top of her daughter to save her, to block out the toxic vapours. And in that mother’s last-ditch and desperate attempt to save her child, she smothered her daughter to death. Thankfully, she did not know this when her own body died from the poisonous fumes, but she sees it now, vividly, from her disembodied perspective.
She can barely speak as she tries to tell me this, her voice breaking with every few words.
She saw her daughter’s soul leave – before the other souls along with her own got stuck underground with the terrible trauma of this mass execution. My heart is pounding loudly as I come to understand that there are thousands of them there below the earth, in this unholy pit of a grave.
“Ceremony” I hear in my inner ear. “It is time for ceremony.”
So since nothing else could move her from that place, I step out of my role as a regression hypnotherapist and into that as a minister. I had already secured my client’s permission to work in any healing modality that would serve her soul, and with one more week till my Ordination at the One Spirit Interfaith Foundation in London, I am as close as it gets. The title of Reverend Marcus is just a formality to follow the two years of spiritual journeying to this point. I tell her this: “I am a minister, and I consecrate this burial ground.”
A jolt goes through her as if someone had suddenly roused her from deep sleep – I sense the frozen trauma in her body and soul begin to shake and vibrate: we are on to something now!
I cannot quite contain the emotion in my voice, but it does not matter as it is pouring out straight from my heart, in complete alignment with my calling as a healer in this lifetime:
“I call upon all that is sacred ; that which is beyond all understanding; that which preceded the split into good and incomprehensible evil. In that name, I consecrate this ground. I consecrate this earth.”
My client is shifting visibly in her chair and her face is like a river of different expressions all flowing into one another - the very illustration of emotions thawing after a long and hard winter of trauma.
“I won’t leave till they have all been saved…” she is clear and adamant, and I understand completely. It is beautifully altruistic: a thousand souls saved for the one life she could not rescue – that of her daughter in the gas chamber…
“There are legions of angels coming down to help you all rise above the ground, and see you all safely home.” We are completely attuned to each other, as she exclaims “Yes! Yes, I see them – so many angels…”
“Further than the eye can see,” I offer, and she confirms: “Angels further than the eye can see.”
We are in deeply sacred territory now, far from the profanity of the unconsecrated mass grave. And with shafts of light all around from the angelic beings that have come to help, my client still waits to rise, as she travels underground to check on all the bones there. She wants to make completely sure that all the souls will be released from this place, so the bones can rest peacefully in the now consecrated ground. She sees how every freed
soul rises upward in a golden bubble, and she moves swiftly through that dark soil, again and