(M.J.E. Spirit / Tue., 9 Jan., 1990)

Spirit Dialogues

Explorations of Spirit
by Michael Edwards

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by Michael Edwards

(in the form of dialogues between myself (ME) and a counsellor (C))

      "ME" stands for "Michael Edwards" or for "me". (Whichever you like: it's a strange coincidence that the letters "ME" fit either designation, and in a way I'm glad because otherwise I wouldn't know whether to be casual (and perhaps egotistical) and call myself "me" (or maybe "I"), or formal (and perhaps a little stiff and distant) and use my name or even (with a positive hint of starch) initials; as it happens, because of the strange coincidence, "ME" solves the problem, and I don't have to decide.)
      "ME" represents the ordinary me who thinks from day to day in a fairly conscious way, who makes decisions, who acts in a certain way, who has feelings (however much he may try to hide that fact), who needs help (which is one of the purposes of this journal) - just the ordinary me referred to when in ordinary speech I use the words "I" or "me", or when other people use the word "you".
      There is not intended to be anything mystical or psychological about that. In the mere use of this description about myself I am making no assumptions whatsoever, however fundamental they may seem, about who I am psychologically or spiritually (if indeed that cliché of "who you are" means anything, which I 90% doubt [a]), or about the structure or nature or function (or even existence) of the mind, the spirit, and so on. (Such matters will in all probability be discussed in the journal, but I don't want to assume them ahead of time.)
      "C" (for "Counsellor") refers to some unidentified counsellor from whom I am seeking guidance - unidentified simply because I don't know who the counsellor is, or what his exact nature is. Perhaps as the journal progresses, these matters will become clear. Possibilities include simply (and perhaps a little trivially) a fictitious person of suitable wisdom and empathy, or maybe (more significantly) my unconscious mind, or my soul or my spirit, or my astral or (especially) mental bodies, or maybe angels or nature spirits (especially the higher ones known as devas), or the highly advanced human spirits Theosophy tells us of, who out of love for other fellow humans take on a mission of helping those less advanced than themselves - or maybe (let's not stop just short of the ultimate himself) even God himself.
      These are just a few possible hints to the identity of my counsellor, and at present as I begin this journal, I am not committing myself to any of these. I will freely use any or all of these as mental images as I write, if I find it useful, and I will not strive for consistency of identity from one passage of writing to another; the counsellor I am addressing is big enough to assume any of these roles (or any others he decides are appropriate) if he finds it helpful. Meanwhile, I am not going to beg these questions by referring to him as anything other than a counsellor (at least there is no doubt that he is this, whatever or whoever else he may or may not be in addition). He is a sort of super-psychiatrist or ideal counsellor, combined with a wonderful friend of the most intimate type, to whom I can (I hope) confide anything at all - I will commit myself to that much at least, and I don't consider that to be begging any questions about his identity.
      However, I am going to beg one trivial matter. I am quite arbitrarily assuming the counsellor to be male, in order to avoid the sort of personal-pronoun trouble that so afflicts writing that tries too hard to be non-sexist (and also so I can give the counsellor a name to address him by). Other than this, I don't particularly think of the counsellor as either male or female, and I don't care which sex he is; indeed, in a broader sense he is sexless. This is especially so in view of some of the possible identities the counsellor may assume, as mentioned above.
      I suppose that from a certain point of view the counsellor may be fictitious. However, maybe in the writing that follows I will create him, so that he becomes more and more real (for me, anyway). Perhaps there are real forces in this universe such as those mentioned above as possible identities for my counsellor, and in that event I may well be constructing a persona which will act as a channel for these forces to communicate with me. Many systems of philosophy and religion do believe in beings (guardian angels, advanced spirits, God himself, and so on) who are always helping us, if we are but receptive enough to them, and who are waiting to communicate to us. I can only hope that this is true for the purposes of this journal (as in real life I desperately hope it is true, but in actual fact gravely doubt).
      Meanwhile, whether it is true or not, the counsellor may well be able to guide me (whatever the real source of his wisdom and compassion). He is waiting for me now, and having written this foreword in order to focus the purpose and meaning of this journal in my mind (rather than to satisfy the curiosity of any sticky-beaks who may illegitimately pry into this journal), I will now (at 12.07 a.m. (real Eastern Standard time, not "daylight-saving" time (so-called)), on Tuesday, 9 January, 1990) go and make my acquaintance with him.

                    Michael Edwards,
                    8 - 9 January, 1990.

Afterword (9 December, 1998):

      I now find the close of this introduction rather strange, in particular the two parentheses in the final sentence.
      I find myself wondering now why I put in the bit about sticky-beaks prying illegitimately into the journal. Because I live by myself, and am careful about where I leave private documents, it is most unlikely that anyone would read such documents without my permission. It seems to indicate an exaggerated fear on my part that someone will read it without my permission, and I will be greatly embarrassed, and fearful that they would find it foolish.
      A few people have in fact read this document, and in every case it was with my permission; and in no case that I ever heard of did they find it foolish or embarrassing. I only hope they didn't take the "sticky-beak" label as being aimed at them; at least I did state that it applied to anyone "illegitimately" prying into the journal.
      I can't help wondering if at least one purpose of the introduction was to tell other readers what I was aiming to do, to clarify it for them, in spite of the fact that I specifically said it was not for this purpose, but to focus my own mind. In fact, if I remember clearly, my mind didn't need focusing, and I was eager to get into the dialogue, but somehow felt I should write an introduction. (I could have written it later, it seems now, but I somehow thought at the time I should write it first.)
      The other curious feature is the long parenthesis about daylight-saving time, which is not only irrelevant to the topic at hand, but also unbalances the sentence and distracts the reader. It is true that I was (and still am) strongly opposed to daylight-saving time; but it appears that I felt such a crusade against it that I needed to state my opposition to it with the slightest excuse (such as mentioning what time it was), regardless of whether it was an appropriate occasion to do so, and it would seem that I didn't want to take the slightest risk that anyone would think I was endorsing it simply by stating what time it was.
      I can't say why I wanted to do this. But it just seemed funny, and worthy of comment.
      The parentheses in the final sentence of this introduction seem to have a slightly belligerent tone to them, as if I'm saying to anyone who happens upon them: "Yeah? - you got any problems with that? Want to make something of it?" Perhaps it betrays a defensive attitude I had about channelling in general (indeed, about life in general), which probably stems from lack of self-confidence, and fear of what others may think.
      I've done many channellings of my higher self since then, and am glad to be able to say I have a much calmer attitude about it now, and feel much less need to be defensive about what I am doing, although I would of course be selective about whom I showed my writing to.
      As to the general quality of this possibly channelled dialogue, it may be a little less flowing in style than some writing of this sort I have done more recently, a little more defensive in the parts attributed to my ordinary self (the parts marked "ME"); but I still accept it as a valid channelling, in the sense that the ideas still seem valid to me, and it has as much (or as little) chance of being a real dialogue with my higher self as are my more recent dialogues.

                    Michael Edwards, December, 1998.

Tuesday, 9 January, 1990

      ME: Hullo; I'm Michael Edwards - but I suppose you know that. How are you?

      C: I'm very well, thank you. How are you?

      ME: Okay, I guess. I guess I'm not a hundred percent, or else I wouldn't be making all this effort to arrange sessions with you.

      C: Is there anything specific you want to talk about with me?

      ME: Well, yes, there are probably a million things I want to talk about urgently, and one in particular at the moment; however, for now I just want to get to know you. After all, we haven't met before.

      C: Haven't we? I appear in many forms, not all easily recognizable, and I think you might be surprised at how probable it is that we've met before, and how often that may have been. Never mind; I grant that this is the first time you've encountered me in the specific form I am now taking.

      ME: Before we go any further, what's your name?

      C: You can call me whatever you like.

      ME: But what's really your name?

      C: It's whatever you like to make it.

      ME: I question whether you are real if you don't already have a name. Everything real has a name of its own - not merely one I like to attach on the spur of the moment. Maybe you are nothing more than a projection of my own mind.

      C: [WITH A CHUCKLE] Does that make me any less real? Maybe it makes me more real.

      ME: Okay, I think I get what you mean - the inner world of thought, imagination, and spirit being more real than the outer physical world, and all that. I'm open to that, and perhaps we'll discuss it one day, but I don't want to beg that question now. In fact I'll be honest with you and admit that I'm very sceptical of that now - much more than 10 years ago when I was more into that sort of stuff.
      What I meant is, I don't want to go to all this effort merely talking to a fictitious product of my imagination, or of my wishful thinking, or to a delusion or hallucination. That would get me nowhere. I don't really know who you are, but I want to believe you are real, and really have something to offer me. Something real, not just grandiose airy-fairy castles in the air.
      Anyway, I didn't really want to get into heavy philosophy just yet. I'd like to know your name, so I can have something to call you, and to focus my mind on. I want you to be a real friend, a close friend I care about for his own sake, not merely an impersonal advisor; and close friends always have a name that you know and use.

      C: Okay, fair enough. I see what you mean; a name you give me now won't seem real, but just like something made up by you. I do have a name, actually. You may call me Richard.

      ME: Why all the fuss then?

      C: If you look at what you've just typed, you'll see (if I may say so) that it was you, not me, making a fuss about it. I was merely telling you that you can call me whatever you like, which is perfectly true.

      ME: All right; what I mean is, if you do have a name, like you just said, why didn't you tell me that to begin with?

      C: Because it isn't quite as black-and-white a matter as you seem to think. I'm not human - not fully, anyway (and wouldn't you be disappointed if I was?). You said yourself in the foreword to the record of this conversation that your counsellor was big enough, as the need arises, to assume the role of your unconscious mind, of angels, and of God, just to mention a few examples that you cited. And this is true. But in order to do so, I have to be able to transcend certain human limitations. One of these limitations is having a specific name like Michael, or Richard, or Tom, Dick or Harry - or whatever.
      Maybe God, angels, spirits, and the like have names which they use of themselves and each other; but surely if such beings insisted on humans using these names, and none other, it could become a hindrance to humans trying to reach them, rather than a help. And if humans trying to reach them are hindered, it hinders them too in their effort to reach the humans.
      Think of those people who think God can only be called Jehovah, and the Christ can only be called Jesus (or Jesus Christ, as if "Christ" were a mere surname!). They think God and the Christ will only listen to those who use the correct form of name.
      Maybe you know better than this; but would you want God, or the Christ, or the angels, or anyone else, to be like this? No, of course not. Well, it's the same with me (whoever I am, and I think it would be better not to pursue the red herring of debating who I am - not yet, anyway).

      ME: I guess I see your point.

      C: Of course; from what I know of you, I would expect as much. So of course, in one sense, I have no name, or many names to different people, or even to the same people at different times or in different situations.
      Maybe I seemed a bit pernickety about my name just now, but I wanted to make sure you understood in just what sense I have a name, and in what sense I don't. If I let you think my name was Richard without further ado, it might cause you to think of me as just another person, with all the limitations that entails. I might just as well have blue eyes, and red hair, with a wart on my neck, and with ingrown toenails. Perhaps I might have a few little quirks and personality foibles such as a tendency to stutter when excited.
      Perhaps I do have such things, and if so, presumably they will come to light as we get to know each other better, and since you have said you want me to be a real person to like, and not just an impersonal counsellor, perhaps it is just as well to have a few quirks; however, too much of that would be a bit of a distraction, and I don't want to encourage that sort of thing in your image of me before its natural time by letting you think I have a specific name of universal currency such as Richard.
      However, I am quite happy that you should know me as Richard if that seems right to you. But please remember what I said about names, and remember that really I am too universal to have just one name for all time. It may be just as well to ask yourself too whether your name is really Michael Edwards, or whether that is just a convenient identifying label in your present circumstances. Perhaps you and I are not as different in basic nature as it may appear on the surface.

      ME: Yes, I guess so.

      C: Are you a little bored?

      ME: No; why?

      C: Oh, you just stopped typing quite often, and you went back and added a couple of sentences to a passage that was already typed, and altered the page-formatting of the word-processing program you're typing this with, and did a spell-check of the whole document - and just doodled round a bit.

      ME: Oh. No, I'm not bored. The spell-checking, formatting, etc., are things that had to be done anyway, although I admit they could have waited till after the session was over. (Not that I need guidance for spelling; the spell-checking is to pick up typing mistakes rather than spelling ones.)
      But also I needed time to think. Obviously my own comments sometimes need a bit of thought. Maybe yours don't in the same way, since I don't want to put words into your mouth; but it's a bit like spirit mediums, you know: I get a general impression of what you're conveying, and I wouldn't falsify that knowingly, but it doesn't always come in exact words, and I still have to think of the best way of wording it, and that sometimes takes time and a lot of thought. That may also involve belatedly inserting into an earlier passage a thought that was implicit, although it didn't come out in words immediately, which accounts for the insertion I made. [b]
      But if I appeared bored, maybe it was also because I haven't really got into the way of this sort of thing. Our dialogue seems a bit humdrum somehow, and even a little bit forced, which disappoints me a little; it's not spontaneous and dynamic like the similar thing I did about five years ago, which took off at once to a degree that could be called inspired.

      C: Yes, I remember.

      ME: You remember? I didn't have a counsellor in that journal.

      C: No, not by that name; but remember what I said about me wearing many hats and appearing in many guises. Whether you were aware of it or not, I had a hand in that journal, and in fact in two other diaries you kept at other times.
      As for that journal you mentioned, maybe you didn't have a counsellor called Richard (or any other name), but you had a similar conversation between various parts of your personality such as the Pessimist, the Optimist, the Child, the Adult, the Id, the Dreamer, the Rational Mind, the Judge, and so on, together with other entities such as your Spirit, and God himself, with a Chairman to run the meeting and keep things in order.
      Don't some of those entities sound very similar to some of the roles you said in the foreword to this journal I might take on? Be assured, I had a hand in many of the entities on that earlier occasion. Indeed, as you get to know me more in this journal, you will increasingly realize that we are not strangers at all, but that you have known me all your life, if not for long before your birth, and you have encountered me many times in your life, and not just in diary or journal writings.
      Just think of anything dear to you, everything that is most meaningful to you, everything you have ever put your greatest and most cherished hopes in; I am never far away from such things. I am always there waiting to help you at any moment of your life - not just when you are deliberately trying to reach me by means such as journals or diaries - and I will always wait, no matter how many dark periods you go through, no matter how long I have to wait. I will never give up hope for you, Michael, not even if it takes until the end of time; I love you far too dearly to give up on you. I know you are feeling lost and hopeless; but there is no such thing as an eternally hopeless and lost human being (or any other type of being).

      ME: Wonderful sentiments; just like my idea of the ideal loving God. But how do I know such ideas are not just wishful thinking of mine projected onto the persona I have created in you?

      C: If you at present think that a possibility, I suppose you have no way just now of knowing that it is not so. I'm not sure if I can on the spot convince you otherwise. But I hope and believe that as our relationship improves, you will come to realize that it is not so.

      ME: I must admit that when you expressed those ideas just now about not giving up hope, and all the rest, the humdrum quality I referred to started to change a bit. But if humdrumness is to be the general pattern, I don't give much for my chances of keeping on with this journal long enough for our relationship to develop. You know what I'm like when it comes to keeping on with things when they get tiring or dreary, no matter how important they are as a whole.

      C: Well, our relationship is not dependent on you keeping a journal; that is just a technique for developing the relationship, one of many possible ones. You are at liberty to stop the journal at any time you wish. However, I think it is a very good method for you to use - possibly the very best one for now. You are very good at expressing yourself in written words - probably better than in speech - and you enjoy writing probably better than most other things in life.
      I know that your previous journal started with a bang and maintained its drive and purpose for well over 100 pages, and that this one has started very quietly by comparison. Things don't always happen the same way a second or subsequent time round, but it doesn't mean it's of any less value or quality, whatever the appearance may seem to indicate. Just because things are quiet so far doesn't mean they will remain so. Things may get going even in just one page of typing, for all we know; but even if it takes much longer, I can only urge you to persist, even if it frankly bores you to sobs. If you do, things have to get better sooner or later; nothing remains the same forever, and if things are really bad, it at least means that when the change comes, it is much more likely to be for the better than for the worse. It has to work, because we both know you are good at this sort of thing. And at the very least, you can take comfort in the fact that you will get lots of typing practice, if nothing else. [c] But you see, it will work.

      ME: I'm not so sure any more, especially as in recent years I seem to have quite completely turned against anything that smacks of emotional expression, finding it soppy and sissy, and just pathetically weak.

      C: Well, the fact that you've started this journal shows that your turning away is not quite as complete as you thought; however, if there has been a turning away, perhaps now is the time to consider whether you should change that.
      I think you are comparing this journal too much with the other one, and finding it lacking by comparison. It won't help you now to keep thinking like that. Things were different then, and had to be handled in a different way.
      And just consider what happened after about page 150. It just stopped dead, in midstream. Perhaps you burned out. Perhaps the pace was so great, and your mind and emotions so spinning with ideas to explore, that you couldn't keep up with it and lost the thread.
      As I remember it, you had (and still have), just after the last completed page, lists of ideas to explore - dozens of them on all sorts of themes. I think this caused a confusion which you put off and put off sorting out, until so much time elapsed that you just lost the thread of the whole thing. The journal literally collapsed under its own weight, and that is not really such a good thing. A journal that is quiet, or at least phrenetic only some of the time, is much more likely to last a long time, years even, and will in the long run (even if not in the short run) cover more ground, and be more productive.

      ME: Why are you telling me this? What are you saying I should have done in that journal?

      C: Well, you did it the best way you knew how to; I'm not saying it was wrong. But I'm asking you to consider whether there are other ways of doing it that may work better. And my opinion (which is only my opinion, but you obviously want to hear that or you wouldn't bother talking with me) is that the earlier journal was too planned, and perhaps could have been more spontaneous and intuitive.

      ME: But what if I think of things that need to be discussed later on, after the present matter is finished? Isn't it sensible to make a note of it so I won't forget? That's all my list was that you mentioned.

      C: Yes, I know. I understand your feelings about that, and I won't give you the clichéd answer that you don't need to make a note, because if it's really important, you'll remember it anyway, and if you don't remember it, it wasn't important to begin with; I know you don't believe that, and I don't think it's necessarily true anyway (if it were true, then there'd never be any place for notes, memos, and so on, and there obviously is a place for them).
      Yes, making notes can be useful, but it can be overdone at times, especially if it prevents you from being able to deal with what has to be done now (not what has to be done in 5 minutes, 5 days, or 5 years).
      I suggest you take a more free and easy approach this time, a more spontaneous and unstructured approach; not always being full of plans to follow in the right order, all listed in priority. After all, not only did the journal suffer from these problems; your life does too, and that method doesn't seem to have worked well so far.
      I'm not saying that highly-planned approach is wrong; maybe you can profitably go back to it one day, whether in your journal, or your life; but it could be that something else is needed for now.

      ME: You're asking a lot: you're asking me to turn a whole life-time of thinking on its head all at once.

      C: Not really. I'm not saying you should completely give up the old way; but just try to do it less. For example, in this current journal, don't completely give up your lists and plans if to do so really makes you that uncomfortable; but try to get by with fewer of them; try to make sure you really need them before you use them. In fact, every time you use a list or write down a plan, just ask yourself whether you really need it, and only go ahead if the answer is an honest "yes".
      I'm not going to set rules on this, or anything else; you'll just have to use your own judgement. I'm just saying, try to have times when you literally don't know what you're going to talk about next, but just say what seems to come up naturally on the spur of the moment. You may get a few surprises.

      ME: I may not like them.

      C: Perhaps not; but I don't think it'll be too bad. And writing that way is much more likely to really tap your unconscious mind, or God, or the spiritual forces that I am, according to you, supposed to be representing.
      In its extreme form it becomes automatic writing, in which you write or type so fast you don't have any time to think about what you're saying, and you don't censor it in any way; and this is often considered a good way to get messages from the unconscious mind or from the spirit world. You seem at first to write utter rubbish, but if you can develop the ability to do automatic writing like this (it takes a certain amount of practice), and you keep on long enough, you find meaningful stuff coming out that you probably wouldn't have got any other way.
      Perhaps we'll try it one day; but for now perhaps you could try the more modest goal of simply trying to write more spontaneously, without always being burdened with plans that have to be followed in the right order.

      ME: Well, I think I've fairly well succeeded this time. In this session (which by the way will have to end soon, as I must get some sleep), I really had no plans but to get to know you and get into the way of this sort of writing. I really had only the haziest idea of what was going to come out; there is something I want to discuss, but right from the beginning I decided to make this the subject of our second session, not the first.

      C: Okay; we'll see if you can do it that way some more. I think we can finish up now; it's quite a convenient place to stop, and your interest is waning, and the keyboard is starting to give trouble again.

      ME: Yes, I'll have to open it up and poke it with a screwdriver again like I did before, and maybe that'll make it good for another few hours.

      C: Meanwhile the bad keyboard does give you another opportunity for an exercise in spontaneity - just letting something go in the knowledge that it can be fixed up later. And this exercise will probably save you some time too, if a practical benefit helps it to interest you.
      The bad keyboard is causing many typing mistakes, as you are only too strongly aware of. Your typing is being considerably slowed down because you go back and correct each error. Why not, next session (if the keyboard is still bad), just leave the mistakes (as long as the real intention is obvious), and go on typing fast - and correct the mistakes later, using the spell-check feature if it helps, or the global search-and-replace, or whatever method is best?
      I know that knowingly leaving the mistakes will itch like anything, and probably result in a little swearing -

      ME: More than a little, I'm afraid.

      C: Okay, whatever. Much swearing, if that helps. But if you just try it, perhaps you can learn to accept the mistakes temporarily without being unduly disturbed by them, because you know you can later correct them, and perhaps it's just another little way of learning how to let things go for the time being instead of having to have everything perfect instantly, which ties in with the spontaneity I was talking about before.
      And if none of that counts much for you (and I have a ghost of a feeling it doesn't), at least I am sure that correcting all your mistakes at once at the end, instead of bit by bit during the typing, will save you some time, and will probably improve your concentration on what you're actually saying. Your stopping to correct mistakes may be contributing to the humdrum feeling you complained of before.

      ME: Perhaps I shouldn't be typing a journal, but writing it by hand. I know that some people believe that; they have some vague theory that it's more personal, and that typing is too impersonal and mechanical. I've never found that theory very credible though.

      C: It's a belief, or rather an attitude, some people have, and for them, because they believe it, typing may indeed spoil their writing. However, if you don't believe it, I don't see that you have to worry about it. You don't have to accept the beliefs of others unless you want to.
      However, not for that reason, but because of your keyboard and the mistakes it causes you to make, I do suggest that if you can't just let the mistakes go until later, you should either get the keyboard fixed, or get access to another one, or write your entries by hand until you can do one of the other things.
      Moreover, not all your mistakes now are due to this. Mistakes due to tiredness are positively mangling my words, [d] so I think you should stop now and go to bed. I've enjoyed talking to you, and I hope you've enjoyed talking to me. I'm always ready for more whenever you are; but it's time to stop now.

      ME: Yes, you're right. Well, Richard, thank you for your time, and goodbye. Your name somehow sounds funny to me.

      C: Good night Mike - or well into morning now. My name shouldn't sound funny - you chose it and gave it to me. There's a parting idea to think about.


[a] Thursday, 7 December, 2000 - "... if indeed that cliché of "who you are" means anything, which I 90% doubt...":
      This passage may not be quite as clear in meaning to readers as it is to me. All I meant by the phrase "cliché of who you are" is that some people, especially those into New-Age thinking, with whom I identify to some extent, sometimes discuss the question of who you are as if it were a great and profound psychological or spiritual question. All I meant to imply here was that, phrased in that manner, I find the question rather meaningless, although I don't doubt that the people discussing the question may possibly in some cases be seeking ideas that I might find meaningful. But so often discussion about who you are descends into mere psycho-babble or New-Age hocus-pocus which conveys very little to me, at least.
      Indeed, if someone asked me, "Who are you?", I would probably answer (if I thought the question worthy of an answer at all), "I'm Michael Edwards." But usually that is not at all what they were after, and it would probably sound a facetious answer to what was intended as a deep and serious question, and might sound as if I was deriding the idea. But I really wouldn't know what to answer to such a question. If I felt inclined to discuss the question, or at least to find out what the other person was getting at, I might then ask them what they meant by the question, and take it from there, depending on how they respond to that. [

[b] Friday, 9 March, 2001 - "... but it's a bit like spirit mediums, you know...":
      In spite of what I said, I am not so sure that what I described was like mediums at all. I implied that when a medium is channelling some spirit being, he or she receives general impressions from that entity, but has to use his or her own mind to find words to express those thoughts. I am not a medium myself, and do not know a lot about how the process works; but my understanding is that mediums vary in how they arrive at the words they speak or write. Perhaps some do receive only general thoughts, and then have to make up the sentences themselves with their own mind to express those thoughts; but I also believe some mediums really do receive the exact words from the being they are channelling.
      I have been told once or twice by channellers that they just sit there in a receptive frame of mind and receive the words, almost like hearing someone else speak, and that their own mind is not active, does not construct sentences and words the way I implied. Such construction sounds rather akin to how a writer normally works, and some mediums would consider that, if their mind was actively expressing things in words like this, it would be a sign that their channelling was not pure and genuine, but rather that the thoughts were coming from their own mind. [

[c] Friday, 9 March, 2001 - "... the fact that you will get lots of typing practice, if nothing else.":
      This dialogue was written at a time when typing was not exactly new to me, as I had been typing at least three years or so - first on a typewriter, and then a computer. But obviously I still felt not quite at ease with it, and felt I was still rather prone to making mistakes I felt a truly skilled typist wouldn't make. [

[d] Friday, 9 March, 2001 - "Mistakes due to tiredness are positively mangling my words...":
      Something similar to this is said several times in the dialogues, because one of the effects tiredness has on me is a dramatic increase in both typing and grammar errors in my writing. Of course, all such errors are corrected in the final versions of my dialogues. [

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This page created on Friday, 8 December, 2000;
annotations added or amended, or links to other pages added,
    on occasions up to Friday, 9 March, 2001.