Midsummer Nightmare of Yorkshire Ripper’s victims

27 06 2010

The longest night.  I toss and turn.  The clock chimes midnight and I throw back the feather duvet and scuttle to the window to gaze out on to the moonlit garden.  Are there any fairies?  I squint towards the dimly lit lawn.  All is at peace.  There is no sound.  All the shadowy borders seem benign.   The angels in the marshmallowy sky of pinks and sticky hues of whites and blues tuck me back to bed.   A smile soothes me back to dreamland, but I toss and turn.  Toss and turn.  Too hot.    The clock now mocks.  1.45 am.  Throw back and forth the covers until finally, such bliss in sinking sleep.    Awake again!  It’s 3 pm.  I need the loo but an accompanying, mocking voice floats there and back with my senseless mind. 

Will you forgive ME?  Will you forgive MEEEEE…..?”  I shake off my zombie robes and clamber back to bed.  Mikey stirs.  ‘Are you okay?’ He has to be up for 8 to go to London.

 “John Sutcliffe was a murderer wasn’t he?” I whisper stupidly.  He answers loud and clear: 

 “I think his name is ‘Peter’…Known as the Yorkshire Ripper I think, but he’s not dead.”

 “Strange.  I could have sworn he spoke to me!”  The words I’d written in my last blog came back to haunt me: ‘Everybody deserves a second chance!’  (“Will you forgive ME?…” ) In consciousness I tousle with that magic word  FORGIVENESS.  -‘ But ‘my’ murderer’s act was not premeditated!  I must be dreaming.  Go back to sleep. ‘ I jump awake.  ‘Children! He murdered children…..?’

3.40 am: duvet on then off again. I swoop and catch my fleeing midsummer’s nightmare like a moth in a net; careful not to crumble its wings to dust on this Longest of Nights.  I fetch back the woman wandering in etheric space; still sleeping in her earthly body.  She is a journalist and used to telling stories.  She says she is the living  twin of one of Sutcliffe’s victims! 

“I was interviewed by police when my sister went missing.  Only 5, I couldn’t remember anything!  I feel so guilty.  It was my fault!”  

“What happened?”  …(Come dawn, I rush to record into earthly matter her story,  pull still lucid memories from that sticky candyfloss of restless, magic fairy night):  The girls play happily by the brook, lost in a world of their own.  In those days it was perfectly acceptable.  Only 100 yards from home.

“Dad made us fishing nets from mum’s old stockings, cut off from the knee. He twists some wire into a circle and sticks the pointy bit down the neck of a bamboo cane.  That was the dangerous bit.  We help  Mum sew the stockings on: great big stitches looped around the rim; not much space inside for fishing!  Dad says he made the nets especially small for his girls to go fishing.  Down by the brook. Sticklebacks like mermaids. Colours dazzle like jewels!  Chase them. Trap them. They wriggle to get free.  Lift them out of their hiding places.  They try to swim away.  The hoop is hard.  Little hands clumsy.  Some suffer. Others flounder inside the nylon once worn around my Mother’s feet.  They leap for their lives.  Stick to the side.  Chubby hands clumsy. Tip the mermaids into the glass jar.  They swim again.  In crystal clear water.  Such joy!  Such freedom!  Such colour glinting in the sun.”  Smiling faces of little girls.  Proudly running to show their mum:

“Where’s Helen? …”

“Oh she’s coming Mummy….She’s only got one in her jar.  I got three.”

“Wash your hands it’s time for tea.”  It’s 8 pm. …

“What happened Rita?”

 “What do you mean?”  Tears. 

“Don’t force her.”

“Where’s my sister?”

“Down the lane beside the brook…  Interview the slow worms: Daddy says they’re special underground detectives.  Mustn’t be disturbed!’    They found her jar beside the stream.  Lonely.  Still upright.  One mermaid swimming round and round; dreaming of its natural home.  A policeman crouches. 

“Is this the jar?” He dons white gloves. He tips the mermaid gently back into the waters of the bubbling brook.  She swims for her life.  Free again.  Happy again.   Greeted in ecstacy by her family back home. 

“We thought you were a gonner.”   The marshmallow sky hung timelessly in space.  A new dawn broke.  I’d barely slept a wink.

Peter Sutcliffe is known as The Yorkshire Ripper.  A sadistic serial killer, he murdered 13 girls between  1975 and 1981. I search the list; the many articles written.  I find Rita’s twin sister Helen! – Like all the others, ruthlessly murdered by a blow to the head and then mutilated in a frenzy.  Surprisingly her spirit swam home safely at the time, along with the other tragic victims …bar One.  On that magic Midsummer Night, Helen  and her still living twin were on a mission to help the soul of one little mermaid left behind.  A phantom of herself.  Still suffering in those horrific moments of death in 1976.   Emily Jackson  is hooked from the darkest crevices of the brook and reeled into the light....  

Thank God!  Thank you!  Thank you!”  (Desperate for money to pay their debts – her husband had taken her to a public house in Leeds, notorious rendezvous for prostitutes and clients.  He waited a short time after she left with an unseen punter,  but she never returned.  The following morning her mutilated body was found, violently stabbed 50 times.)

John Sutcliffe, father of the murderer still held in Broadmoor, collaborates from the light.   (“Would YOU forgive me?”  his son Peter had asked him, his resting victims and the rest of us, on that Midsummer Night)   Then breaks the dawn of understanding….My special twins were prostitutes.  They worked together.  Looked out for one another.  Made notes of car numbers of punters.  Arranged to meet again exactly 15 mts later, supposedly safe from the notorious Ripper.  On the night of 31 January 1978, Rita begged her sister not to go…” I feel so guilty.  It was my fault!” … Terrified of being arrested for soliciting, she had waited 3 whole days before notifiying police that her sister had never returned:

The girls play happily by the brook, lost in a world of their own.  In those days it was perfectly acceptable.  Only 100 yards from home.

 

“Dad made us fishing nets from mum’s old stockings, cut off from the knee. He twists some wire into a circle and sticks the pointy bit down the neck of a bamboo cane.  That was the dangerous bit.  We helped Mum sew the stockings on: great big stitches looped around the rim; not much space inside for fishing!  Dad said he made specially small ones for his girls to go fishing.  Down by the brook.  Sticklebacks like mermaids. Colours dazzle like jewels!  Chase them. Trap them. They wriggle to get free.  Lift them out of their hiding places.  They try to swim away.  The hoop is hard.  Little hands clumsy.  Some suffer. Others flounder inside the nylon once worn around their mother’s feet.  They leap for their lives.  Stick to the side.  Chubby hands clumsy. Tip the mermaids into the glass jar.  They swim again.  In crystal clear water.  Such joy!  Such freedom!  Such colour glinting in the sun.  Smiling faces of little girls.  Proudly running to show their mum’.

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A case of possession by a murderer

21 06 2010

I have changed the names in my story to protect the lady who came to me for help on this matter, but you may be interested in the position of the murderer as well as the ‘possessed’…..

My client ‘Lucy’ is what we term a physical medium – ie she invites people ‘in spirit’ to take over her vocal cords and speak through her….a practice that I personally do not recommend as she needs my help to clear her of those earthbound spirits who haven’t yet integrated with the light.  If you are a regular reader of my blogs you will know that such attachments can cause mental, emotional and even physical dis-ease:  A couple of years ago she had a dribbling old man attached to her – someone she knew personally and channelled through herself (allowing him to take possession of her body) for the so-called benefit of his still living relative.  He refused to leave again and made her life a misery for 2 years before she came to me for help.  (ie he was earthbound and had not been channelled from the light, where people assume their relatives to be). 

Now Lucy had her adopted grandmother doing the same thing – and also apparently preventing her from seeing me: ‘Don’t you DARE go and see that  Jane!” she had warned her.

Her presence is suffocating me! – ” Lucy complained breathlessly over the phone, saying she was ‘a big woman!’

Lucy also communicates with a ‘team’ on the spiritual side of life (those who have passed safely and advise her on matters) and had been told by them to ignore the heavy demands and suffocating orders of this relative – a woman we shall call Freda – and get back in touch with me for assistance.  According to Lucy, “Freda is unable to get into the other side as they won’t let her…nobody is prepared to let her in…” .  I must say I was greatly surprised by this as I have never come across a ‘rejection’ from the light before.

I needed more history and Lucy told me that Freda had murdered her own mother! (Lucy is adopted).  I have no idea whether Freda was found guilty for this so-called crime during her lifetime (she died in 1981 aged 87) or whether my client had been given this information from her ‘team’, but before seeing Lucy for her appointment next week I decided to test the spiritual waters…..

Immediately, I was able to ‘catch’ the spirit of Freda and – predictably – she fought against my energies like a huge fish on the end of a hook, but I gripped my dowser tightly, just holding her long enough to ask the crucial question…

“Did you murder Lucy’s mother?”

Get lost!” (ironic considering her own position) “It’s none of your business!” (I took that to be a ‘yes’ and held her while I thought about the next step…)  She struggled and pulled against my strong hold on her, so I asked quickly

“Why did you do that?”

“SICK of her….sick of her!” she yelled at me.  So angry and twisted was she at the injustice of being stuck in her own ‘hell’ for 29 years I could not make out her features, but let her off the hook and left her snarling spirit to ‘go back underground’.

At 4.30 pm yesterday I tried again, once more hooking the spirit of this elderly lady to within my reach.  Again she fought like crazy, but this time I suggested to her that maybe her victim (RIP) was willing to forgive her?  The change was remarkable.  She stopped fighting and struggling…..my dowser stopped flailing about and settled into a comfortable swing from side to side:

“Do you think?” she asked, aghast at the possibility.  “But what about Lucy?  Lucy will NEVER forgive me for what I did to her mother!”  She started to head for the deep dark waters again but I knew there was hope for her soul and quickly reassured her that Lucy would do the same….

“I am sure she is willing to forgive you too!”  At this stage she was sufficiently lifted from the quagmire of her own debased thoughts and clinging guilt/anger about her victim’s behaviour – that subsequently drove her to kill, distracted enough for a connection – albeit a thin one – to be made with the light.  She struggled not to stay, this time, but to get through that sliver of light which was hope and forgiveness.  Someone named Ernestine reached out to help her and after a few more stops and starts she at last broke free from the earthly chains of guilt that had made her fight so hard to stay out of the light.

I was delighted to see Lucy’s mother and her murderer greet one another in a bear huge of forgiveness.  Interestingly, when I ‘tapped’ the words ‘I forgive my adopted grandmother for killing my mother’ into Lucy’s crown (this loosens the energies of the meridians, which can be seen on a CAT scan)  another four attached spirits – feeding off her natural distaste and unforgiveness of her mother’s murderer – were also hooked out and into the light!

Puzzled as to why the souls in the light were, according to Lucy, ‘keeping her out’ (as everybody deserves a second chance) I now became aware that she could not have been allowed home until she had ‘seen the light’ – the error of her ways and the glimmer of hope in forgiveness!”

“Is that right?” I asked my higher self (or spiritual guide of the moment!)

“Institutional rights!” came back the strange answer. “Institutional rights – they will be let out of the institution/prison of their own making once they have become aware of their ‘rights’ as opposed to their ‘wrongs’.

Fascinating! 

 ps ‘Lucy’s real mother sent her a message saying she did not suffer unduly; that they both live on in *ratification and that although  not wholly responsible for the actions of her attacker (who had hit her with a blunt instrument and hidden her body under the floorboards) she did in some small part feel she cajoled, provoked and pushed ‘Freda’ to the limits. ‘Freda’ herself said to Lucy: ‘I have served repentance and am grateful to your mother, who has forgiven my sins.  She accepts responsibility in a small but loving way. Tell ‘Lucy’ we love her!”   

After they had dictated these messages another 33 lost souls who had also died at the hands of murderers and whose bodies had been disregarded in the same way – f’rom Naples to Sussex to Aberdeenshire and China’ -were hooked into the vortex and helped home, on yet another like-attracts-like basis.

*Ratification: to confirm by expressing consent, approval, or formal sanction: to ratify a constitutional amendment/ to confirm (something done or arranged by an agent or by representatives) by such action. Synonyms are ‘to corroborate, approve, validate, establish’ (dictionary.com)








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