My healing work is all about having faith, not in the process of healing, but in myself. On reflection this hasn’t been as easy as I might portray. My personal life has at times been destructive, and being in love is synonymous with swimming naked with blue bottle jelly fish. And once you’ve worn a blue bottle for jocks trusting your judgement is taxing.

In my spare time I write essays and short stories about living and working with spirit. My computer’s desktop has three or four unfinished word docs at any given time. Most of what I write I delete, not always because I’m unhappy with it. The craft of writing is like throwing darts, the more I throw enables me to hit the target, time and time again.

If I live by any golden rule it’s this: today I can only be the best that I can be, tomorrow I will be better for trying.

I’m attempting nanowrimo this year, and like the first time I had sex I’m pretending I know what I’m doing. It doesn’t matter if the novel will want to see me tomorrow, or by the end of November she’s dating the recycle bin, because for thirty days, time together was all that mattered. If we’re both lucky come the end of summer she’ll be farting in front of me and wearing my shirts.

I can’t promise to start another novel, and if I do I won’t ask to still be friends, I’ll set you free. When our song plays I’ll remember our first time, and the fumbling embarrassed way I backed you up onto the external drive. Thank you for not laughing and being patient.

Every time I work with spirit I’ve an incredible story to share, but for nanowrimo I’m letting spirit choose the stories. My goal is to have the foundations for a nonfiction book about healing.

For my previous WIP I went into an altered state and recorded myself speaking. I had no idea what I had said until I played the recording back. This time I’m writing about my healing work and asking spirit questions. I’ve Jesus, the prophet Mohammed, Ishmael, and Gegu working with me. I’m also having what I can only describe as a conversation with God experience happening, and it’s difficult to decipher whose asking or answering the questions.

This passage is as it happened, and is part of the answer to the question, how does Jesus heal? The text in Italics is Gegu’s conversation.

Is this process stored in DNA?

It’s everywhere.

I’m getting questions and answers at the same time, and I’m not sure if I’m asking the questions, or if the questions are given to me.

It doesn’t matter. Question and answer are the same, and if you can grasp this then you will discover Jesus’ gift. You do not heal like Jesus, you heal like you.

But the source is the same.

Yes.

What is the source?

Light.

What’s in the light?

Nothing at all.

I’m thoughtful, my hand is squeezing the edge of the monitor, but I don’t remember placing it there, and it’s not a habitual movement.

Is it real?

I squeeze the monitor, and again, my response and question comes unbidden, ‘What does it feel like to you?’

My hand passes through it as if its not even there. We are made of the same substance.

And of course Gegu means light, and this leads to me to think that illness and health are the same; which is almost correct. Gegu doesn’t mean to be misleading or frustrating, but at times we go around in circles.

Illness is the result of disharmony. All things evolve with harmony. Aging is only disharmony. (more?) You feel anger because your father was angry and his father before him. You, humans, anger too easily. If you throw rocks eventually you will be hit and the potential for anger is present. Don’t throw rocks.

There was a time when all races lived in peace and harmony. They moved with the seasons and took from the land only what they needed. They restored balance with respect and love. They lived with gratitude.

Even now, when it seems the earth’s population is too big to be sustained, the potential for balance exists. You consume too much and this causes you to be ill, while other people starve. Stop.

Healing is like tuning a guitar with an infinite number of strings. The disharmony is stored in consciousness, the state of being—still, at peace, silent, observing and observed, aware. We create what we observe, and if we’re not still and present, we observe what we perceive and not what is. The state of being is what is unseen because we see what has been seen before. (we/you)

Let’s apply this principle to healing. Every cell in the human body essentially is a library of information, pure unqualified knowledge. Let’s think about a genetic disease. If we can return to the moment the disharmony to the gene occurred and adjust the frequency, we will be able to eliminate the disease. Push one domino and all the rest will fall.
 

I have this little book by Mike Dooley. He has a site www.tut.com/theclub/ and anyway I often ask it a question (the book) and the answers are always spot on. I asked for a message from spirit for you.
 
Never has there walked the face of the earth someone who thinks with your degree of insight. Who loves with your degree of care, or who feels with your degree of hope. And never has there been such a need for a soul with gifts like yours, because at this very moment there are people only you can reach, and differences only you can make.
 
Pretty cool hey! You can use this as my testimonial for your site if you want.
 
I have known Simon for some time and have been blessed by his healing touch and the genuine warmth of his soul
I find it hard to put into words just what Simon does or how he does it, so I will borrow some words from spirit.
Never has there walked the face of the earth someone who thinks with Simon's degree of insight. Who loves with Simon's degree of care, or who feels with his degree of hope. And never has there been such a need for a soul with gifts like Simon's, because at this very moment there are people only he can reach, and differences only he can make.

Janelle

In the summer of 2000 angels became a part of my life. Stepping out of giant golden teardrops of light these graceful, powerful, and at times intimidating glowing beings filled my home and kept me company at work. Any doubts I entertained that they were not real were gently shifted when I felt their warm hands touching me. They bumped into me, nudged me playfully, and we brushed past each other in the hallway.

At the same time the sound of running feet against the hardwood floors in my home heralded the arrival of the ghosts of children. I’d not seen a ghost in my lifetime, but I couldn’t deny what was occurring around me. With meditation I had connected with my angelic guide, Gegu, a Buddhist monk, and he introduced me to prophets and healers.

Everything happened so quickly. Whether I was meditating or laying pipe-work plumbing, flashes of light were turning into indigenous elders, healers, shamans, scholars, and prophets, from all cultures and times. Jesus and His family became constant companions. Moses, Job, Abraham, John the Baptist, and many others introduced themselves, and Jesus asked me to tell His story.

I didn’t have the time or the will to question, or make sense of the experience. I had been a farmer and I was now a plumber. I was born in New Zealand, the son of a carpenter who became a school teacher, and a housekeeper who became an alcoholic, and I only visited churches for weddings and funerals.

Why was He here? How was this possible?

As a teenager I watched my mother do séances with friends, and I wondered why spirits chose to speak to smoking, drinking, lonely divorcees, and marvelled at the turned upside down glass as it glided from letter to letter. The least drunk posed the questions and the glass answered. “Is anybody there?” There was always somebody, but Jesus never visited.

He’s here now, one hand on my shoulder, curious and amused as I think about what to write. My hands are warm and a glowing heart has formed on my right palm. The shape intrigues me and I know it is where the nail was driven into Jesus’ hand. He sighs, and I feel like crying. At times there’s the shape of an angel on my hand, but it’s the heart that glows the brightest.

The prophet Mohammed and the young prince who became Buddha have frequented my healing room. All cultures are represented; it’s the NATO that gets the job done. Politics and race are replaced with truth and love. I work from home, the classic quarter acre, tattooed, separated, broken, determined, in love, lonely, regular, and still they come. Are they real? In my world they are. Seen or unseen they walk beside us.  

Pope John Paul is watching Jesus and me; he too is curious, and enlightened. He thinks about Jesus differently now and he has asked me to be gentle with his church. He has a great smile, and I exhale the butterflies he has filled me with. My old farm dog nudges my knee and my uncle Harry pulls up a chair. My step daughter, she’s alive, pushes me out of the way and quickly types, you’re a loser.

Jesus, unnoticed by alive and cheeky, dissolves into golden mist and reappears sitting with the aboriginal elders behind me. A dusty Indian boy is sitting cross legged beside me and Tip, my old dog, drops down beside him.

I think about healing and the gift that has been awakened within me.

“It’s your gift, my son.” Gegu encourages.

Jesus smells good, like sandal wood and fresh damper. He has just enough body hair to be a fireman, Mr December, and his lean stomach doesn’t need improving with photo shop. He could be a sports star on a billboard, selling Calvin Klein, Gillette; He’s the best a man can get.

He’s not what you might imagine. He didn’t want to build a church, or to tell people how to live. He hoped and rallied for a community that shared wealth and harvest equally, for leadership not rule, for tolerance not judgement. He wants to be remembered as being someone’s son and not His Son. 

For many years now moments like these have enriched my life. I’m blessed and humbled, and I confess to not understanding why. Why me?

My healing room is filled with angels when I’m working, and they’ve taught me to believe we are the angels. They look at us with wonderment. We are the creators. We created the Christ. Jesus was only a man with an incredible gift and a desire to bring change for his family and community.

Speak to you soon. Cheers, Simon.

I posted this comment here I of my own knoweledge

I believe with enough faith you could empower/charge the original dilution without the histamine, and still get the same result. A vibration exists for everything. My guys upstairs have told me that enough energy is present in a drop of water to heal a sick child—any illness. They ask me not to do big or small, only healing. The vibration evolves every time I heal because I’m healing the world—time, space, matter, consciousness.

Does that mean I’m performing miracles every time I heal? No, but I believe I can. Our potential is unlimited. Health exists, is present, the potential/vibration for life/peace/love is always present.

I have these ‘conversations with God’ moments, and in the past I’d say something is talking to me, but I’ve learnt the conversation is created. The potential for guidance has always been there—instinct. Indigenous cultures listen to the earth. They desire food, water and shelter and the earth answers: the forest talks, the winds talk, the ocean speaks, the earth talks.

A man’s soul/vibration desires health, but he/she is not listening. Habit and fear is killing us. A homeopath (shaman, witch doctor, healer) has a desire to heal. He is willing. The sick man asks for help, the soul/vibration has always been asking. The answer is created. A psychic will hear the answer: change your diet, exercise, be creative, be honest. A homeopath will infuse the answer in his treatment. The answer cannot be diluted, because its present, outside of, and also coexists within space/time/matter.

There’s no time in the vibration of the answer. Question and answer coexist. With the absence of fear/doubt healing will manifest. Not the absence of fear and doubt in the patient, but in the answer.

A window of opportunity is created—wellness, a physical change, a miracle (?), and then the patient has the choice to go of doubt and fear. It’s religion that has said believe in (?) through (?) is the way.

My guys upstairs are working on evolving the vibration. The collective energy/consciousness of the world is crying out, ‘heal me.’ I’m listening. If I can get thousands to listen it will evolve quicker.

I think I’m done. Cheers, Simon.

This is a comment I left here I of my own knoweledge It may not make sense without first reading Frank's post.

I’m emotionally reactive to past and present moment stories. I feel everything. I find it difficult to watch media that’s about disaster, war or loss. My response draws spirit to me and my guide waits for me to offer to talk to them. The energy of the moment in history/time is present around/within me and needs healing.

Everything we do/think remains in our energetic environment. This maybe a collective consciousness, but I’m only using words to describe something that has no space, time, matter, or conscious presence. It simply is, much like the address, ‘I am.’ We always want to understand it and if we do we run the risk of harnessing it. Will we use it for good? If history (habit) is the guide, I’d think not.

As a healer I see the presence of what has come before. I follow energetic threads into ancestral spirit and turn shadows into light. The individual is healed because I heal the world. How I see it, or what I perceive it to be, is not important. I see and perceive because I’m the physical embodiment* of what is, the, I am. The part of us that records and desires the answer is the smallest particle (?) of all, and yet it is the creator and the created.

*Again physical embodiment is not accurate. We’re a vessel for unlimited potential and the physical is the restrictive/reactive (the habit) part of us. Everything has an individual vibration and is a singular vibration. The singular is nothing. Don’t try to name it, its not peace, bliss, consciousness, God, question, or answer. If enlightenment (pure and unqualified knowledge) can be recorded/experienced, then by definition it’s not enlightenment.

My guys upstairs are working me. This is not what I thought I was going to say.

In my world spirit coexist with me. They’re present. I agree there’s no them or us. I also believe as a singular vibration we’ve lived every life. I could say I’ve lived fifty past lives, but I’ve been present for every life, so I have that knowledge present somewhere now. It’s in my tea cup, its in consciousness, it is: here, there, where?

The problem with life is that we’re living habit. Spirit is present to make us aware of that. The choices we make are already pre programmed. We don’t have free will, we have no will. We are creating the future now. The future is present observing and evolving.

Thanks Frank. I may have wandered of course a little, but I love these moments.

There’s an article in the Sunday Mail today, and it also appears here, that makes me feel embarrassed to be an Australian. Briefly, a soldier has died in Afghanistan and his pregnant widow will receive $305/week pension, or a one off payment. The soldiers wage was $905/week, which is an absolute disgrace because when I was plumbing I could make that in a day.

There are other factors to consider: she does live in defence housing, but that will end in March, the money is tax free, and it should be. Her husband died for his country, for us.

Young men and women are risking their lives to serve our government. Although they are professionals, rather than volunteers, and many of us do not support the war in Afghanistan, our servicemen and women lives are in danger for our country and government. I believe we have an obligation to respect and look after our soldiers. 

Our government raises the price (tax) of cigarettes and alcohol to meet the growing cost of health care and we complain. We smoke and kill ourselves and our children, we drink and drive and kill innocent people, and we expect, and receive, health care and compensation for our stupidity. 

I’ll hear punters cry poor, and whinge about the price of piss and fags forever, but this story will be old news tomorrow. Is it only the ANZACS we remember?      

The enormity of what I’m trying to do sometimes overwhelms me. My manuscript challenges me every time I return to it. The story is powerful, but I also want to be a good writer. I’m confident that my writing is improving, so with this final edit I hope it will be good enough to excite my dream agent. Oh yes, I have a dream agent. I leave her website open all day, and when I return to the computer I say hello to her. She likes me.

I’ve found a few words I’ve repeated, so I’ve changed those, and I’ve been more creative in the show don’t tell arena. I read Dean Koontz when I want to improve my writing. I’m telling a story, and the past and present tense caused me grief.

Even to me the story at times seems unbelievable. No other medium has ever channelled any of the material, and the content is graphic and adult rated. Although I’ve spent hundreds of hours on this I still can read something and it feels like the first time I’ve read it. I love so much of it, but every now and then a word or sentence doesn’t seem strong enough.

I don’t want to lose my reader. The moments with spirit seem fantastical at times, and I want my readers to feel how sincere I am. This happened. Raw, untrained; my body was used by spirit. Jesus and His family used me to speak. I was a plumber, not the reincarnated Edgar Cayce. I now have flashes of memory about Judas’ and Jesus’ life more vibrant than my own.

I’m proud to say I can find faults in my writing, and excited to have the drive and desire to improve, but the proposal has been tough to write. I’m almost done. I’ve been done before this, but rather than edit a proposal and synopsis I found it easier to delete and start again.

This is what I know. I am the only one who is responsible whether my book is published or not. This has nothing to do with an agent or publisher. This has everything to do with me. Write, don’t sit on your arse and make excuses. There are millions of reasons to be a writer, and only one reason to fail. Agents and publishers want us to succeed and readers need us. Millions of readers!        

He turned towards me. For a long moment, he stood facing me. I was held, anchored to the ground – not by his music, which still called and pushed against the music already in my head and said grow rise follow – but by his strangeness. By his fingers, spread over the ground, holding something into the earth, by his shoulders, squared in a way that spoke of strength and unknowability, and most of all, by the great, thorny antlers that grew from his head, spanning the sky like branches.

Then he was gone, and I missed his going in the instant that the sun fell off the edge of the hill, abandoning the world to twilight.

If it is not your child you have no right to:

Buy alcohol for 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, or 17 year old kids. Our children didn’t arrive with alcohol, and we thought they were somewhere else having a pizza and movie night.

Let my child sleep with your son or daughter especially when everybody is pissed. Don’t tell me everybody is doing it and its better if they do it at home. It’s my child and I won’t have her/him put at risk because the adults are also pissed. 

Let your 19 year old son talk online to 15 year old girls and talk about drugs and sex.

Tell my 15 year old daughter they can live at your place with your 19 year old son.

Talk about anti depressants, and living away from home, to my daughter. You’re a school nurse, not a doctor, and I didn’t give you permission.

Think my child needs protecting from me because I’m angry. I had three terror filled days wondering where she was.

Come to my home at midnight and take my 15 year old daughter.

If you are my daughter you have no right to:

Talk to me about trust when you have lied to me every time you have been out.

Lie to me about sex when I’ve spoken to you many times calmly and maturely about it. I asked you to be honest and safe. I offered to take you to the doctors.

Joke around with me all day and use me as a pillow on the beach on father’s day when you have planned to runaway when I leave that night for a week of healing.

The legislation in Australia allows our children to have full control. They don’t need to be telling the truth and the government, schools, counsellors, and police support them. For five years I knew that two of my daughters had been sexually abused by their mother. For five years the police and the department of child safety did nothing. The system ignored me and my daughters. No doctor, counsellor, psychiatrist, or school helped or took any responsibility. The abuser married a policeman and files were stolen, a school principal man-handled one daughter and put her back into risk. CMC investigations failed, and crisis meetings were called, and everyone responsible walked away. 

For five years I returned my daughters after their weekend visits to a monster. Their half brother sexually abused children at preschool, and then the alarm bells went off. An internationally recognised counsellor described him as the most predatory child abuser he has ever come across. He was 5 years old. He is beyond redemption and will more than likely become an adult abuser.

The mother was not charged with any crime. Her son was returned to her and then taken again. My daughters were safe. Rage burns inside me. My daughter ran away and I had to contact the same system that failed me for years, and it has happened again. My daughter betrayed me. Her planning was meticulous and it is this that has angered me. The system that takes away my rights as a parent has thrown petrol onto my anger again. I’m burning, and my daughter experienced the explosion. I know my daughter has missed sisters and a step mother who chose not to speak to her after my separation. They abandoned her because she chose to stay with me. None of these reasons give her the right to do what she has done. She played me with a smile on her face. She is gone.

I’m sick of people not being accountable. I’m accountable. My heart breaks every time I walk past the empty bedroom. I want to roll my computer chair across the floor and pull my daughters hair, bump her, pluck out the ipod, but she’s not there. I’m responsible and accountable for my actions and my rage. No one else is.

I’m home from another successful trip to the Gold Coast. I had lots of new clients and some repeat healings. I have to say every healing was incredibly powerful for each individual, and the medical highlight was with a man who had a shoulder injury. 

He’d been in pain, in his words, for at least six months. During the treatment he experienced a considerable amount of pain, which occasionally happens with muscular and joint injuries. Within minutes after he had no pain and a full range of movement. 

After his treatment I stayed for dinner and spoke to a group of people about my work and life with spirit. Every five minutes for an hour the man mentioned how great he felt. It was funny and great. 

I want to thank Sandy and Ron for letting me work out of their home, and for cooking my meals. Every time Ron was home when I was healing he fell asleep. The energy put him to sleep. This kept Sandy amused.

Sandy is able to see spirit clearly, and when I’m talking to her she said that she’s unable to separate my energy from Jesus’. Apparently his face appears over mine all the time. Sandy noted five spirits who fade in and out of my face all the time. She also became aware that I’m not always present when I’m speaking. She believes I can be in five places at once. I agree, and she is the first person to notice this. Interesting and hard to prove, but Sandy talked about it frequently.

The one constant that has always been present is the miracle of healing. In 2000 I placed my hands on my daughter, who had psoriasis at the time, and two weeks later it was gone. A serious shoulder and back injury also had a miraculous recovery. Today I’m more aware and can share what I experience, but the mystery deepens.

I’ve identified subtle and multidimensional energy bodies, and witness energetic/psychic surgery and body work. I’m medically intuitive, but often don’t know what I’m looking at. I believe what I do is unique and, although there are similarities with other healers, the development and sharing of my work can transform medical and healing practices.

Okay, on a personal level I’m sad, and angry, and I’ll explain tomorrow. This photo always makes me smile. This is my cat Augustine. What is he doing?

Maree and I are doing an applied behaviour analysis course for children with autism. I’ve worked with a few children with autism and I believe what I do will make a difference if the parents apply the principles of this course. The healing will accelerate the behavioural changes in the child and relax the family. I would need to heal every member of the family and see the autistic child consistently.

Its father’s day and I got some cool school and home made cards. We’re going to the beach for the morning. I’m not a great swimmer, throw a leg of lamb in the water and see how well it swims; that’s me. Wish me luck.

I’m going to the Gold Coast this afternoon for a week of healing. I’m working out of a new private residence this trip, so I’m bloody excited.

On the, what celebrity spirit has visited my healing room this month? discussion board, I’d like to introduce you to the prophet Mohammed. He’s cool and has a great smile. His complexion is darker than I expected and I was surprised by how rough his ands are. I’m not sure why this surprised me or what I was expecting, but his hands are like my uncles hands, calloused, dry, warm and scarred. We haven’t spoken much, other than introductions, but I feel happy and confident when he’s near.

I’m renovating downstairs, and the healing room, which was supposed to be my bedroom and ensuite, is almost ready for painting. Presently I’m working out of my daughter’s new room, which is also downstairs.

Okay, wish me luck at the beach, and hopefully the sharks will humanely end my struggle.    

This is a comment I left here Deepak Chopra's blog I hope everyone is having a good day.

'... the mystery of consciousness in physical embodiment." It does seem that the more aware I am, the greater the mystery.

I'm really only commenting to share an out of body experience. This is something that an angelic guide, who’s a Buddhist monk, and Jesus have taught me. I have flashes of memory/vision of Jesus' lifetime stronger than this life. The spirits of Jesus, his family and friends are ever present in my life.

Jesus' brother shared an experience with me about watching Jesus walk from the room, he spoke and asked the brother to go back to sleep, and when he rolled onto his side Jesus was asleep beside him. The brother was able to see Jesus because he was able to see spirit.

I pondered this for some years, until I became ill, stopped being a plumber, and returned to healing. This was something spirit had been asking me to do for some time. While channelling, and healing, I was aware that I (my spirit/consciousness) moved away from my body and sat on my left side with Gegu, my monk. In time I met someone who was able to see spirit clearly enough for him to believe they were real. He witnessed my spirit outside of my body many times; on my left, with a monk.

One day I had a close friend txt me and ask for a hug. I lay down and left my body, stood up, walked down the hall, flew through the wall, landed in her yard, took two steps and sat in her lap. She felt me holding her, she felt the kiss, my warm hands, the weight of my body, and enjoyed my scent. She wasn't expecting it, she thought I wouldn't be able to do it, and it left her feeling empowered and loved.

I'm able to visit friends and hug them and help them sleep. When I do distant healing I'm beside the person. I know that in time I will be visible, to the right person, with the right vibration. I've complete faith in the angels who're with me always, but more than that I've faith in myself.

I remember being the disciple Judas, and watching Jesus sleep, too afraid to close my eyes, and then feeling his arm around me. He always smelt so good. He comforted me and made me forget the cruelty I endured as a child. He's holding me and asleep in front of me. I don't feel surprised. The images spark around me: his sleeping body viewed through the monitor, the cool night air, the coarse blanket, his warm arm and chest. All these things I experience while I'm typing. Is he here, or is it only a fragment of time, a silken thread of consciousness, that’s come to life within me? It’s hard to describe, and difficult to believe.

Now I'm aware that I can slide out of my body in layers. I can do it now while I'm typing. How can I prove this? Truthfully I don't know. Bless you, Simon.
 

I borrowed this idea from everflame , and once I started I realised I rarely post anything personal. I’m a meme virgin! So, here goes, five things you don’t know about me.

1)  I’ve a dragon tattoo that covers my whole chest, the tail wraps around my right bicep. My right arm is also tattooed, from the elbow to the shoulder, also my right flank and right side butt cheek. The cheek and flank were never finished. There was a good reason for this, and I will get my side finished when I can afford it. Oh, it bites when you get your nipple tattooed.

2) In 1999 I won a ribbon for the best flower garden in the Caboolture shire. I broke a six year winning streak by a retired couple who hosted garden weddings.

3) Between the ages of 12 and 16 I read Edge and Adam Steele books by George G Gillman (Terry Harknett). I used to dream I was Edge: dark, sexy, and dangerous. I still have that dream. Ha, ha, no I don’t. Now I’m Jason Bourne!

4) My mother’s an alcoholic, and I haven’t spoken to her in five years. It hurts me and I don’t have the energy for it. Her husband is also an alcoholic, and he grabbed me by the throat many years ago. I had trouble speaking for days after. It happened in slow motion, and I remember the stench of his wine soaked breath and his spit landing on me as he threatened me. I broke his ribs. The interesting thing about this is the first person I healed in a spiritual church reeked of alcohol, and that is why I shared this story.

5) My children and animals lean against me and I don’t know they’re there. My hand touches them automatically, it seems so natural, but I can never remember them climbing into my lap. How did they get there? They’re happy, but sometimes I have to ask them how long they’ve been there. 

Here’s a photo of our new dog, Max. He managed to dress himself in my daughter’s undies, which he dug out of the washing basket.