True Accounts of telepathic communication
Excerpts from:
- J. Allen Boon, Kinship with All Life
- Linda Tellington-Jones, The Tellington Ttouch
- Patty Summers, Talking with the Animals
- Stephen Harrod Buhner, The Lost Language of Plants
- Michael J. Roads, Talking With Nature
- Marlo Morgan, Mutant Message Down Under
When we first began living together, my attitude toward Strongheart [a famous German Shepherd who starred in many movies in the 1930s] had been the conventional one. I assigned myself a place high in the scale of values because I was “a human,” and gave him a place far below because he happened to be “a dog.” I did this regardless of his unusual accomplishments, his world-wide fame and the large sum of money that he could earn for others. I had long been under the impression that while I lived in the upper levels of existence, all animals, not even excluding Strongheart, had to do their living on much lower and relatively unimportant mental and physical levels; and that between them and myself there could be certain rather limited service ties, but not much else. These ideas were to be radically changed.
When I began my “dog-trains-man experiment with Strongheart, I was compelled to learn that if I wanted to achieve complete awareness of him, or of any other living thing, I would have to use something far more penetrating and perceptive with which to see than just a couple of eyeballs in my skull peering through upper and lower lids.
I had to discard my eyeballs as reliable reporting factors, so to speak, and to begin using my thinking to see with. This practice is not so fantastic as it may at first appear. It has a long and distinguished precedence, established by some of the wisest men and women throughout all history.... Some of them called it “the faultless eye of Truth.” Others preferred “the eye of the Soul,” or “the eye of the Mind,” or “the eye of the Understanding.” The American Indian, with his simple direct approach to the great verities of being, calls this valuable faculty “in-seeing,” or “in-hearing,” or “in-knowing.”
I found my self staring through the windshield at a huge rattlesnake about six feet long who was trying to cut across the road in front of me. Without a moment’s hesitation, I slammed on the brakes, jumped out and began heaving rocks at him from a distance of about four feet. Though I managed to hit him repeatedly, he didn’t stop or coil to strike, but just continued traveling as fast as he could, heading for cover on the opposite side of the road. I kept on hurling rocks and hitting him until all of a sudden he simply stopped dead in his tracks.
I stared amazed as strange words entered my mind, like a radio frequency turning on in my head. “Oh, no,” I heard, “she’s really going to kill me.” A split second later the snake had veered around and was coming straight for me.
I turned and ran quickly for the car, not because I was afraid, but because I was profoundly shocked. The inexplicable eeriness of the experience was totally disorienting. Alien words had entered my head and now, as I sat there in the car, I could suddenly see myself through the eyes of the snake. The mindless brutality of my actions disgusted and disturbed me. I grew more and more upset.
That was my first experience with hearing an animal’s “voice.” It was bewildering and filled me with self-doubt. Was I crazy? If I told the story would other people think I was crazy? What had actually happened? I kept the incident to myself. Later, I found out that I was not alone, that many people have such experiences and that almost all of them have the same initial reaction.
I felt someone intently watching me. There he stood, “Cujo” himself. I felt I’d been transported into a Stephen King story. Well, he wasn’t the same breed as Cujo, but aside from that he could have played the part well. He was a chow chow, a little large for the breed. He had reddish hair that looked as if dust had been rubbed into his coat, dulling the brightness of the red. The scowl on his face reflected the brutality of his background; in his eyes a look of the wild, a look of utter confidence and self-reliance.
This must be the [vicious] dog the animal wardens had been talking about earlier.... I found myself in fear. I stood frozen for a moment, until I became fully conscious that he was locked in a secure [isolation] area [of the animal shelter].
He stared at me, his head lowered just a touch. Once I relaxed a bit, the communication began. “I know you can understand me,” the message came. I was dumbfounded. I had just met this dog, actually jut laid eyes on him. How did he know I could understand him? I hesitated, then communicated to him, “Ah, yes, that is correct.” What’s next, I wondered. I was expecting something profound or enlightening. Instead, I got, “I need to go outside to relieve myself.” The reply was matter-of-fact. I didn’t answer; I just walked away. What on earth does he think I am going to do about this? Is he crazy? I’m not taking that dog outside. I know his type. Even if I’m lucky enough to get a leash on him without getting bit, he’ll attack me once I get him outside. No way am I.... I stopped my mind’s chatter. “Hey Patty,” I said to myself, “aren’t you the one who said you wanted to devote your life’s work to animal communication? Aren’t you the person who made a commitment to utilizing and trusting your abilities to their fullest?” I knew this was the Universe’s way of saying to me: you want it, then show me. Only minutes later, I found myself standing in front of the dog’s run. One thing the animals had taught me was the need to be honest. Animals receive my intent, not my words. A lot can be said for animals being good judges of character. They see the real you and the real meaning behind your words.
“Listen”, I said. “I am afraid of you. You present an aggressiveness that puts me on edge. Not to mention that I have had bad experiences with dogs of your breed in the past. I realize it’s not fair to judge you by your appearance, but you can already sense my concerns and there is no need for me to try to disguise them.”
“I will not harm you,” came the response. Its softness did not match its sender. I wanted to say sarcastically, “Sure, right; I believe you,” but I couldn’t. The dog had integrity. Yet the mind chatter began again. What do you think you are doing? You must be crazy! Here you are in Isolation thinking about taking Cujo outside. If this dog decides to turn on you, you’re on your own. No one can hear you back here. I thought about going up front and just asking someone to listen out for me, but I knew they would try to talk me out of it. This dog was already labelled as vicious.... Finally I said, “Listen, if I let you out and you bite or offer to bite me, that is it. No more help from me. If on the other hand, you live up to your word, I will come back here daily to take you outside.” He repeated, “I will not harm you.”
With shaking hands I reached down to his furry body to place a leash on him. He stood perfectly still and I knew his stillness was to reassure me.... The pounding of my heart slowed and my hands steadied as we stepped outside. He sniffed the ground only briefly before choosing a location. Boy, he wasn’t kidding when he said he had to relieve himself. After his “flood” of relief, I took him back into his run. He was a perfect gentleman. I thanked him and told him I’d be back. He had lived up to his word and now it was time for me to live up to mine.
It is easy to remember what a puppy looks like, perhaps even to imagine one on the other side of the room you are in now. He is smelling the floor, looking around, filled with the newness of life as puppies often are.
He begins to walk across the floor. He doesn’t see you yet-all of his attention is consumed with what he is smelling, what he is seeing. He is walking with that funny gait that puppies often have, their hind end slightly askew as if their rear legs are walking faster than the front. The puppy gets nearer and you give a little whistle and say, “Here boy, come here,” and you whistle again.
The puppy looks up and sees you, and his whole body begins to wag. “It’s you,” the puppy seems to be saying, “it’s you!” And in that moment, something passes between you and the puppy. It is as if something leaves your body and enters the puppy; as if something leaves the puppy and enters you. And the most important thing then is to touch the puppy, to pet him, to hold him. And the puppy seems to want nothing more than these things as well-perhaps, in addition, to lick your hands and face.
This is an experience that all people know, yet we have no word for it in our language. Once, people experienced this exchange with everything on Earth. The experience was understood, expected, a natural part of human life-this deep interaction with the nonhuman world-this exchange of soul essence.
But it is not common now. Once shared with all life forms, such an exchange now happens only in our immediate families (if we are lucky), with our pets, and, if we have a green thumb, with the gardens, lawns or plants that we grow....
The loss of this kind of engagement, with life in general and with wild life in particular, by its nature generates deep wounds, external and internal. No longer feeling or exchanging an emotional affinity with all life, we are no longer care-full with Earth, its landscapes, and its many life-forms. From our care-lessness our environment becomes impoverished. And our interior world is impoverished as well. That joyful feeling that comes into our bodies when we exchange soul essence and deep emotional affinity with a puppy once happened many times a day-with many species of life. It was a regular part of the historical life experience of our species on Earth - a primary type of exchange. We are now so far from such emotional engagement as a daily part of life that we no longer have a common word to describe its occurrence.
Once more I began night shooting [too keep wallabies from overgrazing his cattle pasture]. Once night, after spotting a large wallaby in the headlights, I jumped out, rifle ready. The wallaby was only a few yards away as I raised my rifle. Suddenly the animal’s head swung toward me, the shaft of light catching its eyes. Transformed to glowing red jewels, the eyes met mine, and I gazed spellbound into the soul of a wild and wonderful Nature. For long moments our eyes held, locked. Slowly and calmly the animal looked away and quietly grazed the pasture.
I stood silent, shocked to the core. Compassion, a comparative stranger to farmers saturated in death, surged powerfully from somewhere deep inside. I lowered my rifle and turned to walk back to the Landrover. There had to be a different way.
I talked the problem over with Treenie, and together we reached the only solution possible. If we could “think” communicate with our cattle, why not try and “think” communicate with the wallabies.
Making such a decision was one thing, but carrying it out was another.... One morning, driving up to the wild hills of Carvilla, I stopped near a group of trees in the center of the paddock and, feeling rather self-conscious, prepared myself for an attempted communication.
I held the required agreement clearly in my thoughts, but so silent and remote was the act that I began to verbalize my request. Despite feeling foolish, I felt more positive and comfortable. Warming to my task, I fairly yelled my message to all the wallabies that might listen. It sounded something like this:
“I don’t know if you wallabies can hear me, but I am offering an agreement with you by which we each meet our own needs. I am asking you to stop eating our pasture, and in exchange for this I will see to it that nobody shoots you again. However, because I realize I must share this land with you, I will allow you to graze around the outside of the paddock. Please don’t take more than twenty yards.”
Following this announcement, I paused expectantly. Nothing! Nothing except the mental echo of my own words. I was in no way convinced that anything would happen, but to keep my side of the agreement I chained and padlocked the entrance gate and told the shooters that I wanted no more shooting on my land. Eyeing me as though I were nutty, they agreed. I felt glad I did not tell them the reason!
Within only a few weeks, the pasture was thickening so rapidly that I was able to introduce an extra ten cows and calves. It continued to improve. Soon I had ninety cows and calves grazing over Carvilla, while the white clover grew in abundance. For three years we maintained this tenuous agreement, the pastures continuing to thrive and flourish. When the pasture was knee-high it was crisscrossed with wallaby trails, but their grazing was concentrated at the boundary. I confess, whoever they chose to measure the twenty yards took mighty strides... or bounds! In some areas, pasture grew right to the forest edge, while in other places they fed a long way into the paddock. On average I estimated they grazed about forty yards into the field....
There is a follow-up to this story. When we eventually decided to sell our farm, we sold it under separate titles.... During this time shooters broke the padlocks and, without our knowing, began shooting wallabies once more. When I visited the area three years after selling the farm, the owner asked me if pasture had ever grown on Carvilla. I stared at him in surprise.
“When I last walked Carvilla, white clover was knee-high,” I said. He looked dour.
“Well, mate, I can assure you there’s none there now,” he replied.
He went on to tell me how he had found the place crawling with wallabies. They shot six thousand wallabies in two years! I was stunned. I realized immediately that such a number could not have been bred in such a short time. Considering the huge amount of forest around, I had suspected there were large numbers in the area when we made our agreement, but I had no idea I was dealing with such numbers. It was only then I fully understood the extent to which our agreement had been kept.
**This next excerpt is from Mutant Message Down Under, by Marlo Morgan. For those of you who haven’t read it, it's a wonderful (apparently true--though there is much controversy) story of an American woman’s experience of going on a 3 month “walkabout” with an ancient tribe of aboriginals in Australia. They carried few tools, no food, and little water through some of the harshest desert “wasteland,” and yet every day their needs were met by working in harmony with Spirit. It’s a great story I think, though unlike these other excerpts, I can’t verify it’s truth.
We faced east in our morning prayer service and gave thanks for all our blessings... One of the younger men took a turn in the center. It was explained he had offered to perform a special task that day. He left camp early and ran on ahead. We had walked several hours when the Elder stopped and fell to his knees. Everyone gathered around as he remained in the kneeling position, his arms held out in front, gently swaying. I asked Ooota [the interpreter] what was happening. He motioned for me to remain quiet. No one was saying anything, but all their faces were intent. Finally, Ooota turned to me and said the young scout who had left us earlier was sending in a message. He was asking permission to cut off the tail of a kangaroo he had killed.
It finally dawned on me why it was quiet every day as we walked. These people used mental telepathy to communicate most of the time. I was witnessing it. There was absolutely no sound to be heard, but messages were being relayed between people twenty miles apart.
“Why does he want to remove the tail?” I asked.
“Because it is the heaviest part of the kangaroo, and he is too ill to carry the animal comfortably. It is taller than he is, and he is telling us that the water he stopped to drink was foul and has caused his body to become too hot. He has beads of fluid coming from his face.”
A silent telepathic reply was sent. Ooota advised me we would stop for the day. The people began to dig a pit in preparation for the large meat we would be receiving. Others began preparing herbal medication under the instructions of Medicine Man and Female Healer.
Several hours later, into our camp walked the young man, carrying the huge gutted kangaroo minus a tail.... The fellow was perspiring and obviously ill. I watched as the tribe went into action dealing with the healing, and the cooking of our meal....
Mental telepathy was something I sensed the people back home would find difficult to believe. They could easily accept that humans around the world were cruel to eachother, but would be reluctant to believe there were people on earth who are not racist, who live together in total support and harmony, who discover their own unique talent and honor it as well as honor everyone else. The reason, according to Ooota, that this tribe can use telepathy is because above all they never tell a lie, not a small fabrication, not a partial truth, nor any gross unreal statement. No lies at all, so they have nothing to hide. They are a group of people who are not afraid to have their minds open to receive and are willing to give one another information.
Mental telepathy--it is the way humans were designed to communicate. Different languages and various written alphabets are eleminated as obstacles when people use head-to-head talk.
Ooota’s tribe don’t think the voice was designed for talking. You do that with your heart/head center. If the voice is used for speech, one tends to get into small, unnecessary, and less spiritual conversation. The voice is made for singing, for celebration, and healing.
Later during our journey, when they worked with me to develop my mental communication, I learned that as long as I had anything in my heart or my head I still felt necessary to hide, it would not work. I had to come to peace with everything.