Читать книгу An Angel Called My Name: Incredible true stories from the other side - Theresa Cheung, Theresa Cheung - Страница 8

Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there’s a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see.

Helen Keller (blind and deaf from infancy)

‘I want an epidural!’ I screamed harshly. ‘I need an epidural and I need it NOW.’

I was being wheeled into the delivery room and the only thing on my mind was getting that epidural. I’d had an epidural for my son’s birth. His entrance into the world had been blissfully calm and peaceful. While I was in ‘labour’ with him I’d even managed to get a few hours’ sleep. Then I’d had a tranquil hour or so mentally to prepare myself before he was ready to be born. There had been no pain and no screaming; just a perfect birth.

Things couldn’t have been more different second time round! My daughter had decided to make her grand entrance into this world a good ten days before her due date. She was in a hurry. By the time I got to hospital there was no time for an epidural or anything. This didn’t stop me screaming for one until my voice was hoarse. The pain was out of this world.

‘Take some deep breaths. Try to stay calm,’ the doctor urged. I wanted to kill him! My husband held my hand. He told me to breathe deeply. I wanted to kill him too! My pain threshold has always been really, really low. I’m terrified of dentists and injections and I faint at the sight of my own blood. Giving birth without pain relief was my nightmare scenario made real. The more I tried to stay calm and breathe deeply the more panicked and tense I got.

‘You are making things harder for yourself than they need to be,’ I heard my doctor say. Or was it my mother?

Suddenly, I was five years old again. My mum was tucking me up in bed. I’d woken up screaming in the middle of the night. I was convinced there was a creature in my room. I pointed to the shadows to make my mum look. My mum smiled and brushed the hair away from my face. She told me that the presence I’d sensed in my room was my guardian angel looking down on me. There was nothing to be afraid of. She kissed me and I wasn’t afraid any more.

I opened my eyes. I was back in the delivery room. My mum had passed away years ago but now with my eyes open I could still hear her calm and reassuring voice speaking clearly. I could feel the warmth of her breath. She told me to stop fighting and meet the challenge peacefully. I could feel her holding my hand. I listened to what she was whispering and began to take deep breaths. I started to calm down and instead of fighting the pain I distanced myself from it. Soon the hurt gradually faded away into nothing. I felt light and carefree. My beautiful daughter was born about 20 minutes later. I didn’t feel any pain at all. Her birth was as blissful and calm as that of my gorgeous son – but this time the voice of my mother in spirit, and not drugs, had helped me through the pain.

Looking back I can see that throughout my life I have had many similar experiences which can be described as unusual; astonishing even. It’s only recently, though, that I have been able to look back and recognize them for what they were.

Although my mother was a psychic counsellor and my grandmother a medium, not all of my early life was spent attending séances and reading tarot cards. I spent a great deal of it doing ordinary things that all children do. My dad couldn’t work because he was disabled and we relied on my mum’s income, which was minimal and unpredictable. Money was always tight, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. We never placed great value on material things and we always managed to have enough to eat and a roof over our heads. We couldn’t afford holidays and treats but trips to the seaside and park were always part of our routine.

There is one park visit I remember very clearly. I was about six at the time. I can see myself now playing happily with my brother on the seesaw while my mother read a book on a bench nearby. It was a lovely day, the first of the school summer holidays. Suddenly, I started to feel very sick. I got off the seesaw and the sickness passed but when I got back on the seesaw I started to feel sick again. I loved the seesaw and hadn’t felt sick like this when I was on it before. Stubbornly I tried to stay on. The feeling got worse. I could almost feel the vomit in my throat and taste it in my mouth. I had to admit defeat and decided to get off and play on the swings instead.

A little girl and her older sister squealed with delight when my brother and I got off. I watched them enviously from the swing as they went up and down. I swung higher and higher on my swing, trying to convince myself that I was having more fun. I wasn’t. I didn’t feel sick any more and toyed with the idea of demanding the seesaw back. It was my favourite thing to do in the playground.

I stopped swinging so hard so that I could easily jump off, but as I did I realized that the younger girl on the seesaw wasn’t laughing anymore, she was crying. Her sister hadn’t noticed and was bouncing higher and higher. The more the little girl cried, the harder her sister bounced. She only stopped when her little sister started to vomit. The father of the two girls ran over to comfort his vomiting daughter but now she was choking on her vomit. He screamed for help and his wife or girlfriend ran to a phone box. (This was in the days before mobile phones, remember.) The girl had passed out by the time the ambulance arrived and she was rushed to hospital.

Later we found out that the little girl made a full recovery. I was thrilled not just for her but, rather selfishly, also for me. I hadn’t told my mum or my brother about my feelings of sickness on the seesaw. If something terrible had happened to her I was worried they would really be angry with me for not warning the little girl in time.

Warning or advising people was something my mother was highly skilled at. She had inherited the gift of psychic awareness and was an uncannily accurate astrologer/psychic counsellor. She’d give readings for people and wasn’t afraid to give them advice, even advice they didn’t want to hear. Once she told a bride-to-be that it might be a good idea to postpone her wedding. When the woman asked why my mum wasn’t able to give her specifics but she was convinced that it would be a bad move. The woman was furious and said she never wanted to see my mother again for a reading. The wedding went ahead as planned. Sadly, the wedding was revealed as a sham four months later when the bride found out that her husband already had a wife!

I longed to be able to know and say clever things like my mother. I wanted to be able to help or warn people like she did. There was the odd difficult situation, like that of the unfortunate bride mentioned above, but most people who came to my mum for a reading were extremely grateful for her guidance and insight. Trying to copy my mum, I read every book I could lay my hands on from Dion Fortune to Colin Wilson. By the age of 14 I was something of an expert in the psychic arts. Tarot cards and numerology were my specialist areas. I got so good at on-the-spot readings with just a person’s name for reference and a pack of tarot cards that my mum arranged for me to read at a local psychic fair. I read for over 20 people that day but afterwards I felt unworthy. I refused to accept the money I had earned. What I had was a good memory and knowledge from books. The readings I had given that day were based on my intimate knowledge of the theory of numerology and tarot card spreads. I hadn’t had any blinding insights of my own. I hadn’t inherited the gift. I wasn’t psychic … yet!

I talked to my mother about my concerns and she was happy for me to stop reading professionally. She told me that I needed time to grow and find my true talents. I felt keenly that I had disappointed her and let her down because I wasn’t really psychic and couldn’t see spirits and my brother could. I was determined to change that.

I signed up for a number of psychic development courses. Soon I was a walking expert on techniques to nurture your intuition and exercises to develop your psychic powers. My mum repeatedly offered to help me but I told her that this was something I had to do by myself. I made progress but not as much as I would have liked. My tutor at the College of Psychic Studies once told me that he thought I was trying too hard. What I needed to do was relax. I didn’t agree with him. I’d always been told by my grandmother that anything was possible if you worked hard enough and wanted something enough. Besides, I was a tense and stubborn teenager; relaxing was one thing I really couldn’t do.

I wanted to see, hear or feel angels so desperately, but after a couple of years it was like bashing my head against a brick wall. I was getting nowhere. Frustrated at my lack of progress and disillusioned with myself, I decided that it might perhaps be time to focus my energies elsewhere. It was time to get real, get some qualifications and a career.

I was 17 by now. Going back to sixth form was out of the question as my O level results had been dismal, so I enrolled on a home correspondence course to do my A levels. For the next two years I studied by myself at home. A lot of people, in particular my old school teachers and headmistress, thought it was a crazy idea. But what they hadn’t accounted for was my discipline and will power. I was going to prove them all wrong. And prove them wrong I did.

People always say that school is the best time of your life but it certainly wasn’t for me. I hated school. It wasn’t until I began to study alone, free from the distraction of register taking, playground politics and a one-size-fits-all approach to education that I actually got a passion for learning. I wouldn’t recommend this approach to everyone, but for me it was perfect.

To contribute to the household bills while I was studying the only job I could find was as an evening and weekend part-time care assistant at a local old people’s home. You might think it’s an odd place for a teenager to choose to work, but I didn’t mind at all. Many young people feel nervous or bored around the elderly but it was the opposite for me. I felt very comfortable. I loved their wisdom and their experience. However ill, frail, confused or infirm they were, I always saw light in their eyes. In my mind’s eye I could see the children they once were, full of energy and laughter.

Anyone who has ever worked in an old people’s home will know that death is part of the routine. I wasn’t unsettled by it. The first time I saw a dead body I felt a deep sense of peace. I also felt strangely detached from the body as it was clear from looking at it that the spirit had long gone. The body left behind reminded me of clothes that weren’t going to be worn anymore. I also found that I could usually tell which resident was close to passing. It wasn’t anything to do with their physical health. A day or so before they died the light in their eyes started to fade. The child that I imagined them to be in my mind was waving goodbye.

Seeing people so close to the end of their lives encouraged me to make the most of mine. I studied hard and surprised everyone, including myself, when I ended up with a place at Cambridge University reading English and Theology. I think the university liked the fact that I had not followed the same well-trodden path as everyone else. (Oh, the delight in writing to my old school and proving all the doubters wrong!) What I hadn’t anticipated when I finally arrived was how hard it was to fit in at a place of such tradition and learning if you come from a low-income family – and an alternative family at that.

Two weeks into my first term I had my bags packed all ready to go home. I was going to tell my family that I wouldn’t be going back. I didn’t think I was up to it. I just didn’t fit in. I was out of my league. I didn’t have the clothes, the confidence or the money. In those days I was fortunate enough to be given a full grant but even the financial relief wasn’t enough to make me want to stay. It was during this period in my life that my dreams first began to speak to me loud and clear. The night before heading home I had a dream in which I heard a choir of angels singing. Their voices and the song they sang was so piercing and enchanting that it stayed with me as I woke up the next morning. I could still hear every clear note of it in my head.

After breakfast I went to my pigeonhole and collected my post. I had a train to catch and was running late so I stuffed everything in my bag and got a bus to the station. Nobody was in when I eventually arrived home. For reasons I can’t explain I hadn’t wanted to phone in advance to warn my mum I was leaving. I went into my bedroom to unpack.

A brown envelope fell out of my bag, along with the rest of my college post. I ripped the envelope open and found a tape inside. It was a choral classic collection sung by the choir of King’s College, Cambridge. There was no note or explanation, just the tape. Intrigued, I decided to play it and as soon as the first track began I recognized the song I had heard in my dream. The singing sounded more grounded than the tones I had heard in my dream but the piece was almost the same. It was called ‘Miserere Mei, Deus’. (If you’ve never heard this choral piece you’re missing out on something very special. It’s incredibly inspiring and uplifting.)

I realized then that the angels had sent me this dream to remind me that I had been given a wonderful opportunity to study. I shouldn’t let low self-esteem or fear of failure blow my chances. I repacked my bag and travelled back that same day.

It took a good term or two to find my feet but I stayed strong even when I found my belief in the afterlife seriously challenged by academics and men and women of learning. Eventually, though I began to feel as if I belonged and the next few years of my life were a blur of study and more study – and the odd party, debate, play and drink or two. But I did finish my degree and it helped me land my first job working as an editorial assistant for the Mandala imprint of Unwin Hyman books, now owned by HarperCollins; by happy coincidence the publishers of this book! I was in heaven. My job was to work on books that explored everything that fascinated me: new age, astrology and spirituality. I met a bunch of fascinating authors, attended countless workshops, seminars and lectures and learned a great deal. I nearly didn’t get the job, though, but for yet another heaven-sent coincidence.

When I left university I applied for numerous jobs and didn’t get any of them. Each rejection set me back a great deal. I loved books and knew I wanted to work in the publishing industry but doors didn’t seem to be opening. I’d clam up in interviews; my lack of self-confidence was really working against me. I also wasn’t terribly good at details and failed basic editing assessments. It makes me laugh now as I often spend days speed typing but back then I was truly hopeless; even being asked to type up a basic letter freaked me out.

One Monday afternoon I was travelling home from London after yet another unsuccessful interview. There were big delays on the railways – nothing much has changed, has it! Anyway, my train was cancelled and there wouldn’t be another one for an hour. I wandered around Waterloo station for a while feeling a bit lost. Back in those days stations weren’t such great places to hang out, but I did find a cold bench to sit on.

I was soon joined by a couple of guys with some delicious-smelling fish and chips. I shuffled to the end of the bench, trying to ignore my rumbling stomach, and started reading my newspaper. The guys were quite noisy talkers and I couldn’t help but overhear that they were students at the London College of Publishing and Printing. Like me, it seemed they were in the process of applying for jobs in the publishing industry. One of them was excited about an interview his tutor had fixed him up for next week at Unwin Hyman books. He said the only drawback was that he had to pretend he was into all that psychic stuff but he’d read a few books in the next few days to get clued up. My ears pricked up and I took mental note. I phoned the publisher the next day and asked for application forms. Needless to say I got the job because I didn’t need to pretend I was into that ‘psychic stuff’.

If my train hadn’t been delayed that day I might never have got the job that was perfect for me. Remember, this was back in the eighties and books about the psychic world and jobs working with them were far rarer than they are today. If I’d got any of the other jobs I applied for in publishing it wouldn’t have worked out because the subject matter would not have engrossed me. At the time I took all these coincidences for granted but looking back, I truly feel that I was being guided in the right direction.

It was when I was working as an editorial assistant that I discovered what I really wanted to do with my life. I wanted to write the kind of books I was working on. I loved writing the blurbs on the backs of the books and the authors were always so pleased with what I had done. I enrolled on an evening course in writing and journalism and started to get a steady trickle of small jobs for mind body spirit and healthy living magazines.

Several twists and turns of fate later I ended up living in Dallas, Texas. I wasn’t writing books yet but I had got the process started by working in journalism. I was also very happily married by then with a baby boy complicating my life in a delicious way.

It was while I was living and working in Dallas that a psychic doorway opened – I heard my mother actually speak to me in my dreams. As anyone who has lost a loved one knows, it’s one thing helping other people cope with the loss of a loved one but a whole new ball game when that person is you. I’m 43 years old now. I’ve had my heart and my bones broken and lost close friends, but nothing will ever compare to the pain I felt when my mother died after a year-long battle with colon cancer that spread to her liver.

I was 25 when she died and the pain was deep, wrenching and unbearable. I would have given anything for a sign from her that she was still with me, watching over me, but nothing came. I cursed my lack of ability to see, hear or touch her or make contact in any way. I felt like a failure. My brother tried to ease my suffering by telling me he sensed her presence constantly around us both but that didn’t help much. Why didn’t she make contact with me? Why wouldn’t the angels speak to me?

I got very disillusioned. I questioned my assumptions about the afterlife. I challenged my mum to prove to me that she hadn’t gone but all I got was silence. What I didn’t realize in the years that followed was that she was sending me gifts from the afterlife all the time but I wasn’t ready to see them. My radar was tuned too low and I questioned what I should have instinctively known. My mother was constantly whispering to me. I just wasn’t listening.

For several years after she died I would for no apparent reason tear through my house, desperately trying to find a photograph of her. I was terrified that I had forgotten what she looked like. I needed to remember. Then at night she would visit my dreams. She seemed so real. She walked, talked and laughed. She didn’t speak to me directly but she had all the endearing mannerisms I loved. She also appeared healthy, happy and whole. The last few weeks of her life as she battled cancer she had lost her glow, but in my dreams she was vibrant again.

But dreams weren’t enough for me! I wanted my mother to talk to me, to appear to me, to give me advice like she always used to. I wanted her to show me there was an afterlife. I didn’t recognize their impact on my life at the time but the dreams I had of my mother were a great gift from the afterlife. They were so regular and frequent that they did unconsciously give me the strength I needed to keep moving forward with my life. Dreams, along with coincidences, are perhaps the easiest ways for spirits to communicate with those of us still in the physical world. They are also the form of communication least likely to alarm or cause fear for the dreamer. With my nervous disposition, that’s probably why my mother chose dreams as her first way to keep in touch with me.

It wasn’t until eight years after she had died, when I’d done some growing up and calming down, that my mother actually made contact with me in a night vision. It wasn’t like the dreams I’d had of her before when she didn’t seem to be aware of me. In this dream I wasn’t witnessing her, she was aware of me. She was interacting with me. She was speaking to me. The full story is in the introduction but, to briefly recap, she told me to take the right path and because I followed her advice the following day my life was saved. This dream unlocked a psychic door and a few months later that door was flung wide open when I heard the voice of my mother at the birth of my daughter. This time she wasn’t speaking to me in dreams, she was speaking to me when I was fully conscious. I couldn’t see her but I could feel her and hear her so clearly it was as if she was standing next to me.

‘You are making things worse for yourself than they need to be,’ I heard my mother say to me when I was in labour. ‘Don’t let your fear of the unknown give you even greater pain. You can do this. I know you can.’

In the first few days of my daughter’s life my mother’s words went around and around in my head. I was being given a clear wake-up call from the afterlife. It suddenly became clear to me that gifts from the afterlife had been showered on me in the past through dreams, hunches and coincidences, but I hadn’t been able to recognize them for what they were.

All these years that I had thought I wasn’t psychic I had been psychic all along – I just hadn’t realized or accepted it. And the reason why I had not accepted it was fear. I was frightened of not fitting in. I was frightened of being called weird. I was frightened of not living up to my mother. I was frightened of what my dreams, my sudden hunches and my feelings would tell me about myself and others. I was frightened of my own power. Until I recognized that my fear was holding me back I couldn’t understand or interpret these feelings. I needed to relax. I needed to stop trying so darn hard. I needed to listen to my intuition, rather than try to explain it.

In the past I’d convinced myself that the reason people, even those I didn’t know very well, would often open up to me was because I looked friendly and non-threatening. But now I could see clearly that I have the natural gift of empathy. I just lacked confidence in it. Empathy is the first step to psychic awareness. It’s the ability to imagine what things look or feel like for someone else. Have you ever imagined what it would be like to be someone else? Have you ever sensed the feelings of joy, loss, sadness or excitement before the person actually experiencing them tells you about them? This is empathy at work.

Empathy is a gift everyone – yes everyone – has. Even scientists agree that we are all born mind readers. Think about it. Whether we know it or not, without the ability to empathize with the thoughts and feelings of others, we couldn’t handle the simplest social situations – or achieve true intimacy with others. To unlock the hidden potential of empathy, however, you need to trust it. My lack of self-belief had been the barrier or block to my psychic development all these years. Like everyone, I had had the gift all along. I just needed to believe in it and go with it.

I often wonder how many other people there are out there, like me, who want to see and hear an angel so desperately that they strain to do so. But any time people try too hard they are coming from a place of fear. It could be an anxious thought that maybe you’re doing something wrong or that the angels can’t hear you, or some other ego-based concern. The ego is entirely fear-based and until you can get beyond it, psychic development is blocked.

After that breakthrough of awareness in the months and years following my daughter’s birth everything changed for me, for the better. I stopped feeling frightened of my experiences. I started to relax and embrace them instead. And as soon as I stopped doubting my abilities and trying too hard to connect with angels things started to fall into place in my life. I didn’t have to struggle anymore. I didn’t have to chase the writing career that I had longed for; it found me. I didn’t have to chase angels; they found me.

By then I had moved back to the UK and my dream of transitioning from journalism to writing books was realized. I listened to my inner voice, put myself forward for opportunities and came into contact with some remarkable people. My first books were about health, diet and wellbeing, and when a couple of these went on to become bestsellers I was finally in a position to concentrate on what I really wanted to work on: books about the world of spirit.

In the ten or so years I’ve been writing full time I’ve had the privilege to write for inspirational mediums such as Tony Stockwell and Derek Acorah and celebrity ghost hunter Yvette Fielding. I’ve written a series of books for teenagers on how to develop their psychic powers as well as several books and numerous features on developing and working with your sixth sense. As a result, my postbag and email have swelled over the years with incredible stories from people of all ages and from all over the world, detailing their psychic adventures and angel encounters. I’ve written a heavyweight Encyclopaedia on the Psychic World, followed by an Encyclopaedia of 20,000 Dreams – which went on to become an international bestseller. Then I had the most remarkable gift from the angels. I was asked to write this book. What a gift! What an honour!

Most people can’t believe that I’m not a celebrity but I’ve somehow had book after book published. They say I must be lucky to be writing about what I love. I have great delight in telling them that my life hasn’t been easy. I grew up in poverty and left school at 16 with no qualifications. The reason for my success now is that I finally learned to listen to the angels in my life and hear what they are saying to me. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t feel deeply grateful for their watchful guidance.

This isn’t to say I don’t have problems or setbacks any more. I have my fair share of disappointments and rejections and flickers of self-doubt like everyone else. There are times when I encounter more questions than answers. There are times when I look at the injustice and violence in the world and bang my keyboard, head and heart in pain and frustration. But what has changed is that I’ve learned to get a handle on my fear. I’m willing to learn and grow from setbacks and criticism, not feel destroyed by them. I’m willing to see the positive in everyone and everything, including myself. I’m willing to believe in the impossible because I know from my own experiences that nothing in life is ever ordinary. I’m willing to accept that sometimes bad things happen to good people for reasons I can never fully understand. I’m willing to trust and let the voice of my guardian angel help me fly through this life and the next.

There have been other astonishing events in my life, but there isn’t time for that here. I just hope that reading about some of my experiences has given you a better idea of where I’m coming from before I open up my case files for you. I hope that as you read on you will be as moved as I was by some of the true stories that I’ve gathered over the years and reported for you in this book.

There’s just one more thing before you move on: I’d like to encourage you to share your own angel experiences with other people. Remember, every angelic encounter is unique. Angels appear in different ways to each person so if you aren’t sure if an angel is calling your name, listen to your heart; it will know the answer.

Don’t be afraid to share. Fear and low self-esteem are, remember, natural predators of the angels. They limit the volume and clarity of the messages your heavenly guardians want to send you. So, instead of doubting your guardian angel, try looking at how you already have received messages from heaven and how much goodness, humour and happiness there already is in your life as a result. It really is much easier than you think. And the more we all open our hearts to one another the closer to earth our angels will fly, reminding us that we are never alone.