Messages to Humanity — A Dispatch on Numerous Important Subjects for Evolving Earthlings

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Jerusalem's Kaleidoscope and Portal Uniqueness

Fridays at 6:00 a.m., this Reiki Master heard the beginning sounds of the weekend morning rush in Jerusalem. The brilliant kaleidoscope of sunrise dazzled the landscape as she stood on her deck, facing east to say morning prayers. Afterward, she immersed herself in the sights and sounds of the Holy Land. Goats scampered, donkeys brayed, and dogs barked in the wadi below her. Cars and trucks in the distance were already deafeningly pummeling down the highway to Tel Aviv, and clanging sounds came from the Arabic villages nearby. She was ready to face the busiest day of the Jerusalem week, for the next day was the Sabbath, Shabbat, when everything stalled until the first three stars came out in the evening.

Friday shopping could be dodgy and dangerous. People shouted and screamed, motioning with their hands in their cars and on the street. The Supersol, my local supermarket, was jammed—a mad house with orthodox, ultra orthodox, and secular Jews, pushing and shoving. A line up meant nothing there. I wondered if I should become one of them, but reminded myself I was not that kind of person. Keeping on telling myself; shwei, patience, as I often waited in twenty-foot long checkout lines while the cashiers idly chitchatted with friends for what seemed like an eternity. I always arrived home hot, hungry, and unscathed, though.

My husband usually got home at two-thirty and early on that year would toss his blue beret on the dining table and immediately walk upstairs to lie down on the bed. “Too much work at UNTSO headquarters,” he said. It was “a jumble, a disorganized fiasco”, I was told. “I need to staff all the UN posts here in the Middle East, but the Americans want to dictate to me and are overriding my decisions.”

Often tucking in beside my officer and a gentleman—fighter pilot extraordinaire, who had worked at the Pentagon, we would settle in for an UNMO nap (United Nations Military Officer) nap, as the UN mid-day siesta had become pigeonholed.

When I awoke from one of these naps, I immediately headed downstairs, picked up the Jerusalem Post, and went to the volunteer column. The Hebrew University Botanical Garden was seeking volunteers. Hmm, I thought that sounded like it could be an adventure, and dialed the number. Hearing the “click” told me there were IDF Intelligence types on my phone line listening in. A very English voice at the other end of the line though mentioned she was the botanist at the gardens. She sounded like fun, so an arrangement to work at the gardens one morning a week was attained. When I set the receive down, I immediately had a vision of the garden and the unique plants in it, the focus of the vision, the Cedars of Lebanon, that sparkled with flashes of light! I was again excited to penetrate and discover the realms of the unknown and the domains of the mystics were mine here in Jerusalem and I looked forward to a new interpretation of reality.

My husband often suggested dinner downtown on Jaffa Street or at one of the appealing bistros on Ben Yehuda Street. Good idea, I thought. Hubby’s answer to his and my quandaries and boredom was usually, “Let’s go out to dinner”. That day I put on something romantic and we were off to Nahalat Shiva, downtown Jerusalem—the name itself, blithesome poetry.

Evening manifested and it was quickly dark, but we found the perfect spot at an outdoor table where I could people watch. Lanterns flickered with an eerie orange and yellow glow, and the ancient, hoary stone walls of the Old City reflected light and created spectres. I ordered the farmer’s salad. The salad was to be chock-full of delicious greens topped with fresh cottage cheese, and I was not disappointed. The vegetables in Israel were the sweetest I had ever eaten anywhere in the world!

All along the street, the cafes were dimly lit that night and a young student violinist, playing classical gypsy music, strolled through the diners. I took my husband’s hand and squeezed it. What a thrill to be here in this place that was ancient, mystical, magical, and that I had heard of since time in the cradle. It was when I left the Mennonite Brethren church that the “Holy Land” did not hold me captive any longer, but now I was here reliving both ancient and childhood memories.I KNOW this evening that I have lived here before in ancient times.

More and more Jerusalemites came forth that eve to dine. This Reiki Master got brave and spoke to the couple at the table beside ours, and we received an invitation for coffee. We exchanged telephone numbers and left, our spirits lifted. Things were definitely looking up. At Nahariya, the seaside resort where we lived last year, we had only received one invitation to an Israeli home, although we often visited Arab homes in the neighbouring city of Akko.

The Israeli home we had visited, was that of my Reiki Master and her five children who had recently moved off a kibbutz. Originally from New York, she was now trying to make ends meet by teaching Reiki and facilitating treatments. It was a tough go for the family, and I often took them out for meals. My dinner plate at a cafe was game for any one of her five children to help themselves from. It surprised me, but I always allowed it. Manners, I had been told, were deliberately not taught on the Kibbutz. The logic behind this philosophy was to raise a rough and tumble Israeli.

Shopping in Jerusalem could be stimulating, with so many ancient artifacts in this country. One day close to Christmas, Barrakat was found; an antique store on King David Street. Perhaps Investigator me could find a little antiquity here for my husband. David, the Christian Palestinian owner, greeted her, a fortyish fellow with a dark scar on his left cheek, which jumped out at her. But then the Investigator found his eyes–soft and sensitive. We clicked and began enjoying ourselves. He mentioned that both of his parents had died during the Six Day War with Syria and Egypt and most of his family members had then fled to Syria. She told him she healed with her hands—to which he replied that his traditions had always included this belief. Then David told her about his store. He said that there, Judaism, Islam, and Christianity all came under the same roof. “Good”, She said, “but I don’t believe in religion.” He was taken aback, but relaxed when She said, “I believe in God, but forget the dogma.”


Subsequently, David and the Investigator began talking about all the interesting items for sale in his shop. She said he must have a lot of fun touching, playing, and connecting with all these wonderful, unique, and ancient pieces. He dismissed that comment and said that nothing intrigued him more than what happens at death. “No one knows what happens at death because dead people cannot speak,” he said. She listened for a while and then told him, “Not so. Dead people can communicate.” Psychic she, had recently been visited by a dead relative and received a message from him. She told David that her Native American spiritual teachers had taught her that we continue to learn our lessons and heal on the other side, just as we do on Earth. However, when we release from the physical body, we have an etheric body and exist on a nonphysical plane. At that precise moment, David needed to attend to a paying customer, but he invited the Investigator back to talk anytime.

*To be Continued

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National best-selling author, Advanced Reiki Master, Fire Priestess, Conference Speaker, Metaphysician Master, Agnes Toews-Andrews, has been researching the Goddess, the paranormal and metaphysical at home in Canada and at sacred sites around the world since 1987. It was while working with energy/Reiki that her clairsentient and clairaudient abilities began to awaken. A world traveler, she is the author of 8 non-fiction spiritual books and 1 book of paranormal fiction. At home in the question mark, Agnes has known since the age of 14 while watching a sunset in rural British Columbia that she was to be an 'Activator' of humanity and in 1989 made a commitment to be a Lightworker. Also a co-creative Devic gardner, macrobiotic consultant, she is the proud mother of two amazing kids and grandmother of five even more amazing grand kids. She currently resides in the Selkirk Mountains in the West Kootenays, British Columbia, Canada.  


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