especially to Zoe, my meticulous, patient
and constructive editor, Clive for his renowned exquisite, ethereal cover
and to all those involved in the Zeus
Anna V. Palmer is a writer of intriguing, inspiring words,
music and verse, with her true tales of the extraordinary and informative
interview articles. Her stories range from E.S.P., astral travel (O.B.E.),
premonitions and meaningful, deep dreams and benevolent messages from beyond.
Born in the UK, Anna lived and worked in London for many
years in commerce and humanitarian fields whilst studying ESP and its veracity.
A former conference organiser and manager, she later moved to Australia, where
she continued her research and findings.
“We are as the trees: of different varieties, built for
varying purposes. All have their identity, a reason to be, a preference for
certain soils. None should be cast aside nor despoiled. Each has the ability, if
they will, to produce what was meant to be, to sustain, to shade, to unfurl.
Each has a different age to run – as do the trees – some blossom quickly, bear
fruit and are gone, whilst others are destined to take a much
longer run. You, too, have your own reason to be.
ONCE YOU HAVE SEEN OR SENSED THE PRESENCE OF A GHOST OF
A LOVED ONE it changes your life. You begin to question. You ‘know’ now –
It was a gradual process, my learning we are able to
resonate and even merge with the ethereal world and able to learn a great deal
along the way. There is nothing strange or unusual about psychic awareness and
the intuitive mind if you honour the wisdom of 10,000 years of ancient
understanding such as the Sumerian and Indian civilisations.
“In every human being there slumber faculties by means
of which he can acquire for himself a knowledge of higher worlds,” says Brad
Awareness of extrasensory perception and other dimensions
just happened to me. At an early age, I became aware that others did not always
see the same things as me, so I learned to keep quiet about it. Yet, I sensed,
vaguely, that a benign force for good moves silently amongst us on Earth –
despite the pain and anguish we all undergo at times. The credibility of
Extrasensory Perception experiences gradually began to be important to me. I
wanted to learn more.
From about seven years of age, my ability to receive
information slowly progressed and expanded from first an iota of knowledge to
that of a sapling, into a grown tree, then came flowers which bore fruit. So
too, my growing appreciation of the benevolent forces who came my way. Along the
way, I noticed it was always they who contacted me when there was a need
– not I them.
Those of us who have truly loved know the essence of ‘joy’
at that time, the ability to communicate mentally with the loved one over a
distance. You are able to sense their proximity, ‘know’ their thoughts, their
feelings whether they are exhilarated, or in trouble and reaching out for your
support. Those who have passed over, who care for us, are able to get in touch
with us in a similar way as are the Beings with higher knowledge.
At some time in our lives we all ask the question, “Who am
I?” I was no exception. My gradual realisation that there is much more to life
than meets the casual eye is the reason I write of some of my mysterious
encounters, though names have been changed where necessary to protect anonymity.
Sharing stories is how we learn and are able to progress on our journey of
An opportunity presented itself for me to study comparative
religions, ancient civilisations and ESP. So I took it. I asked wise men and
women and visionaries who knew answers, I listened to lectures, watched
countless tutorials and I read many, many books. I wanted to understand.
Eventually it all made sense… as you will see.
Anna V. Palmer
* * *
You must have been deeply saddened by some experience – a
great loss or pain – to be drawn to the spiritual dimensions, it is said.
Blessings throughout life are often preceded by harsh hurdles and falls that, at
the time, we are not sure we can overcome. Our minds feel raw. We feel defeated.
Yet, out of the ashes, in finding the opportunity, we are able to, and do,
spiral up again.
There is much more to life than meets the casual eye if we
care to listen or to open our inner eye and exchange knowledge with those of
like mind. That is what this book is about. Just as you seek to find your way.
Always I sought for verification – proof – integrity. Rarely was I disappointed.
“....Your ability to know the power of kindness grew out
of some darkness and pain in your past.”
Dr Wayne W Dyer
There are many examples. This is only one of them:-
ANNA HASLOP LAY WIDE AWAKE, as she did most nights
these days. Wisps of a disturbing dream she could not quite recall woke her.
Dreams frequently have a purpose, she knew. But only a shadowy feeling of fear
and impending danger remained with her. Her eyes, gritty and red from lack of
sleep, peered into the darkness. Cool cream, the newly fitted wardrobes, the
dusky-pink rosebuds on bed linen, curtains and lampshades, she could just make
out. To the undiscerning eye, life for her was a bed of roses. Enviable! How
wry! In the past few days, unknown to others, her whole world had been blown sky
Mulling over the farce of this Christmas, and of life with
Carl, she felt trapped, desolate. Her visit to see her doctor had been daunting,
his diagnosis startling. Unable to think straight any more, her mind felt raw.
The telephone in the kitchen was ringing out. She must run
to answer it. Carl would be dead to the world. She groped for her dressing gown
and, slipping it over her nightdress, stepped out of the guest room.
Her auburn-gold hair, tousled from restlessly tossing and
turning beneath the bedclothes, cascaded softly onto her shoulders. Once
smiling, her sea-green eyes these days looked almost hollow. Dark shadows,
permanently resident under them from lack of sleep and worrying, reflected the
depth of her sadness – deep.
Thankful for the central heating they’d installed whilst
renovating the 500-year-old barn, she made her way swiftly through the hallway,
noticing as she passed the feathered fingers of hoarfrost fast encroaching on
the leadlight windows. By morning the panes would be glazed over in an intricate
leaf-like pattern of ice. The heavy fall of snow earlier this evening had
cloaked countryside and cottage gardens a ghostly eerie white. She flicked on
the light switch on the inside wall of the open kitchen door.
In the kitchen, the log stove, earlier banked down by Carl
with slack for the night, glowed red in places, emitting its customary
comforting combustion warmth.
As she reached out for the phone, the ringing stopped. She
sighed, turned and began to retrace her steps; her mind pervaded with her
problem – Carl. She could think of little else these days but his excessive
drinking, the effect it was having on him – on them. His tantrums, his lying,
and the expense of his incessant thirst were daunting. The tell-tale crash of
breaking glass when the refuse bin was emptied made her cringe. The knowing look
from the neighbours, and the lies to family and friends was exhausting. No
visitors called these days – not like before. It was all so embarrassing. Now
Carl suffered with the rigors, shaking, and delirium. She was at a loss to know
how best to handle the situation.
* * *
“Wha… wha’s that you say?”
The shrill, insistent voice on the other end of the line
set Carl’s nerves on edge.
Slowly the implication of the message began to impact on
his alcohol-soaked brain.
“Just a minute!” His voice was flat, cold. “I think you
must want my wife.”
He thrust the receiver away from him. The high-pitched,
nasal voice of the woman was still audible. He listened with growing anger;
finally he dropped the receiver. It dangled above the carpet. He left it there.
He tried to pull his muzzy thoughts together, to assess the
caller’s words. An uncontrollable tremor shook his hands. His gut twisted,
churning like a propeller on a single-engine aircraft. He stumbled towards the
bedroom door. Where was the bitch?