Darker forces decided otherwise

While we were in the process of arranging our flight itinerary, travel insurance and having our passports processed the darker elements were busily trying to sabotage our endeavours.  My partner’s passport was being severely delayed with the Hungarian Embassy based in Sydney.  She was applying for dual citizenship.  She wasn’t getting very positive feedback from a female representative stating that she had little hope of having her citizenship approved.  On top of this we were getting weird phone calls in the early hours of the morning, mocking us and laughing, and all in Hungarian.  Not entirely sure whether these strange occurrences were physical or supernatural I requested for divine intervention to look into the passport matter.  Within several days we had a call from the Hungarian Embassy to inform us that the secretary has been dismissed from her employment with the Embassy and that they had found my partners passport application, unprocessed and at the bottom of a pile of papers.  They were very apologetic and that the application will be approved at the end of the week.

There were various other reasons of why we decided to make that journey into Hungary.  Where my partner was concerned there were supernatural occurrences that convinced her to make the journey.  One occurrence involved her being drawn out of the body and, in spirit, taken on a flight overlooking, what in Hungary are called, the Pilis Mountains.  Through ancient times these mountains have always been regarded as sacred and steeped in mysteries.  Within these mountains is also, assumedly, the last resting place of Attila the Hun who settled there around the year 400 A.D.  Another Hungarian king who has been grossly distorted by conventional historians.  During this flight of spirit my partner was aware of another woman flying with her, guiding her, softly speaking to her of the mysteries below, telling her secrets too personal for me to tell.

Saint Margaret's Chapel, Edinburgh Castle.  It is this saint that I believe guided my partner’s flight of spirit.

Margaret was a daughter of Bela IV, king of Hungary in 1270 during the time when the Mongols were ravaging Europe.  Recorded legends of that era endowed her with supernatural gifts and vision.  She was given to monastic life from an early age and declined all offers of marriage.  Bela IV is regarded as the second founder of Hungary after having restored Hungary from the devastation wrought by the Mongols.   

http://www.katolikus.hu/hun-saints/margaret.html

Walter

Journey into Hungary

 My next series of posts will be a rewrite of a stand alone page "Mystical Journey into Hungary."  Quite a few years have passed since that was written and other information has been gained since then.  Now, I'm not a professional writer and my time is very limited.  There are times when I can only write while waiting somewhere in a shopping center.  So additions might be slow in getting posted. 

Back in 2007 my partner and I decided to take a journey into Hungary to further investigate the research that we had conducted.  The journey was to be both, a pilgrimage and a mission.  Firstly, we were to trace her ancient heritage as a royal connection to ancient Mesopotamia, bloodlines descending from her mother and father.  The crucial line was that of her mother having descended from a prince who crossed the Carpathian Mountains and settled his people in the Carpathian Basin, already then occupied by the Arpad bloodlines, an ancient Hungarian people who settled the land around 990 A.D.  In the year 1000 A.D. the people converted to Roman Catholicism, crowning their first Christian king, Istvan, later becoming known as St. Stephen of Hungary by the Christian world.

It is this particular king who served our main focus.  There is much mystery and historical discrepancies concerning him.  We must remember that a country’s history, including important individuals within that country, is usually written by the victors.  For this reason we have two aspects of history: conventional history, and true history.  The historians who we were planning to meet, in this respect, were the true historians, and not the conventional historians who are more intend to keep historical lies and falsifications prevalent.  We know for certain that through the royal line of the Arpad sprung many kings and princesses who became saints within the Catholic Church.  To mention a few, naturally, St. Stephen, St. Laszlo, St. Margit, and St. Eszerbet, who became Germany’s patron saint.  With just these few you can see the importance Hungary played during the medieval era.  Most information surrounding these saints was deliberately supressed during both, the Hapsburg and later Russian communism and their Hungarian occupation during our modern era.  Today, freed from tyranny and communism the people first for knowledge and enlightenment.

This is probably, if not, the most popular image of Saint Margit of Hungary.  The image can also be found on Margit Sziget (Margaret Island), located on the Duna River between Buda and Pest

We had in our possession our research material, other documentation from western Hungarian professors who had escaped Hungary after the 1956 revolution and who, in exile, had the freedom to conduct their research unhindered in the west.  Most importantly we possessed a photograph of the unmistakable ghostly apparition of St. Stephen, a photograph that came to us through mysterious means, having travelled from Hungary, to Tasmania, and then into our hands in the Australian mainland.  The photograph needed to be delivered due to some important anniversary lectures to be held in Budapest concerning this king in 2007.  The photo consisted of the translucent image of king Stephen reaching for his petrified right hand which is housed in the St. Istvan Basilica in Budapest, Hungary. In Hungarian tradition the right hand represented royal kingship and power, and his reaching for it, serves as an indication that he is not pleased with the turmoil and misfortune of the country and has a desire to rule again.   This put our planned journey on a very tight schedule, to be conducted in September of that year, and we would only have ten weeks to complete our journey before having to return to Australia due to other commitments.

Walter

Recap

I've written about my hospital experience before and titled them "The day I died" pts 1 and 2 and can be found on this blog, written, I believe in 2010, whereas the actual experience took place probably the early eighties or late seventies.  Details of the experience is seated firmly in my memory cells due to the impact the experience has had. 

 

Seeing I have already written on this I won't repeat myself.  Pt 2 deals with the Akashic Record that I experienced whilst in hospital and it is a knowledge that should be understood.  Click on the link below:

http://arcane-journey.blogspot.hu/2010/08/day-i-died-pt-2.html

 

There is just one thing I want to add to the hospital experience and concerns the comment made by my mysterious visitor.  "I'm glad you made it."  I am a firm believer in Predestination and that most fundamental experiences we encounter on earth are preplanned, and that includes the time, date, and our method of departure from this world.  

 

She gave me the impression, that in my case, the outcome of the operation could have gone either way.  There may have been a 50/50 chance whether I survived the ordeal or not.  In either case she was glad that I made it through.

 

Walter

An unexpected visitor

My visitors had all left.  I just lay in bed quietly listening to others chatting around me.  Being usually quite sociable I was not yet well enough to converse.  The pain was still there refusing to subside.  I was persevering.  I was also feeling very hungry, not having eaten for days, prior having come to hospital.

Lying there somewhat bored, my attention was directed toward a female entering the ward.  She was only small, early thirties, fair hair running to her shoulders, and very attractive.  She was dressed in a tan outfit with a dress running down to her knees.  She came directly to my bed and sat down, glancing down at me.

I had no idea who this woman may be.  Was she a nurse?  She wasn’t dressed like one.  Her face was calm with a warm gentle expression with a tinge of slight concern.  Although a stranger, there was a feeling of familiarity, a compassionate feeling of assurance, a comforting feeling to have her in my presence.  She was there for me, she had come for me, not once did she seem to glance in the direction of the others lying in the ward with me.  Her eyes seemed deep, caring, the eyes I saw before, when they were wheeling me into the operating theatre, the last thing that I had seen.  Was this the same woman?

She then wiped my brow.  I was surprised that she did that as I felt somewhat revolted lying there with tubes stuck up my nose and down my throat.  I knew I looked a sorrowful pitiful sight.  I felt embarrassed that she was seeing me like this.  At the same time as she wiped my brow she said, “I’m glad you made it.  Especially you.” Her comment made me feel even more embarrassed.  I was shocked.  Why would this stranger, even were she a nurse, make such an endearing comment?

I knew then that something unusual was going on here.  Something out of the extraordinary.  This was no ordinary woman.  I was just so succumbed by her presence that words just couldn’t leave my lips.  “I have to go.” She suddenly said. I didn’t want her to go.  I loved her being there.  I suddenly mustered up the strength to say something to keep her there; the chocolates, there on my night table, what my mother had brought in, I quickly offered her some.  “No, I can’t stay.” With a gentle stroke of my wrist she rose from the bed and disappeared out of my life as quickly as she had entered.  I never saw her again.

A visitation by an angel?  No, I believe not.  A supernatural visitation.  Most definitely.  This explains her sudden need to leave.  Spirits who materialize in this manner can only maintain this low frequency for a short while or are given a time limit on how long they can stay in contact.  Besides that, no woman refuses chocolates, surely.  So who was she?  Probably a part of my Group Soul, someone who found me lovable enough to come and visit.  Naturally, there will be the scoffers, the doubters, the uninitiated, who find these things too unbelievable, too incredible to be true.  He must have been hallucinating…the morphine can really knock you out, send you to another planet, so to speak.  And then there is the old common – why you?  What makes you so special?

This is not a question you should be asking me, but rather ask yourself, why not you?

A related article that I found of interest:
On spirit intervention..... 

The morning after

"Just take some deep breaths." I heard a female voice say to me.  I was just coming back into consciousness.  My eyes were closed, my awareness vague, but I knew she was addressing me.  It's probably the pain that brought me out of peaceful unconsciousness…and it was intense.  "Yes, I know, I meditate," I answered, knowing not why I was saying it.  No breathing exercise was going to ease this excruciating pain.  She must have been aware that I was waking, and in pain, or she may even have been stationed there to monitor my waking.  I don't know.  

Was the medication helping?  Not at all.  The pain continued regardless of what they injected into me.  The aftereffect of the morphine needed to be counteracted with another medication and so on.  But I managed to endure the pain without screaming the place down.  After all, I wasn't the only one in the ward, there may have been at least eight others lying there on their death beds, only they didn't seem to be suffering to my extent.  She obviously interested in my level of pain and kept annoyingly asking me what level of pain I was experiencing on a scale between 1 to 10.  I was hardly in the mood to discuss these details.

As I lay there I never experienced such overwhelming weakness.  My entire body seemed to be unfunctional.  If I needed to get up out of bed that would have proved entirely impossible.  I must have been in this helpless condition for days.  Annoyingly, as the nurses are in hospital, they would have shown me no mercy where morning showers are concerned.  "Get up and shower." doesn't matter if you are half dead.  But I got special treatment; they washed me in bed, very unceremoniously, I might add.

My parents, friends, and other members of the family came to visit the same day after the operation.  Although in great pain I was sociable.  I was brought bananas, apples and chocolates even though I wasn't allowed to eat.  It would have been difficult even if I could as I had tubes down my nose and mouth which I found very irritating and depressing.  I know I looked an absolute fright, and worse yet, I felt revolted within myself.

"Have you had a Near Death Experience?"  Now is this a time to ask?  Well, looking half dead and just having come from under the knife, probably was appropriate.  No I didn't, or at least I don't remember.  The doctor earlier had told me that I had briefly slipped away.  He further told me had I arrived a few minutes later in emergency, more than likely I would not have survived.  But then I did have a NDE: wasn't I hovering above the ambulance, admiring the night scenery?  But I forgot to tell them that.  Better than nothing.  I'll reach the Pearly Gates another day. 

My journey into pain

I woke up.  The pain was excruciating.  For moments I lay there.  Trying to recollect my senses and reorient my thoughts.  Oh, it's come to this, after all those years of suffering with pain, the years of false diagnosis, the many different doctors I had seen; flam in the stomach, they parrots they would all repeat themselves.  I kept saying different.  No, it's something more serious.  But they were persistent with their diagnosis.  Could they all be wrong? 

Yes!  They could and were.  Now it has come to this.  I lowered my hand beneath the blanket, slowly letting my hand slide down my chest, down to my stomach.  A cold chill traversed my spine - a long elastic tape ran down to the stomach.  It felt a mile long.  God, I mumbled beneath my breath, what have they done to me?  They have half butchered me.  Was all this necessary?

No, it wouldn't have been had the doctors stepped beyond their egos and referred me to a specialist.  In this they failed.  The diagnosis was simply appendicitis, a complaint I bore for several years, which finally caused the appendix to burst, leaking poison to the back of the spine with gangrene taking hold.

I was now on my way to hospital by ambulance with flashing lights.  The hospital doctors, after I had angrily admitted myself, suddenly realising that I was hovering between life and death, quickly decided to transfer me to a larger hospital.  In the meantime, my parents having been informed about my demise, stood anxiously in the wee hours of the night by the gate knowing that the ambulance would pass their front gate.

In the ambulance the pain was excruciating to such a degree that I could feel myself slipping into a coma.  I have since come to believe that we all have a threshold of pain tolerance, call it an act of nature, once we have reached that threshold we slip naturally into a coma, then death.  During my intense agony, with a nurse fussing around me, I could feel a calm come over me, the pain slowly abating.  I was relaxed and at peace.  I was drifting out of the body.  I knew the pain was still a part of the physical body and I could sense the sensation but did not feel the pain.

At this point I was no longer inside the ambulance, but floating outside, about two feet above the roof.  Oh, I knew I wasn't dead, or that I was dying, just on my way to hospital.  I could still readily sense my physical body and the trauma it was experiencing and that I was still strongly connected to it.  As we passed my parents' house I could not help but smile to myself as I saw them standing by the gate, watching me go past.  I could feel their anxiety, their concern, just two small figures standing there quietly in the dark.  I could have reached out and touched them.

My peace was about to come to a shuttering end.  We arrived at the hospital.  I was immediately drawn back into the physical body, back into the agonizing hell it was experiencing.  The emergency team was there waiting for me.  Hands were grabbing me everywhere, off one stretcher onto another, wheeled at high speed through doorways into corridors, elevators, x-ray chambers.  There were at least six nurses manhandling me in every conceivable manner, tearing off my clothes, shaving where they shouldn't be shaving, sticking injections, sliding plastic tubing down my nose and throat and other unmentionable places.  The whole process seemed at super speed with one male nurse continuously asking me annoying questions.  I then suddenly came to the realization - hell, I'm going under the knife.

Then suddenly I was pushed through these double swing doors, into a darkened narrow passageway.  I was now taken by a team in green surgical gowns with their faces masked.  There was a nurse beside me, she was stroking my arm in reassurance.  Her eyes were bright and penetrating above her white mask.  It was surreal.  I couldn't break my gaze from her.  Her eyes were the last thing that I saw.

Continued…..