Helena is a mature, well dressed, aristocratic looking woman with great poise and a commanding presence. My assistant Brianna and I sense her approach before she enters our little crystal shop.
Brianna spontaneously steps forward to open the shop door for our visitor – a surprising gesture and something I have never witnessed before. Brianna is a feisty, independent woman, but there is something about Helena’s bearing that changes Brianna’s normal demeanour.
She ushers my client upstairs with a hint of deference, leaving us in my session room with a subtle bow. I almost expect her to say, “Will that be all ma’am?”, but she does not make my day.
Helena sits, back ramrod straight, but somehow also relaxed. Not knowing what to expect, she waits for me to open the conversation.
“You have come to see me about a phobia?”
“Yes, for 60 years I have lived with it and I am sick of it. I hear you may be able to help. I have tried everything.”
“How does it manifest?”
“I am terrified of the dark. For as long as I can remember it scares me. I sleep with the lights on. It limits my activities. It is beyond reason. The fear just takes over.”
Phobias may relate to past-life or childhood trauma; so I ask what kind of place she grew up in. In her soft European accent she replies:
“What you would call a castle.”
I picture a large fancy house with turrets.
“It was on our family home in Europe, a large old place.” She pauses, “Too big to look after properly.”
She spent her childhood there until she was sent off to boarding school. With busy parents and no siblings, she had enjoyed many happy hours playing alone in and around the big old house. That’s all I need to know. We lie in my crystal mandala and Helena moves into an altered state easily.
In no-time-space I telepath asking her to repeat after me Body I command you take me to the moment this phobia started. NOW…
It is bright and sunny. I feel the warm breeze on my face cool as we follow the little girl that is Helena into shady places as she dashes around the grounds of her family home.
They are much larger than I expected – her family must be wealthy. She runs around the huge well-kept garden. She seems happy, singing, skipping and talking to herself, the way solitary children do. She plays with a misshapen ball that has an uneven bounce. She calls it her ‘adventure ball’ because it takes her to unexpected places.
She throws it, laughing at its crazy, wayward bounce. It takes her underneath bushes, around corners and into the dark potting shed where a bulky gardener is tending his plants.
Startled, he turns quickly trowel in hand to see what has disturbed him, looming over little Helena. I catch a glint in his eye that could be malevolent. Could this be the point of trauma? Something Helena has hidden from herself for all these years?
The glint turns into a sparkle, as he reaches under his bench and pulls out the crazy ball, throwing it on for Helena to chase, away from his workspace. He laughs to himself shaking his head as he continues to tend to his green children.
The ball bounces on, tumbling over a shallow river bank and into a fast flowing stream. It wedges itself under a large rotting tree limb. Helena follows; recklessly jumping after it, she slides down the muddy bank straight into the creek, feet first. The speed of her descent wedges her calves under the dark rotten timber. It is heavy and it rocks, crumbling away from its foothold on the bank, ready to tumble forward and pin her under the shallow water.
But today she is lucky, she gets away with wet underwear and muddy skirt as she retrieves her ball, wriggles out and races on, oblivious to her condition.
The shadows are lengthening and the air is cooling. I sense she is some distance from her home and like a homing pigeon, without any conscious effort, she turns in that direction, kicking her crazy ball head of her.
Then I see it. What she described as a castle and I envisioned as a large home actually is a castle – a real one, with turrets spires and ancient stonework. It is an impressive and foreboding sight to me, but to her it is home.
She enters though a simple side entrance some distance from the imposing grandeur of the main building. Inside she bounces her ball hard against the floor and walls. Knowing there are no adults around, she is totally carefree, forever fascinated by its unpredictability.
She does not notice the coolness of the air or the damp smell of the neglected corridors she plays in, her young eyes adjusting easily to the rapidly fading light. After a particularly hard throw the ball takes off on its own self-willed way, bouncing erratically down some stairs at the end of the corridor.
This area was never well maintained and is now crumbling. We follow her downstairs. I sense my client’s mounting apprehension as she relives an incident that impacted on her life from this day forward.
I don’t want to see… she telepaths It is not nice down here.
You wanted to be free of your phobia? We are close to where it starts. Please bear with me.
Intent on following her little bouncing friend, the child is oblivious to the gloomy, oppressive atmosphere. She pays no attention to the unkempt nature of the place she is in or the dank air seeping into her little lungs, as she continues her descent into darkness.
Now deep beneath the castle she finds her ball in a particularly musty mildewed corner. When she picks it up and turns around her carefree expression changes. She has lost her bearings in the gloom, but more than that she senses a presence nearby that is not benign.
We can see it clearly: standing close to her in the shadows, is an emaciated man in rags. His hollow cheeks and bulging eyes speak of malnutrition and deprivation; his appearance terrifies the young Helena.
She screams and calls out for help. Only the stone walls hear her as the man obliges by moving closer to her, amplifying her fear.
“Please someone help me.” She trembles, the wetness of her clinging underwear chilling her to the bone.
This plea gives the earthbound spirit permission to help her by attaching himself to her energy body, temporarily calming her but forever amplifying his and her fear of the darkness that he died in centuries before. Left to starve to death after days of torture, the trauma of his slow and solitary death had kept him stuck in the castle dungeons, until today.
I invite Helena into no-time-space and he joins us, following her. Counselling him is straightforward and he journeys home to light with ease.
His disappearance allows a reunion with Helena’s own spirit guides, who had been unable to communicate clearly with her because of his presence. They take her to a place of such exquisite beauty and love that Helena becomes ecstatic. Not since she had been in an accident years previously, and been clinically dead for a short period, had she experienced such bliss.
She has no doubt whatsoever that her phobia has completely disappeared.
Raym’s aristocratic client seeks relief from a lifelong phobia hidden in her family’s past.
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