Free The Eagle and the Rose by Rosemary Altea Page B

being weighted down by a tremendous but unseen force. My body became a dead weight, but my head felt light and almost weightless.
    As usual, I struggled to try to retain control of my senses, and I felt, rather than saw, Mick's reassuring hand in mine. “Just relax,” he said, his voice soothing and calming. “Let it happen, and don't try to right it. We're all here to help, just let yourself go.”
    It took a while before I was able to do as he said, but gradually I let go of my inhibitions, and the trance state was complete.
    No sooner was I “out” than I was replaced by the first spirit entity waiting to communicate.
    Being only in the first stage of trance, I was able to see and hear all, and as I looked on I was amazed at the transformation my body was making. I watched in fascination as my physical body began to move, slowly at first, as if someone were trying it on for size. Then, quickly becoming used to it, “he” stood up.
    It seemed not to be my physical self any longer, being much taller and quite broad set, giving the distinct impression of a male form rather than female.
    He stood high in stature and straight, his shoulders set back and his arms folded across his chest. It was no longer my own physical form that I was looking at, but his.
    His very presence was electric and tremendously impressive, but the thing that struck me most about him was the power and energy that seemed to exude from his very being. He was tall and broad, dark skinned, with shoulder-length black hair. And he had the most startling and beautiful eyes. Standing straight and proud, bare chested, with his arms folded, he looked around the room.
    Then he spoke, in a voice strong and vibrant with energy, and all became clear.
    “My name,” he said, “is Grey Eagle, and I am Apache.
    “From now on you will know me as guide, teacher, and mentor to your medium.
    “Together we will work in spiritual harmony, she and I. Your medium will learn many things, and her progress will be great.
    “We will achieve much.
    “My little flower is weak and exhausted from her many earthly trials. She needs water, food, and sustenance, which I, as her spirit guide and protector, will give.
    “Which I will always give.”
    Now there are many strange and unaccountable things that happen in the course of a medium's working life. And I would surely lose faith in myself and in my guide if I were to pretend, for the sake of credulity, that they did not.
    My new guide had, I had noticed, referred to “his little flower, his rose.” But it took a few minutes after hearing this before I realized, with some surprise, who it was he had been referring to.
    His little flower? His rose?
    Yes. His little flower was me. And yes, Mick McGuire did surely watch as I “ate” my words, for as he had told me just a few months before, my spirit guide was indeed an American Indian.
    Grey Eagle spoke more. His English was good, with only a slight, undefined accent. His voice held a special quality, firm and strong but at the same time gentle. I was drawn toward him, compelled to listen.
    “We know each other, she and I, and yet she will not remember me.
    “We who are of spirit have been waiting.
    “The time is now.
    “We have asked of her a great service.
    “She will do well.”
    So many other things were said that night, as Grey Eagle explained his presence and the need for spirit guides. He also told us of how the dancing Scotsman had been sent on ahead so that the ground could be prepared for the work that was before us.
    My guide has often, since that first visit, referred to himself as “the gardener.” And once or twice I have been chastised by him, but gently, if I have thought to make decisions concerning certain people around me whom I have to work with.
    Two or three years later, when I had set up a healing organization and had begun teaching the art of healing, I remember having problems with a particular class of students, and I decided that perhaps