Crop Circles

As I stand on the ridge way looking down at the field where the crop circle lay, I feel them. There are many of them here and they seem to be all around, not just over there where the barley was pushed and bent and patterned into a precise, mathematical shape. I’m very familiar with the feeling of them. As we stand looking down at the field I say to my friend and guide, ‘They’re here. I can feel them all around.’ With the words comes a cascade of visual sense memory. Many, many times in my life when I had known them to be present. In fact, from such an early age, that I hadn’t yet started to wonder who or what or where they actually were. I just knew that if I needed comfort I could ask for it and they would comfort me. A warm sensation of arms around me and quietness and safety would permeate my body and my feelings. And if I felt lonely I could talk to them without words and they would listen and council me when needed. As a child I often needed this.

Crop Circle in Vale of Pewsey

Crop Circle in Vale of Pewsey

When I was 3 and that man did horrible things to me. When I was 4 and my mother washed my mouth out with soap because I had told the neighbour boy I hated him. When I was 7 and the tornado had torn the metal swing set and I cut my stomach quite badly trying to climb it, in spite of my mother forbidding us to go near. When I was 8 and my mother was punishing me. I said to her “I can feel that it hurts you more than it hurts me, so why do you keep hitting me?” and she smacked all the harder. Or when I was cold outside in the snow but couldn’t go in, they would play with me, get me running around and building a snow slide and laughing and forgetting all about the cold.

When I was 9 they brought me back to this world. I hadn’t wanted to come back. Not really. As I had been flying through the air I didn’t actually realise how much it would hurt when I finally hit the ground. I loved the sensation of flying. But as I neared the ground and it was inches from my head and I knew I was going to hit very hard at this speed, I wanted to go. And once I’d gone and was looking back at the pavement, glaring and shimmering from the heat and the bright sun shining down on it, I wanted to stay away.

I saw the car that my friend, with her family, had been riding in. It was stopped now on the road. It was hard for me to see much as the light was so unbelievably bright. My friend’s father was out of the car and the rest of the family followed. My little sister was very upset. I saw my bike about 30 feet up the road and my body very still on the pavement. The street was quickly turning red beneath my hair.

They were with me as I watched. I felt calm and safe and I felt a protective sadness for my sister. She ran screaming toward the house and I stopped watching. They felt so wonderful to be with. So much light and music and a tickling sensation, like soft laughter. My best friend had taught me how to pet myself, to help myself feel better when I was unhappy. It felt a bit like that but much, much bigger. It felt like bliss.

I told them I didn’t want to go back, I wanted to stay with them. But they were showing me that I would go back. They showed me many things. The beautiful Sierra Nevada mountains and lakes where I would go backpacking in my teens. They showed me dancing and living in a healthy, strong body. They showed me the many wonderful friends I would have and my early career on TV. They showed me speaking to large groups and helping people. They showed me meeting my husband in Australia, the magical town and countryside where I would live in the south of France, the vast fields of flowers and sunshine where I would gather my herbals. And they showed me having my babies. They also took me out into the stars and showed me the enormity of the galaxies and worlds that extend beyond our telescopes.

Everything seemed so beautiful and filled with a vibrant, delicious vibration and immeasurable grace and joy. Everything seemed possible. It all looked so exciting, my life to come. It felt so adventurous and challenging having all of those experiences. And I had a pervasive desire to meet those challenges. I wanted to play the game.

So, I went back. Not completely, at first. It really hurt a lot being in that body. But they stayed close with me over the next couple days so I could hop in and out. So I could be with them when it hurt too much and I needed to revitalise my energy.

They feel so like what I always thought home would feel like. Ecstasy and softness and laughter and peace.

Out here in the land of the crop circles there are multitudes of them. There are so many I can’t guess the number. They’re dancing in the air, in the field, around the sheep on the hillside. They’re sending such warmth and love and comfort and excitement. They’re happy we’re here. They find it gently amusing that these messages stimulate such a contrast of attitudes. And they rejoice each time one of us can see the connection between what we have always felt and what we are now being shown.

I’m just happy to be here where so many of them are. I open to the appreciation they are shining. Appreciation of our presence. And appreciation of our willingness to meet the challenge. The challenge of reaching from here to them.