopped trying to find my path, it found me. For during my visit to Machu Picchu, quite unexpectedly, I received a powerful and mystical vision which was to change my life forever. I had climbed to the highest point at Machu Picchu to see the Intihuatana stone – also known as the “hitching post of the Sun.” I was feeling frustrated as I had only caught the last two minutes of a talk about the stone, and the crowd was being shown out of the area down some steep and crumbling steps. I was the last to leave the enclosure, and as I cautiously made my way down the ancient steps, something red caught my eye.

Startled, I looked up and saw that I was surrounded by about twenty Inca, all staring intently at me, red cloaks blowing in the strong valley winds, with feathered helmets on their heads and what appeared to be spears in their hands. Having previously enjoyed a trip to Rome that same year, and seen locals dressed up as gladiators and centurions posing for photos outside the Coliseum, I assumed that the Inca before me were a similar sort of tourist attraction, which to be honest I was a little upset about. But as I was able to focus my attention more fully onto them, I noticed that they were fading in and out, as if they were being tuned out on an old fashioned television.

I stopped dead in my tracks right there on the steps. I looked around to see if anyone else was close by, and amazingly, given the 400 visitors a day who visit Machu Picchu, no one was around. I could just make out a friend sitting against a rock on the distance but that was it. Fearing my knees would fail me, I wobbled my way to the bottom of the stairs.

An Inca was stood a short distance away from me, but he was dressed differently to the rest. Apart from a slit in his helmet exposing his deep black eyes, he was completely covered in golden armour. And he was immensely powerful, so powerful that I could barely stand in front of him. I kept subtly pinching myself to make sure I was not dreaming, but there was no doubt he was there, right in front of me and I was wide awake. I will admit it, I was pretty terrified, but something in me knew that I must maintain eye contact with him. The charge from his eyes was so strong that when his gaze met mine, a blue ball of electricity formed equidistant between us which crackled and sparked in mid-air. Tears flowed from my eyes and my knees shook, but I maintained my stance at what I hoped was a respectful distance.

I had no idea what I was supposed to do – or who he was- so I just stood there, bravely fronting up to him, holding my own. Suddenly his armoured arm shot out and he pointed directly at me. His voice boomed, “You must follow this path – and we will help you!”

He then pointed to another Inca on the plateau below us, and indicated I was to go to him. Again, this Inca was powerful but dressed more traditionally. I stood in front of him, again having no idea what to do and was pretty alarmed when he made a grab for my throat! He wrestled something out of me, threw it into the wind and then indicated I could leave down some uneven steps down the side of the mountain. A sharp stone dug into the underside of my foot and when I looked down at it I saw that instead of my sturdy walking boots, I had on a pair of black leather Inca boots wrapped around my feet. This stunned me and I realised it was a sign I had been here before. The winds rushed up from the river valley below and plastered me against the side of the mountain. I could barely catch my breath. But then suddenly the wind died down and I heard a voice saying I could go now, and that was it! I was completely dazed, but it was a truly amazing experience and I will never forget it as long as I live.

Find A Healer of Souls at Amazon US AmazonUK Barnes & Noble

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dawnDawn Paul was born in 1965 in Nottingham, England. At around the age of three she realised three things, one, that she was hugely fascinated by people’s minds, two, that she was not from here, and three, that she had a lot of questions! Dawn struggled to find her place in the world, feeling hugely drawn to all things spiritual, but ending up working in financial services for 20 years despite the fact that she felt constantly pushed to do something – but she did not know what that was. Eventually, after years of searching she felt that she had no option but to give up. Exhausted from her search and the constant challenges she had faced in her life, she found herself at Machu Picchu, Peru. There, she received a mystical vision and was told to follow the path of the shaman, and then everything became much clearer! Waving goodbye to her six figure salary, Dawn stepped onto the path of the shaman, where she had always belonged. She now works worldwide as a shamanic healer and spiritual teacher, and her book, A Healer of SoulsA helping hand on your journey through life, is her gift to the community, without which a shaman cannot exist.

 Visit Dawn Paul’s website at  www.liberate-online.co.uk

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streamshandsmall  EVER-FLOWING STREAMS: TAPPING INTO HEALING ENERGY

 “A book not to simply read, but to experience…” Tampa Bay Examiner

Throw Your Unforgiveness into Stinky Creek

Welcome to R. Ann Rousseau, owner of the popular Explore Beyond the Usual blogsite and author of the metaphysical novel, PORTSMOUTH, A LOVE STORY. She understands the need to forgive…

R. Ann Rousseau

In  my novel, Portsmouth A Love Story, I wrote a scene where the main character Severine Champagne  asks God why she  isn’t with the husband she longed for all her life. It’s a question many women  and men have asked themselves if they’ve reached their 40’s and the right  partner is not a part of their life yet. As she walks on the beach, she hears  the words Forgive the Past.  She thought she had forgiven and released the past. The  reality was she wasn’t with a loving partner, something she truly wanted, which  meant her desire was blocked. But why? Fears or old wounds still lingered in her  soul. I think that’s true of many things in our life that seem blocked. A Course  in Miracles says that any time there is dis-ease there is an unforgiveness. Pain  about not being with a partner or the right partner is evidence that there is  dis-ease and a need to uncover an unforgiveness.

I have mentioned many times in my blog posts that I love  to walk on Wallis Sands Beach in Rye, New Hampshire. I’m blessed to live near  the seacoast. I try to walk every day. At the end of Wallis Sands, there’s a  flowing body of water called Stinky Creek which flows into the Atlantic Ocean. I  don’t know this for a fact but I was told it got its Stinky name, because  there’s an old ship wreck under the creek which doesn’t allow for proper  drainage and circulation of the water flowing down from the mountains of New  Hampshire. Many days, the water pools and there’s a very noticeable odor  emanating from Creek.

As I approach Stinky Creek during my daily walk, I pick  up a rock or two on the beach. I say to myself, I forgive and release…(whomever is  rubbing me the wrong way that day) to God, and throw the rock into the creekA Course in Miracles says that all it takes is a Little Willingness to forgive.  By taking something I possess–a rock containing the negative energy of my  unforgiveness, with intention, I toss my stinky unforgiveness into Stinky  Creek…and it’s released. As many spiritual teachers will tell you, releasing  an unforgiveness is more for the person doing the forgiving than it is for the  person forgiven. Some days, you have to forgive yourself, and that’s Ok. If you  don’t have an ocean nearby, you go to a park and throw a penny into a fountain  and release your unforgiveness.Whatever works for you.

Enjoy this Excerpt from PORTSMOUTH, A LOVE STORY

She hadn’t spoken to her mother for many years. As a young woman, she had made several attempts to draw a line in the sand as to the level of negative energy she would take from her before she would finally leave the relationship. After many attempts, she had to admit that the woman was completely unconscious. To stay and continue interacting with her would be submitting herself to an emotionally dangerous environment. Her mother knew her weak points and most of all, how to extract guilt.

What she had learned after studying about spirituality was that manipulation and control is not love. There was no obligation to stay in a family that was harmful to her spirit.

Severine thought she had successfully let go of her toxic past but now it was coming back to haunt her. She was told there was still a lingering unforgiveness blocking her path.

I have no interest in opening that old can of worms again. I can’t see how that would do any good. I can’t change her. I just need to INTEND to forgive her. Not that I believe my mother was right about anything. That’s for sure. I’m doing it for ME…and my future.

At sunset, to mark the occasion, she returned to Wallis Sands and headed over to the point where Stinky Creek emptied into the Atlantic. She took a rock from the beach and said out loud, I forgive and release my mother to God.

In a split second, she decided to pick up another rock. She threw the rock into the water and watched it sink to the bottom and said, I forgive and release Peter Nicholas to God.

With sincere intention to surrender all past anger and any lurking unforgiveness, the rooms of her Spirit were swept clean. She was now ready to embrace a new family, whoever that might be.

R. Ann Rousseau writes about metaphysical, spiritual and astrology  topics on her blog Explore Beyond the Usual. She is author of the new novel Portsmouth, A Love  Story

Follow R. Ann Rousseau on Twitter  @RAnnRousseau

Facebook. www.facebook.com/PortsmouthALoveStory

 

 

 

“Dr. Barbara” exudes Spirit

Have you met “Dr. Barbara” yet? Dr. Barbara Ebel, M.D., is a physician and prolific author of both fiction and non-fiction works. Take a peek at her recent release:

Have a question for Dr. Barbara? Feel free to ask in the comments!

An excerpt from Younger Next Decade: After Fifty, the Transitional Decade, and what You Need to Know by Barbara Ebel, M.D.Younger Next Decade

 

Excerpt from Chapter 2 – Spirit

 My husband and I have dogs, one of which is a Chesapeake Bay retriever named Chester. He’s a therapy dog, the star of a children’s book series, and my children say he’s so smart, “it’s scary.” A few days ago, we started out the day like usual. We got ready to walk and Chester sprinted around the house with a couch pillow that has become his. He politely ran up and down the hallway and whenever he stopped and waited, he placed the pillow between his paws and sank his muzzle perfectly on top of it. It’s always obvious he thinks better than to rest his canine head on the wooden floor.

These kind of antics progressed. We left the house with all the dogs and walked the empty country roads with woods flanking us on both sides. Chester, who is unleashed, sprinted a short distance into the woods to do his business. On his emergence, he grabbed a stick and rushed over to present it to us. He dropped it at our feet and then coaxed me to dig a carrot out of my pocket for him, but then darted off again to taunt a deer who watched us with curiosity. If the weather is cool, then Chester’s motions are exaggerated, and his energy seems to pop from a bottle. This particular day I watched with my usual fondness but blabbered my appreciation of him to my husband. “He’s so happy – his tail never stops – he still has the exact enthusiasm he had his first year – he still plays like a puppy.”

I went on with my descriptions about Chester and then added. “You know, he’s seven and a half, and with big dogs the equivalent of one dog year being similar to seven human years is even more. Actually, he’s coming up to about my age. Fifty-eight. And look at him.”

My husband mulled this over and said. “He’s got spirit.”

Yes, that’s how this smart dog is living his whole life – with spirit.

The perfect word. If we humans carry a vitality and an enthusiasm for life, and an understanding of this gift called life, and if we experience our existence as much as possible with a positive outlook and joy; well, I think that’s called spirit.

Have you ever noticed the difference between someone’s attitude who’s living life to the fullest versus someone who is just going through the everyday motions? I noticed it with my own mother. As she grew older, she became more socially active and independent. Into her seventies and eighties she looked more gorgeous than ever. She actually looked older in her fifties. Her spirit had developed and everyone around her saw and felt it.

Now, just another word. You may be saying. “Sure, that’s easy in principle, but you can’t have spirit when you have a half-dozen big problems on your plate.” You are partially correct about that. But take it from someone who’s been told “you’ve been through hell and back.” Life does have its ups-and-downs. Do everything you can to weather those times – purposeful distractions got me through – and remember that inside you is a fundamental spirit that no one can take away that you must take every opportunity to flourish. Water yourself like a rose, from inside.

 

Bio:

Barbara Ebel is an author of fiction novels, children’s books, and Younger Next Decade.  Since she is a physician, she sprinkles credible medicine into the background of her novels and her operating room scenes shine since her specialty is anesthesiology. However, her characters and plots take center stage.  She wanted to pen Younger Next Decade because of the specific fourteen subjects/chapters and refreshing ideas she wanted to present to women and men over fifty.

Please visit her at http://barbaraebel.weebly.com for more information, books, video trailers, and a separate page for Younger Next Decade: After Fifty, the Transitional Decade, and what You Need to Know.

Angel Eyes

 Patty’s Angels from HOPE FOR THE HOLIDAYS

How would you react if you actually saw an angel?

Excerpt

Setup: Los Angeles, 1960. Geri is a down-on-her-luck actress. She’s met 4-year-old, Patty, and her mother, Mary Beth, through the free breakfast program at a nearby church. Mary Beth, the new choir director, has asked Geri to sit with Patty on Sunday mornings. A confirmed sinner, Geri, reluctantly agrees. Also–Patty’s best friends are two angels.

Geri and Patty have just sat down in the church pew.

Holding Patty in her arms made Geri feel all squishy and cuddly inside. The sappy music put a big lump in her chest and threatened to turn on the water works. These squeaky-clean people around her made her feel like a total fake. Where were the guys she saw on the week days? Good old Charlie, Bill and Ed? Weren’t they swell enough for this crowd? The only person she recognized was Auntie Z, dressed like Gloria Swanson, complete with a turban.

She hoped Reverend Samuel didn’t come out, point at her and proclaim, “We have a sinner among us!”

Of course, that didn’t happen. There was a lot of stand up, sit down, sing this, recite that. She totally surprised herself by spitting out the words to the Lord’s Prayer. She and Patty made quite a team on that one.

Reverend Samuel delivered his sermon with verve. Geri thought he could probably make a few bucks doing voice-overs. She sensed the service was wrapping up and glanced down at Patty. The kid didn’t look happy. Maybe she had to go to the bathroom.

Geri whispered, “What’s the matter?”

“No angels. Where are they?”

The girl and her angels. What an imagination.

“Maybe they’re on vacation,” she whispered.

Patty’s face puckered, but she remained silent.

Reverend Samuel closed his Bible and strutted to his throne-like chair. Geri glanced at her bulletin. Mary Beth was up for the grand finale, a solo.

Wearing a maroon and silver robe, Mary Beth seemed to glide to the podium. A brighter shade of lipstick than usual gave her a Sandra Dee look. The music swelled.

Geri lifted Patty onto her lap so she could see her mama better. Mary Beth closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let the first notes rise from her throat. The words, the tones, the feelings surged from the soloist like a wave rolling across the shore. Peace washed over Geri, drenching her spirit.

Patty smiled and whispered to Geri, “They’re here.”

“Who’s here?”

“The angels. Don’t you see them?”

Geri didn’t understand what was going on. Her head felt light, almost dizzy. The song pouring out of Mary Beth seemed to be filling cracks in Geri’s soul. A light glowing in the rafters drew her attention. She didn’t think the church was set up for special effects. Golden light swirled and sparkled near the ceiling. She couldn’t take her eyes off the illusion. The music crescendoed. Two figures materialized. Geri blinked. Angels? For real? One shimmered in a golden robe; the other twinkled an iridescent blue. White wings completed the 3D image. The Gold one smiled at her. Geri stared dumbstruck.

Patty whispered. “They’re happy you can see them.”

Geri glanced around the room. No one else seemed to notice the angels except Patty and her. Okay, this was getting a little scary.

Light from the angels streamed into Mary Beth. Music flowed out of her in tones and colors. Geri could actually see it. Swirls of visible music wrapped around the congregation.

Geri continued to stare with a rising sense of terror. Mary Beth’s song faded and so did the angels and their crazy light show. But not Geri’s fear. She was scared witless.

Available as an ebook for at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords.

Never Forget

aint-lovegrandmedium

I was living in Oklahoma City in 1995 and felt the bomb shake my house that killed 168 people and wounded countless others. I remember the collective grief. The feeling is echoed this summer. It seems fitting to post this scene that was inspired by that moment in history.

Excerpt from

Ain’t Love Grand?”

 

The set-up: The Healer and the Lawyer. Persephone Jones has a new neighbor in Peeler, Oklahoma—high dollar lawyer, Jason Brooks. This is a more serious scene featuring Jason as the guest speaker for a fund raiser for the Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial

 

“It’s my privilege to bring you one of the unsung heroes of that fateful April morning, when all of our lives were changed forever. You haven’t heard his story before. He didn’t take a photo opportunity, but he was there working tirelessly until we forced him to go home two days later. I had to twist his arm to get him to come here this evening.” His attention veered in our direction. “Ladies and Gentlemen, will you welcome Oklahoma’s own, Jason Brooks.”

My mouth dropped open. Jason had never said a word about any personal involvement with the bombing. Come to think of it, he never bragged or appeared on the ego trip associated with successful lawyers.

He issued a low grunt, wiped his mouth with his napkin, rose, and made his way to the front of the room. The audience applauded politely, as he took his place behind the podium. He stood quietly before the crowd, taking their measure as the applause died down.

Though his expression appeared impassive, his hands gripped the podium, betraying pent-up tension. “Paul’s correct in telling you I am here reluctantly. I know most of you think I’m a publicity hound, always ready to give a statement when the cameras are rolling. It’s true that I’m not shy about putting my face in the forefront when there’s an issue I consider worth taking a stand for. But tonight is different. The experience of the bombing…the sights, smells, and memories are forever imprinted in my mind and soul.”

Grim lines drew around his mouth. “I was there, one of the first on the scene, two blocks away from the Murrah Building when the blast went off, knocking me off my feet. The glass in the high-rise windows around me shattered and rained down on the sidewalks as I crouched into a ball, feeling particles of debris bounce off my back. My memories after that moment are as fragmented as the building itself…”

His voice filled the room with his remembrances of the blood, smoke, fear, and valor brought forth following the terrorist attack on the American heartland. We revisited the day again through his eyes. How he carried dead toddlers out of what was left of the day care center…calmed hysterical people searching in vain for loved ones…helped organize a triage center. He’d stared helplessly at the fragmented, blackened mass of concrete, glass and twisted steel that had so recently been an orderly structure of offices, reception areas, and snack rooms. Everyday people were working to support their families and fulfill their place in the world when a misguided, angry young man wiped them off the face of the earth forever.

Jason didn’t want to remember, but he couldn’t let us forget. Supporting the Memorial was necessary, but would never be enough for the families left behind. However, it was all we could do and must do to sanctify a place where evil had momentarily overtaken goodness. The Memorial honored the dead and encouraged the living.

The audience was pulled into his word pictures and overcome with the tide of memory. Most of the women had tears in their eyes, while the men held their faces in tight masks of restraint. Jason fought for emotional control and cleared his throat on numerous occasions to keep going. His eyes found mine again and again as he related the painful details of our collective days in hell.

“It won’t bring any of them back, but we can’t let the victims be forgotten in the mists of time. The Memorial not only honors the 168 people who died that day, but the hundreds who survived. We are all survivors of the bombing. You all remember where you were that day, what you were doing when you heard about it. Many of you felt the impact of the blast and knew something terrible had occurred. It’s a Memorial for all of us in the city, in the state and in the country. The Museum teaches about the impact of violence. I didn’t want to participate in a tragedy, but we must all participate in changing the patterns of violence. Good night and God bless you all.”

He walked through the room as people leapt to their feet in emotional applause. Men patted his back; women wiped their eyes. He never took his gaze off me. I stood up slowly, meeting his penetrating, soul stripping stare with tear-filled eyes. He grabbed my hand.

“Let’s get out of here.” I nodded, gathered up my purse and we exited into the cool of the gardens, the crowd still applauding as we stole into the night.

Available at

http://amzn.to/R0gZgQ Amazon US

http://amzn.to/SSBn2z Amazon UK

Go See That Woman

Ever-Flowing Streams

Ever-Flowing Streams  chronicles my spiritual adventures through the seemingly disconnected avenues of Christianity, the Japanese healing system of Reiki, quantum physics, A Course in Miracles, and past-life therapy. While living a middle-class, conventional life, I’m drawn into the healing prayer wave of the 1980’s. Seeking a healthier life and answers to a recurring medical mystery, I go beyond the boundaries of the church to study the emerging mind-body-spirit movements of the day. In 2005, an encounter with a Reiki therapist changes my life and challenges my belief system.  Ultimately, the book deals with the power of prayer and includes exercises for readers to explore their own healing possibilities.

Sometimes it’s just best to start at the beginning. Here is the opening for “Ever-Flowing Streams.” Sometimes an illness can be the start of a wonderful transformation.  It can also bring some amazing people into your life.

Chapter One

PROLOGUE

 

The Adventure Begins

I sat down for lunch that summer day of 2005 feeling perfectly fine. Gazing out my dining room window, I enjoyed watching a pair of squirrels frolic along the fence between the giant oaks in my Oklahoma backyard. In the living room, the television hummed a Sunday afternoon football game. My husband would soon be snoring. I read a book and munched a few potato chips with my sandwich.

With no warning, pain shot up my neck and into my jaw. Ignore it. I took another bite. More pain, instant swelling below my ear.

Great, just what I need, I thought. Another attack.

Though I hadn’t experienced a full blown attack in several years, I recognized the familiar symptoms. Swollen glands and shooting pain that made eating impossible. I puzzled over what had set it off. Some might say “food allergy.” But after forty years experience, I knew the physical symptoms were merely a manifestation of a spiritual mystery.

As I sat cradling my sore neck, staring at my uneaten lunch, I heard a command in my head. Go see that woman. This has something to do with a past life. Go see that woman.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. I flipped the book I’d been reading over and gazed at the cover—One Soul, Many Lives by Roy Stemman. The book chronicled case studies of reincarnation. Brother, was I prone to the power of suggestion, or what?

My spiritual and intellectual curiosity had led me to many subjects, including reincarnation. It wasn’t a new concept to me. I’d read quite a few of the popular books during the 1970’s. There’s a certain fundamental sense of order and justice about karma.

Didn’t Jesus say “As you sow, so shall you reap”? Isn’t Dr. Laura always popping off about accepting the consequences of our actions? Reincarnation turns life into one big game of “Truth or Consequences” through time and space.

Still, wondering about reincarnation was sort of like pondering alien abductions. Maybe they were real, but I hadn’t personally been picked up by a UFO in a corn field.

 

Reluctant Patient

As my neck throbbed, I wasn’t in the mood to ponder either ET’s or Eastern philosophy. Another attack was upon me and it hurt like hell. Going to a regular doctor wouldn’t help. I’d been down that road many times before.

The thought commanded me again. GO SEE THAT WOMAN!

“That Woman” was an English New Agey therapist named Helen. My friend, Kathy, had been seeing Helen for Reiki energy therapy. During treatments Helen had told Kathy of past life experiences causing trouble today. According to this Helen person, my friend’s swallowing problems originated from being hanged in a previous incarnation. Her sore feet supposedly echoed the lifetime in China when her feet were bound.

Now, I really like Kathy, but I thought she was gullible. The therapist sounded a little too wacky for me.

GO SEE THAT WOMAN was not a command I wanted to obey.

I decided to handle the situation as I had done in the past–ask for some prayer and take anti-inflammatory medicine. Going to some dubious “therapist” was not going to happen.

So, that night I went to bed for a fitful sleep with my aching neck and the determination to tough it out. Somewhere around dawn I stirred, groggy and grumpy. My face felt oddly stiff. I sensed a matted eye.

Oh, great, add pink eye to the mix.

That was a new one. I stumbled into the bathroom, switched on the light and turned toward the mirror. I expected to see yellow, crusty matting.

Imagine my shock seeing blood. Caked blood surrounded my left eye. I peered closer. On the inside fresh blood welled up. I was tearing blood. Good grief. In forty years of attacks, that had never happened before.

Again I heard the command. GO SEE THAT WOMAN!

Okay, I knew how to take a hint.

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Ever-Flowing Streams   is exclusively available  as an ebook at Amazon