Phsyical Mediumship Southern Ireland

Pathway to Spirit, via Joan Hughes is committed to promoting physical mediumship. Over the coming months we intend to expand the website to include articles on physical mediums, some well known, for example , and other mediums, less well know.

These county pages will be devoted to local groups where physical mediumship is of interest, and also provide a place for publication of physical circle activity.

Please feel free to send us an update from you circle's activities and let us have any news or articles you think relevant to physical mediumship. Contact Joan Hughes for advice on sitting in physical circles. See also information on the development circle at Swadlincote Spiritualist Church..

Notice Board for this Area

Nothing to post for this area as yet. In the meantime here is an extract from one of my favorite books, "The Power of Now".

Is it possible to recover the lost teachings on the significance of the body or to reconstruct them from the existing fragments?

There is no need for that. All spiritual teachings originate from the same Source. In that sense, there is and always has been only one master, who manifests in many different forms. I am that master, and so are you, once you are able to access the Source within. And the way to it is through the inner body. Although all spiritual teachings originate from the same Source, once they become verbalized and written down they are obviously no more than collections of words - and a word is nothing but a signpost, as we talked about earlier. All such teachings are signposts pointing the way back to the Source. I have already spoken of the Truth that is hidden within your body, but I will summarize for you again the lost teachings of the masters - so here is another signpost. Please endeavor to feel your inner body as you read or listen.

What you perceive as a dense physical structure called the body, which is subject to disease, old age, and death, is not ultimately real - is not you. It is a misperception of your essential reality that is beyond birth and death, and is due to the limitations of your mind, which, having lost touch with Being, creates the body as evidence of its illusory belief in separation and to justify its state of fear. But do not turn away from the body, for within that symbol of impermanence, limitation, and death that you perceive as the illusory creation of your mind is concealed the splendor of your essential and immortal reality. Do not turn your attention elsewhere in your search for the Truth, for it is nowhere else to be found but within your body. Do not fight against the body, for in doing so you are fighting against your own reality. You are your body. The body that you can see and touch is only a thin illusory veil. Underneath it lies the invisible inner body, the doorway into Being, into Life Unmanifested. Through the inner body, you are inseparably connected to this unmanifested One Life - birthless, deathless, eternally present. Through the inner body, you are forever one with God.

The key is to be in a state of permanent connectedness with your inner body - to feel it at all times. This will rapidly deepen and transform your life. The more consciousness you direct into the inner body, the higher its vibrational frequency becomes, much like a light that grows brighter as you turn up the dimmer switch and so increase the flow of electricity. At this higher energy level, negativity cannot affect you anymore, and you tend to attract new circumstances that reflect this higher frequency.

Phsyical Mediumship Southern Ireland

Extracts from Robert Monroe's Journey's out of the Body

Any acknowledgment of the existence of the Second Body immediately demands the question mankind has pondered since the day he learned to think: Do we live on? Is there life beyond the grave? Our religions say believe, have faith. This is not quite enough for the syllogistic thinker who seeks valid premises that are clear-cut, leading to an inescapable conclusion. All I can do is be as reportorial and objective as one can be in a basically subjective experience. Perhaps my premises will be valid to you as you read them. I first met Dr. Richard Gordon in 1942, in New York. He was an M.D., a specialist in internal medicine. We became friends, and he became our family doctor. He had a very successful practice, built up over the years, and possessed a rare cynical-sarcastic sense of humor. He was a down-to-earth realist with the wisdom of experience. He was in his fifties when we first met, so I never knew him as a young man. He was short and thin, with straight white hair, tending to baldness. Dr. Gordon had two conspicuous mannerisms. He had decided to live a long time, evidently, and so paced himself very carefully. He walked deliberately in a slow, careful stride. He hurried only when absolutely necessary. More correctly, he strolled when he walked, with studied casualness. Second, when someone visited him in his office, he would glance out from the inner doorway and stare intently. He didn't say "hello" or nod or wave. He simply stared as if he were saying, "Now what in hell's the matter with him!" Without ever having spoken of it, Dr. Gordon and I had a very warm and close rapport. It was one of those things that happen without explanation, with no logical reason. We had not too much in common, other than the fact of going going through a life experience at nearly the same moment in history. In the spring of 1961 visited Dr. Gordon at his office and had lunch with him there, cooked over a Bunsen burner by his long-time nurse. He looked tired and preoccupied and I commented about it. "I haven't been feeling too well," he replied, and then flared up into his usual self. "What's the matter, can't a doctor get sick once in a while!" I laughed, and suggested he do something about it, such as seeing his family physician, "I will," he said absently, then back up to his normal self, "but first, I'm going to Europe." I said that sounded fine. "Already have the tickets," he went on. "We've gone a number of times before, but this time I want to see a lot of the places we've missed. You ever been to Greece, or Turkey, Spain, Portugal, Egypt?" I said no. "Well, you ought to," he said, pushing his food away. "Go when you have the chance. You wouldn't want to miss seeing places like that. I'm not going to miss my chance." I said I would do my best, but that I didn't have a fat practice that would wait around for me to return. But he was serious again. "Bob?" I waited for him to continue. "I don't like the way I feel," he said carefully. "I don't like . . . why don't you and your wife come to Europe with us?" I wish we had. Dr. Gordon and his wife sailed to Spain a week or so later. There was no word, so I assumed they were sunning themselves somewhere in the Mediterranean. Six weeks later, Mrs. Gordon phoned. The doctor had taken sick in Europe and they had to cut short their trip. He had refused treatment overseas, and had insisted that they return home instead. He had been in great pain, and had gone immediately into the hospital for an exploratory operation. I was unable to see him in the hospital, but I was kept informed of his condition by his wife. The exploratory operation was a success. They found what they were looking for, an abdominal cancer, beyond treatment. Nothing more could be done but to make him as comfortable as possible. He would never leave the hospital. Alive, that is. Or more aptly, physically alive. With this news, I felt I must find some way to see Dr. Gordon. It was all quite clear now, as most things are in retrospect. I am sure he knew of his condition that day in his office. After all, he was an internist He certainly could have read the signs and symptoms in his own very personal laboratory. That was the reason for the sudden trip to Europe. He definitely wasn't going to miss his last chance! And he didn't The need to talk with Dr. Gordon seemed urgent. In all of our conversations, I had never mentioned my "wild talent" or what I had been going through. I think I was afraid he would have thrown back his head and laughed, then sent me to his psychiatrist son. Now it was different. He was racing something where perhaps I could help him for a change. I didn't know how what I had gone through could help, but I had a deep conviction that it would. I tried again and again to see Dr. Gordon, but only his wife was permitted in his room. I finally asked Mrs. Gordon to help me get in to see him. She explained that the doctor was in such pain that he was kept under deep sedation most of the time. Thus he was very rarely lucid and conscious. Usually he recognized her early in the morning, but even this didn't happen every day. I told her that I had something important to tell him. I didn't elaborate. Even in her sorrow, she seemed to recognize that I intended to bring a message beyond that of a comforting friend. The intuitive woman found a solution. "Why don't you write him a letter,' she suggested. "I'll take it to him." I said I was afraid he wouldn't be able to read it. "If you write it," she said, "I'll read it to him, when he's conscious enough to understand it." And so that was what we did. She read it again and again to Dr. Gordon whenever he was conscious. She told me later that these repeated readings were at his request, not at her suggestion. Was there something in the letter he wanted to place firmly in his mind? When I heard this, I felt a great sense of regret. Perhaps he would not have leaned back and laughed, after all. We might have shared much more if I had only gathered the courage to discuss my "activities" with him. Here are pertinent excerpts of the letter to Dr. Gordon: ". . . and you remember all the tests and examinations you gave me because you knew I was worried about something. Well, that was when it started. Now as long as you are in the hospital for a while, you might just try it and find out for yourself. That way, you don't have to take my word for it. It will give you something to do while you recuperate. "First, you have to accept the possibility, remote as it may be to your experience, that you can act, think, and exist without the restriction of a physical body. And don't tell your wife to send me to that psychiatrist son of yours. It takes more than Freud to solve this one. Besides, he's making enough money as it is. "In all of our conversations, it didn't seem appropriate to bring up this subject. But as long as you're going to be tied down, give it some serious consideration. It might be useful later on, and I hope you can discover a few things about it that I have passed over. It all depends upon whether you can also develop the ability to 'leave' your physical body while loafing in that hospital bed. If so, you might find many ways that it can be helpful. It may be one way to ease physical pain. I don't know. Give it a try. "... With all the sincerity I can muster, I urge you, Dick, to think about it. You will have passed a major milestone when you do no more than accept the idea that this second, non-physical body of yours actually might exist. Once this has been achieved, your only other barrier is fear. And it need not be. Because this is like being afraid of your shadow, of yourself. It is natural rather than strange. Get used to this ideaâ€”that your lack of conscious experience with it does not necessarily mean it is something to be afraid of. Unknowns are feared only as long as they remain so. If you can hang onto this, you need not have fear. Then, and only then, try the formula I have written here. I don't know the effect of any medication you may be taking. It may help or hinder the technique. But do give it a try. It may or may not work the first time. ". . . Most important, let me know how you get along with it. When you get better, perhaps I can drop over and discuss the whole thing in detail. I would have come now in person, but you know how cranky the hospital is about rules. If you tell your wife about any attempts, I'm sure she will relay them to me. But I would much rather hear them from you later on. Just let me know. . , ." Mrs. Gordon did not let me know if he actually did try. I felt it entirely inappropriate to query her too specifically at the time. She was much too sadly overwrought with the knowledge that Dr. Gordon's condition was terminal. I still am not sure that she realized my letter could be construed as suggested training for death. Dr. Gordon dropped into a coma several weeks later. He died peacefully without regaining consciousness. For several months I thought about an attempt to "go" to Dr. Gordon, wherever he was. He was the first person close to me who had died since the development of my "wild talent." I was both curious and objective. It was the first such opportunity. I was sure that Dr. Gordon wouldn't mindâ€”if he did continue to exist. Not knowing about such things, I decided he would probably need some rest before I interfered with whatever he was doing. Also, I needed to summon up some additional courage on my own. This was an experiment I hadn't tried before. It might be truly dangerous. Then, on a Saturday afternoon, I made the attempt. It took about an hour to get into the vibrational state, and I finally swung up out of the body mentally yelling, I want to see Dr. Gordon! After a moment, I started to move rapidly upward, and soon all I could see was a blur of motion and feel what seemed like a rush of very thin air. Also, I felt a hand under my left elbow. Somebody was helping me get there.

After what seemed an endless journey, I suddenly stopped (or was halted). I was standing, somewhat dazed, in a large room. My impression was that it was an institution of some kind. The hand under my elbow moved me to an open doorway, and stopped me just inside the door, where I could look into the adjoining room. A male voice spoke almost directly into my left ear. "If you stand right here, the doctor will see you in a minute." I nodded agreement, and stood there waiting. A group of men were in the room. Three or four were listening to a young man about twenty-two who was excitedly relating something to them, complete with gestures. I didn't see Dr. Gordon, and kept expecting him to appear at any moment. The more I waited, the warmer I seemed to feel. Finally, I became so hot that I was extremely uncomfortable. I didn't know what was causing me to feel so hot, and I wasn't sure I could stand it much longer. It actually felt as if streams of perspiration were running down my face. I knew that I couldn't stay much longer; I couldn't take the heat. If Dr. Gordon didn't appear soon, I would have to go back without seeing him. I turned and looked again at the group of men, thinking that perhaps I should ask them about Dr. Gordon. At just that moment, the short, thin young man with the big shock of hair stopped in the middle of his conversation, and looked at me intently for a moment. After the simple short glance, he turned back to the other men and continued his animated discussion, The heat became unbearable, and I decided I had to leave. I couldn't wait for Dr. Gordon. Using a motion I had learned, I moved quickly upward and away from the room. It was a long journey back. After reintegrating, I checked my physical body. I felt cold, a little stiff. Certainly there were no streams of perspiration running down my cheeks. Disappointed, I sat up and made notes of the trip. I had failed for some reason. I had not been able to find Dr. Gordon. Time away from the physical was two hours. There is a stubborn streak in my heredity. The following Saturday I tried again. Just at the moment I left the physical body and started to yell for Dr. Gordon, a voice spoke right beside me, almost irritated. "Why do you want to see him again? You saw him last Saturday!" I was so surprised that I dropped back into the physical almost instantly. I sat up and looked around the office. There was no one in the room. Everything was normal. I thought of trying again, but decided it was too late for another attempt that day. Last Saturday. There was nothing important about last Saturday. It hadn't worked. I went back through my notes for "last Saturday." And there it was. "The doctor will see you in a minute.' And what could have been a minute later, a short, thin young man with a shock of hair had turned and looked at me intently. He had looked at me without saying a word, as if he were thinking. What I had noted was a perfect description of what Dr. Gordon would have been at twenty-two instead of seventy. This seemed to lend more credence to the experience than anything else. I had expected to see a man of seventy. I didn't recognize him because he was not what I expected. If I had suggested this as a hallucination, I conceivably would have met a seventy-year-old Dr. Gordon. Later, at a visit to the home of Dr. Gordon's widow, I managed to see an old photo of Dr. Gordon when he was twenty-two. Of course, I didn't tell Mrs. Gordon why I wanted to see the picture. It matched perfectly the man I saw, and who saw me "there." She also mentioned that at that age, he was very active and eager, always in a hurry, and had a big shock of blond hair. Someday I will try again to visit Dr. Gordon. Another time, in anticipation of a move out of state, we sold our home when a buyer suddenly came along. As a temporary measure, we rented a house for the year prior to our move. . It was an interesting place built on a pinnacle of rock directly over a small river. We rented it through an agent, and never met or came in contact with the owner. My wife and I took the master bedroom, which was on the main floor. About a week after we moved in, we went to bed and my wife fell asleep almost immediately. I lay there in semidark-ness and looked through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the night sky. Without willing it, I felt the familiar vibrations begin, and wondered if it would be all right to let it happen in the new location., Our bed was positioned off the north wall. To the right of the bed, if you were lying down, was the door to the hall. To the left of the bed was the doorway into the master bathroom. I was just in the act of lifting out of the physical when I noticed something at the doorway. It was a white form the general size and shape of a person. Having become extremely cautious about "strangers," I waited to see what would happen. The white form moved into the room, around the bed, and passed within a foot of my side of the bed as it went into the bathroom. I could see that it was a woman of medium height, with dark straight hair and rather deep-set eyes, not young, not old. She was in the bathroom only a few moments, then emerged and started around the bed again. I sat upâ€”non-physically, I'm sureâ€”and reached out to touch her, to see if I really could. Seeing the motion, she stopped and looked at me. When she spoke, I could hear her quite clearly. I could see the windows and drapes behind her and through her. "What are you going to do about the painting?" It was a woman's voice, and I could see her lips move. Not knowing what to say, I tried to give a satisfactory answer. I said I would take care of it, don't worry. With this, she smiled slightly. Then she reached out with both her hands and took my hand in hers, clasping my hand between both of hers. The hands felt real, normally warm and alive. She gave my hand a little squeeze, gently dropped it, and moved around the bed and out the door. I waited, but she didn't return. 1 lay down, activated the physical, then slid out of bed. I went to the hall door and looked into the other rooms. There was no one there. I went through all of the downstairs rooms and found nothing. Then I made out my notes, went back to bed, and slept. A few days later I met the psychiatrist who lived in the house next to us, Dr. Samuel Kahn. (I kept meeting psychiatrists this casually!) I asked him if he had known the people who owned our house. "Yes, yes, I knew them quite well," Dr. Kahn said. "Mrs. W. died about a year ago. After that, Mr. W. refused to go into the house, just moved out and didn't come back." I said it was too bad, that it was a fine house. "Well, it was her house, you understand,' Dr. Kahn replied. "Matter of fact, she died right there in the house, in the room you're sleeping in." I said that was interesting. She must have liked the house very much. "Oh, she did," he replied. "Very fond of paintings. Had them hung all over the place. But the house was pretty much her whole life." I asked him if he happened to have a photo of Mrs. W. "Let me see." He thought for a moment. "Why, yes. I think she was in on a group picture taken at the club. I'll see if I can find it." Dr. Kahn came back a few minutes later. In his hand was a photograph showing some fifty or sixty men and women, most of them simply heads as they stood in rows. Dr. Kahn studied the picture. "She's in here somewhere, yes, I'm sure." I looked over his shoulder at the picture. In the second row was a familiar face. I touched it with my finger and asked Dr. Kahn if this was Mrs. W. "Oh yes, yes, that's Mrs. W." He looked at me curiously, then with realization. "Oh, you must have found a picture of her in the house somewhere." I said yes, that was it. Very casually, I asked him if Mrs. W. had had any unusual mannerisms or the like. "No, not that I can remember,' he answered. "But I'll think about it. There must have been something." I thanked him, and started to leave. I turned when he called. "Wait a minute, there was one item," Dr. Kahn said. I asked what it was. "Why, whenever she was happy or grateful, she took your hand in both of hers, palm to palm, and gave a little squeeze. Does that help?" That helped. With experience, I became a little more convinced that I could take such chances in areas that were certainly unusual. A very close friend, Agnew Bahnson, was about my age and we had much in common. I had known him for about eight years. He was a pilot, among other things, and flew frequently in his company airplane. One of his research interests was antigravity, which we discussed many times. He had a laboratory where he conducted experiments in this field. Among matters we discussed relative to his gravity studies was the question of how one or even two people could demonstrate any effective results in antigravity in this age of massive research teams and extremely expensive instrumentation. On a business trip to New York in 1964, I found myself in my hotel room with an hour to spare in the afternoon. I decided to take a nap. I lay down on the bed, and had just started to drop off to sleep when I heard Mr. Bahnson's voice. "There is a way to prove antigravity. All you have to do is to demonstrate it yourself, and you have been trained to do it" I sat up, fully awake. I knew what the voice was referring to, but I hadn't had the courage to try it. But why did Mr. Bahnson's voice sound so real in this dream? I looked at the clock by the bed, and it was just about three-fifteen. I was too wide awake now to sleep, so I got up and went out When I returned home two days later, my wife was very quiet I asked her what was wrong. "We didn't want to upset you with all you had to do in New York," she said, "but Agnew Bahnson is dead. He was killed trying to land his airplane in a small field out in Ohio." I remembered Mr. Bahnson's voice in New York. I asked her if he had been killed two days ago, at about three-fifteen in the afternoon. My wife looked at me a long rime before she said, 'Yes. That was when it happened." She didn't ask how I knew. She was past that long ago. I didn't make any attempt to "go** to Mr. Bahnson for several months. I presumed without any known reason that he needed rest. It had something to do with a violent death, and I'm still not sure I was right Finally, I grew impatient On Sunday afternoon I lay down with the deliberate intent of going to visit Mr. Bahnson. After about an hour of preparation, I finally made it out of the physical, and began to travel rapidly through what seemed to be nothing but darkness. I was mentally shouting, Agnew Bahnson I, again and again as I traveled. Suddenly, I stopped, or was stopped, I was in a rather dark room. Someone was holding me very still in a standing position. After a moment of waiting, a cloud of white gas seemed to blow up through a small hole in the floor. The cloud took form and some sense told me it was Mr. Bahnson, although I could not see him too well or identify his features. He spoke immediately in an excited and happy way. "Bob, you'll never believe all of the things that have happened since I've been here!" There was no more. At a signal from someone, the cloud of white gas lost its human form and seemed to recede back into the hole in the floor. The hands on my elbows steered me away, and I took off back to the physical. That is the way Mr. Bahnson would have beenâ€”too interested in new things and new experiences to waste time in the "then" or the past Just like Dr. Gordon. If it was a self-induced hallucination, at least it was original I have never read anything like it. Does that explain the time coincidence in the New York hotel room? There is one more. In 1964 my father died at the age of eighty-two. Although I had been rebellious in early years against paternal authority, I felt quite close to my father in later years. And I'm sure he felt close to me. He had suffered a stroke several months before which had left him almost completely paralyzed and incapable of speech. The latter was evidently most vexing, as it would naturally be to a man who was a linguist, whose life had been devoted to the study and teaching of languages. During this period, when I visited him, he made desperate, heart-rending attempts to speak to me, to tell me something. His eyes pleaded that I understand. Only slight moans came from his lips. I tried to comfort him, talked to him. He tried his best to answer. I couldn't tell if he even understood my words. My father died quietly in his sleep one afternoon. He had lived a full life, a successful one, and his death brought mingled sadness and a sense of release. Again and again, I have realized the importance of some of the down-to-earth beliefs and concepts that I learned from my father. I will always be grateful. This time, with one very close to me just recently dead, I had much less trepidation than before. Or perhaps familiarity, at least the sense of it, bred a little less caution and more faith. The only reason that I waited several months was one of convenience. Other pressing matters in my personal and business life seemed to prevent the necessary ability to relax. However, I woke up at about 3 A.M. on a week-night and felt that I could try to visit my father. I went through my ritual, and the vibrations came easily and swiftly. In moments, I disengaged without effort, and was up and free in the darkness. This time, I didn't use the mental yell. I concentrated upon the personality of my father and "reached" to be where he was. I began to move rapidly through the darkness. I could see nothing, but there was the tremendous sense of motion coupled with the pull of thick, liquidlike air rushing past my body. It is much like the feeling of plunging through water after a dive. Suddenly, I stopped. I do not recall anyone stopping me this time, nor could I feel the hand on my elbow. I was in a dim room of large proportions. I seemed to know that this was like a hospital or convalescent home, but no treatment as we know it was practiced here. I started to look around for my father. I didn't know what to expect, but at least I looked forward to a joyful reunion. There were several small rooms off the main room where I stood. I looked into two of these, and in each there were several people who paid little attention to me. I began to wonder if I had come to the wrong place. The third room was no larger than a monk's cell, with a small window about shoulder height in the wall opposite the door. There was a man leaning against the wall near the window, looking out. I saw only his back as I entered. Then he turned and saw me. His face registered utter astonishment, and my "dead" father spoke to me. "What are you doing here!" He said this in exactly the manner a person would use who had traveled halfway around the world and then met someone to whom he had just said goodbye back home. I was too excited to speak, and just stood there, hoping for the joyful reunion I had expected. It came immediately. My father reached forward, grabbed me under the armpits, and happily swung me high over his head and down again, just as I remembered so well as a small child, just as most fathers have done with their small sons. He put me down on my feet again, and I was confident enough to speak. I asked him how he was feeling. "Much better now," he said. "The pain is gone." It was almost as if I had reminded him of something he wanted to forget. The energy seemed to drain out of him, and he turned away, appearing tired. As I watched him, he seemed to forget I was there. He looked thinner, and about fifty, based upon pictures we have when he was that age. I sensed that the meeting was over. There could be no more for now. Quietly, I moved back out of the room, turned and "reached" out, and returned to the physical body. It took much less time to return than to go. Was it that way? Was the pain so intense in those last days when he couldn't make himself understood to get help to ease that pain? If that is true, what a terrible prison his body must have been. Death was indeed a blessing. Will I try to "see" him again? I don't know, I don't know if I should. There are many other experiences, less personal, but equally impressive. They all led me to an inescapable empirical conclusion, which alone justified the many, many hours of anguish, uncertainty, fear, loneliness, and disillusion; which was a point of embarkation on what some call the Quantum Jump in thinking and the beginning of a new viewpoint and perspective; which permitted the pains and pleasures of HereNow to drop into their proper category of importance (what is a minute, hour, or year in an infinity of existence?); which opened a doorway to a reality that may ultimately prove incomprehensible to the conscious human mind, yet will continue to tantalize the curious and incriminate the intellectual. Is this my answer? Compound these experiences with the knowledge that the human personality can and does operate away from the physical body, and there can be but one. If there is to be a Great Message herein, this may suffice. If the human being has a Second Body, if that Second Body survives what we call death, if personality and character continue to exist in this new-old formâ€”what then? Again, an age-old question that pleads for an answer. To date, in twelve years of non-physical activities, I find no evidence to substantiate the biblical notions of God and afterlife in a place called heaven. Perhaps I have found this and simply haven't recognized it. It is quite possible. It may be that I am not "qualified." On the other hand, much of what I have encountered could be some basics which have been distorted through hundreds of years. Let's start with prayer, which is supposed to be a direct communication with God. As we are taught to pray today, it is as if a chemical formula is recited without any knowledge of the original intent or meaning of the ingredients. Or the way our children sing "London Bridge Is Falling Down," with no knowledge of the original meaning of the song. Our entire civilization is filled with such irrational habits. Evidently, prayer is one of these. Somewhere, someone knew how to pray. He tried to teach others. A few learned the methodology. Others absorbed only the words, and the words themselves became altered and changed over the years. Gradually, the technique was lost, until accidentally (?) rediscovered periodically through the ages. In the latter cases, only rarely has the rediscoverer been able to convince others that the Old, Established Way is not quite right This is all I can report. The Old, Established Way is not enough. Or as I say, perhaps I am not qualified. Worse still, it may be that my prayer training was insufficient or improper. At any rate, it didn't work for me. Here is an illustration. On one non-physical excursion, I was speeding through nothing back to the physical with everything apparently well under control. Without warning, I rammed into a solid wall of some impenetrable material. I wasn't hurt, but I was utterly shocked. The material was hard and solid, and seemed to be made of huge plates of steel overlapping slightly and welded together. Each had a slight curvature as if: part of a globe. I tried to push through it, but could not. I went up, down, to the right, and to the left. I was absolutely sure my physical body lay beyond this barrier. After what seemed an hour of scratching, clawing, and pushing at this barrier, I prayed. I used every prayer I had ever learned, and made up a few special ones. And I meant every word more than I had ever meant anything in my life. I was that frightened. Nothing happened. I was still plastered against the barrier, unable to get through and back to my physical body. I panicked. I clawed, screamed, and sobbed. After this proved futile, I finally calmed down only out of emotional exhaustion. Feeling lost, I lay there and rested, clinging to the cold, hard wall I don't know how long I lay there until the ability to think objectively returned. But it did. I couldn't stay there forever â€”or at least I didn't want to. It seemed an impossible situation. Where before had I encountered an apparently impossible situation? I remembered. Years before, a friend and I had purchased an airplane whose flight characteristics we did not know. The only reason we bought this particular plane was that it was cheap and in good condition. After several practice flights around the field, we decided to take it up for acrobatics. With borrowed parachutes, we took off and headed up to around ten thousand feet. We took it through several lazy eights, a few sloppy loops, and several spins. Everything seemed all right. After climbing back to altitude, we nosed the ship down slightly and popped stick and rudder to go into a snap roll. The next thing we knew, we were in a spin. We centered stick, and forward, the accepted recovery procedure. It had worked before beautifully. But not this time. The spin became flatter, faster, and was developing a whiplike action. Opposite rudder against the spin, bursts of power, none had any effect on the spin. If anything, the spin worsened and the ground was coming up fast. Bill looked around from the front cockpit, his face white. He yelled at me over the wind roar, "We better get out of here!" I was ready to leave too. The only thing that kept me there a few more seconds was the possible loss of the airplane for which I had saved so long. I reasoned, We've tried everything except the procedure that violates the rules, the one thing not to do if you're in a spin. Pull back on the stick. What did I have to lose? I pulled back on the stick. The ship straightened out of the spin immediately and gathered flying speed. I rolled it until the earth was where it belonged. We landed safely and crawled out shakily and sat on the ground. We had fallen into an outside spin. Neither of us had seen such a spin before, much less tried one. I remembered the outside spin. I tried to apply the concept as I lay there panting against the barrier. Forward, up, down, right, leftâ€”no good. There was Just one remaining direction, although my knowledge said definitely it was not right. It couldn't make things any worse to try, so I did, and only a few moments later, I was back in the physical shaken but safe. Which way? It was obvious in hindsight: away from the barrier, back in the direction from which I had been traveling. Why this worked, I don't know. Nor do I know what the barrier was. Perhaps it could be rationalized that prayer did work. I did get back, didn't I? If it did, it was not in the manner that religion taught me. No helping angel came hurrying to give me aid and comfort Another time, I was visiting my brother and his family overnight Shortly after retiring to the guest room, I went to bed for some much needed rest. If it has any bearing, the headboard of my bed backed against the wall separating my room from that of my four-year-old niece. Her bed was directly against the same wall As I stretched out in the dark, the familiar surge of vibrations came, and I decided to slip out for a moment just to test being in this condition away from home. The moment I left the physical, I became aware of three beings in the room. I stayed cautiously close to my physical body as they came nearer. They started to pull at me, not hard, but deliberately as if to see what I would do. They were having a good time at it. I tried to stay calm, but there were three of them. I wasn't sure I could get back into the physical quickly enough before they pulled me away. So I prayed. Again, I used every prayer I knew. I asked God to help me. I prayed in the name of Jesus Christ for help. I tried a few saints I had heard of through my Catholic wife. The result? My tormentors laughed loudly and worked me over more enthusiastically. "Listen to him pray to his gods," one chuckled, most contemptuously. "Listen to him!" I think I got a little angry after that. I began to push back, got close to my physical body, and dove in. I wasn't exactly fighting back, but I certainly didn't remain passive. I sat up in the physical most relieved to be back. Even as I sat up, I heard a child crying. It was coming from the room beyond the wall. I waited several minutes, expecting my sister-in-law to come and calm the little girl and get her back to sleep. After some ten minutes, the little girl, J., still had not stopped. I got up and went out to the adjoining bedroom. My sister-in-law had the little girl, who was still sobbing deeply, in her arms and was trying to comfort her. I asked what was wrong, and could I help? "She'll be all right in a little while, I think," my sister-in-law replied. "She must have had a nightmare or bad dream, and I can't seem to wake her up." I asked how long the girl had been crying. "Oh, just a few minutes before you came in. She isn't like this. She usually sleeps very soundly." I offered again to help if needed, and went back to my room. Some time later little J. quieted down and evidently went to sleep. Was my niece's trancelike nightmare a coincidence? Or perhaps some new praying technique is needed on my part There are many more such incidents, but they followed much the same pattern when I attempted the conventional and accepted approach to prayer. There are, however, more positive prospects to report re-garding heaven and hell. If they exist, they are somewhere in Locale II. In non-physical trips to Locale II, often there is a "layer" or area which one must pass through, as mentioned earlier. It seems to be the part of Locale II closest to Here-Now, and in some way most related. It is a gray-black hungry ocean where the slightest motion attracts nibbling and tormenting beings. It is as if you are the bait dangling in this vast sea. If you move slowly and do not react to the curious "fish" who come to investigate, you pass through without much incident. Move violently and fight back, then more excited denizens come rushing in to bite, pull, push, shove. Could this be the borders of hell? It is easy to conclude that a momentary penetration of this nearby layer would bring "demons" and "devils" to mind as the chief inhabitants. They seem subhuman, yet have an evident ability to act and think independently. Who and what are they? I don't know. I haven't taken the trouble to stay there long enough to find out. Only by terrified trial and error did I find the method to pass through in reasonable peace. In these worlds where thoughts are not only things, but are everything, including you, your poison or perfection is of your own making. If you are a remorseless killer, you may end up in that part of Locale II where all are of the same design. This truly would be hell for such people, for there would be no innocent, defenseless victims. Project this outward, and you can begin to perceive the myriad variations. Your destination in the heaven or hell of Locale II seems to be grounded completely within the framework of your deepest constant (and perhaps non-conscious) motivations, emotions, and personality drives. The most consistent and strongest of these act as your "homing" device when you enter this realm. I am sure of this because it always works this way when I have traveled non-physically in Locale II. It works this way whether I want it to or not. The least stray desire at the wrong time, or a deep-seated emotion I wasn't aware of, diverts my trip in that 'like" direction. Some of the resulting destinations have had all the aspects of hell to me. Others might possibly be construed as heaven, and some differ in practice only slightly from our activities in Here-Now. So. If Locale II seems to have portions of hell and doesn't quite live up to our notions of heaven, what then? Where do we look for the guidepost? Where are the God and heaven that we worship? Have I missed something? And yet, at times, in visiting Locale II, a very unusual event periodically occurs. It makes no difference where in Locale II, the event is the same. In the midst of normal activity, whatever it may be, there is a distant Signal, almost like heraldic trumpets. Everyone takes the Signal calmly, and with it, everyone stops speaking or whatever he may be doing. It is the Signal that He (or They) is coming through His Kingdom. There is no awestruck prostration or falling down on one's knees. Rather, the attitude is most matter-of-fact It is an occurrence to which all are accustomed and to comply takes absolute precedence over everything. There are no exceptions. At the Signal, each living thing lies downâ€”my impression is on their backs, bodies arched to expose the abdomen (not the genitals), with head turned to one side so that one does not see Him as He passes by. The purpose seems to be to form a living road over which He can travel. I have gleaned the idea that occasionally He will select someone from this living bridge, and that person is never seen or heard from again. The purpose of the abdominal exposure is an expression of faith and complete submissiveness, the abdomen being the most vulnerable part of the body or the area that can suffer damage most easily. There is no movement, not even thought, as He passes by. Everything has come to a momentary standstill, full and complete, while He passes. In the several times that I have experienced this, I lay down with the others. At the time, the thought of doing otherwise was inconceivable. As He passes, there is a roaring musical sound and a feeling of radiant, irresistible living force of ultimate power that peaks overhead and fades in the distance. I remember wondering once what would happen to me if He discovered my presence, as a temporary visitor. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out. After His passing, everyone gets up again and resumes their activities. There is no comment or mention of the incident, no further thought of it There is complete acceptance of the event as an ordinary part of their lives, and this is the great yet subtle difference. It is an action as casual as halting for a traffic light at a busy intersection, or waiting at the railroad crossing when the signal indicates that a train is coming; you are unconcerned and yet feel unspoken respect for the power represented in the passing train. The event is also impersonal. Is this God? Or God's son? Or His representative? Three times I have "gone" to a place that I cannot find words to describe accurately. Again, it is this vision, this interpretation, the temporary visitation to this "place" or state of being that brings the message we have heard so often throughout the history of man. I am sure that this may be part of the ultimate heaven as our religions conceive it It must also be the nirvana, the Samadhi, the supreme experience related to us by the mystics of the ages. It is truly a state of being, very likely interpreted by the individual in many different ways. To me, it was a place or condition of pure peace, yet exquisite emotion. It was as if you were floating in warm soft clouds where there is no up or down, where nothing exists as a separate piece of matter. The warmth is not merely around you, it is of you and through you. Your perception is dazzled and overwhelmed by the Perfect Environment. The cloud in which you float is swept by rays of light in shapes and hues that are constantly changing, and each is good as you bathe in them as they pass over you. Ruby-red rays of light, or something beyond what we know as light, because no light ever felt this meaningful. All the colors of the spectrum come and go constantly, never harshly, and each brings a different soothing or restful happiness. It is as if you are within and a part of the clouds surrounding an eternally glowing sunset, and with every changing pattern of living color, you also change. You respond and drink into you the eternity of the blues, yellows, greens, and reds, and the complexities of the intermediates. All are familiar to you. This is where you belong. This is Home. As you move slowly and effortlessly through the cloud, there is music around you. It is not something of which you become aware. It is there all the time, and you vibrate in harmony with the Music. Again, this is more than the music you knew back there. It is only those harmonies, the delicate and dynamic melodic passages, the multivoiced counterpoint, the poignant overtonesâ€”it is only those that have evoked in you the deep, incoherent emotion back there. The mundane is missing. Choirs of human-sounding voices echo in wordless song. Infinite patterns of strings in all shades of subtle harmony interweave i

n cyclical yet developing themes, and you resonate with them. There is no source from which the Music comes. It is there, all around you, in you, you are a part of it, and it is you. It is the purity of a truth of which you have had only a glimpse. This is the feast, and the tiny tidbits you tasted before, back there, had made you hope for the existence of the Whole. The nameless emotion, longing, nostalgia, sense of destiny that you felt back there when you stared at the cloud-layered sunset in Hawaii, when you stood quietly among the tall, waving trees in the silent forest, when a musical selection, passage, or song recalled memories of the past or brought forth a longing for which there was no associated memory, when you longed for the place where you belonged, whether city, town, country, nation, or familyâ€”these are now fulfilled. You are Home. You are where you belong. Where you always should have been. Most important, you are not alone. With you, beside you, interlocked in you are others. They do not have names, nor are you aware of them as shapes, but you know them and you are bonded to them with a great single knowledge. They are exactly like you, they are you, and like you, they are Home. You feel with them, like gentle waves of electricity passing between you, a completeness of love, of which all the facets you have experienced are but segments and incomplete portions. Only here, the emotion is without need of intense display or demonstration. You give and receive as an automatic action, with no deliberate effort. It is not something you need or that needs you. The "reaching out" is gone. The interchange flows naturally. You are unaware of differences in sex, you yourself as a part of the whole are both male and female, positive and negative, electron and proton. Man-woman love moves to you and from you, parent-child-sibling-idol and idyll and idealâ€”all interplay in soft waves about you, in you, and through you. You are in perfect balance because you are where you belong. You are Home. Within all of this, yet not a part of it, you are aware of the source of the entire span of your experience, of you, of the vastness beyond your ability to perceive and/or imagine. Here, you know and easily accept the existence of the Father. Your true Father. The Father, the Creator of all that is or was. You are one of His countless creations. How or why, you do not know. This is not important. You are happy simply because you are in your Right Place, where you truly belong. Each of the three times I went There, I did not return voluntarily. I came back sadly, reluctantly. Someone helped me return. Each time after I returned, I suffered intense nostalgia and loneliness for days. I felt as an alien might among strangers in a land where things were not "right," where everything and everyone was so different and so "wrong" when compared with where you belonged. Acute loneliness, nostalgia, and something akin to homesickness. So great was it that I have not tried to go There again. Was this heaven? Once I tried to simulate There, on this world. I remembered as a child swimming in a pool that had underwater deep-hued colored lights set in the walls. I remembered specifically which pool had featured such lights. Our country home had a swimming pool, so I set to work. We installed underwater lights, and I used color on the lights. Try as I might, I couldn't get the deep hues I remembered. Too much power was required. Also, we put in an underwater speaker so that you could lie in the water, with your ears submerged, and listen to music from the system in the house. This worked quite well. But it was not There, or close to it. There was one peculiar item. Upon visiting the site of my childhood, the pool I remembered was there, but it did not have colored lights under the water. No one, including old friends who swam with me in the pool, could remember this pool as ever having colored lights under the water. Reality, Reality!

One of the greatest enigmas of this whole affair is that someoneâ€”or more than one â€”has been helping me from time to time in such experimentation. Perhaps they are with me every time, and I am just not aware of them. I do not know who these helpers are or why they are helping me.

They certainly do not seem to be guardian angels, although a more conventionally oriented personality might so interpret them. They do not always respond when I need help, nor are they always responsive to prayer. Mental anguish and screaming have sometimes brought one of them. More often, they help me when I do not ask for helpâ€”or again, when I am not aware of asking. Their assistance seems to be more of their choosing and deliberation than mine. They are rarely "friendly" in the sense that we understand the term. Yet there is a definite sense of understanding, knowledge, and purposefulness in their actions toward me. I feel no intent on their part to bring harm to me and I trust their directions. Much of the help has been subtly applied. For example, the "hands" that boosted me up the hill to Dr. Bradshaw's house were obviously helping me to achieve what I desired. I did not see who was assisting me. However, just prior to the assistance, I saw someone sitting yoga-fashion, with robes and headpiece. Was this the "helper"? In Chapter 10, the robed man with the hauntingly familiar eyes and face who responded to my anguished plea when I was trying to rid myself of the "parasites" paid little attention to my emotional distress. Yet he had obviously come to help. He came as a result of my problem. Still, he offered no words of comfort, nor did he attempt to calm or reassure me. I never saw the helper who took me on the voyage to visit Dr. Gordon in Locale II. I felt his hands and heard his voice, no more. The same applied to the helper who, a week later, commented that I had already made the trip when I attempted to do so again. There is some inherent acceptance of the assistance without question. Rarely has it occurred to me at the time to turn and identify the helper. It seems a rather natural thing. The two young men who took me to the apartment after the seance meeting do not seem to fit into the typical category here. There was a definite sense that they came for that particular purpose and nothing else. This brings up the next peculiarity. Of all the helpers from whom I have obtained some repeatable identification, only one have I been able to identify a second time. In my visit to Agnew Bahnson in Locale II, someone held me in position to see him. The feeling of gentle but firm hands on each side of me was very strong. The same hands, turning me around to leave, much as one steers a blind person, could not have been more vivid. It was another case of a helper responding to a specific desire on my part. When I panicked, screamed, and prayed against the barrier on my way back, no help came. When I was being teased and tormented by the entities, no help came. When I was attacked by the beings so savagely, no help came. More accurately, if it did, I was not aware of it What is the difference? How do "they" decide when to help, and when to leave me alone? I don't know. Most of all, who quietly insisted that I return to the physical when I drifted in that seemingly eternal bliss? I don't know whether to be grateful or sad for that particular help. I don't classify the "host" (Chapter 12) as one of the same helpers, yet he may well have been. He is one of those whom I would have no difficulty recognizing if I saw again. He was different in that I did get an impression of warm friendliness and comradeship, but he was in some manner not quite the same as Iâ€”older, knowledgeable in another field. He was different in that he came forward and offered his help. This was one of the few times that the option was mine. Strangely, the other times I needed help badly, none appearedâ€”e.g., the wild experiences of seeming to be in someone else's physical body (Chapter 12). On the surface, this would appear to have been a most serious situation demanding immediate aid. The notes show no indication whatsoever of anything other than extrication through my own efforts. There is no evident pattern as yet. Here are several of the many other reports in the notes that may illustrate some hidden points about the helpers.

9/14/58 Early evening, on the porch, into relaxation system. Immediate high-frequency vibration. Experimented flipping in and out of the physical. On one, had difficulty in re-entering. Two hands took my hips and rolled me into proper position. I mentally sent my thanks, but didn't know who it was.

Abbeydorney - Abbeyfeale - Abbeyleix - Abbeylara - Abbeyshrule - Achill Sound - Aclare - Adare - Aghaboe - Aghabullogue - Aughagower - Aughleam - Allihies - Ardara - Ardee - Ardmore - Ardrahan - Arklow - Arvagh - Ashbourne - Askeaton - Athea - Athenry - Athlacca - Athleague - Athlone - Athy - Augher - Aughrim - Avoca - Bagenalstown - Bailieborough - Balbriggan - Ballaghaderreen - Ballaghmore - Ballickmoyler - Ballina - Ballinacarrigy - Ballinagh - Ballinakill - Ballinamore - Ballinasloe - Ballincollig - Ballindine - Ballineen - Ballingarry - Ballingooly - Ballinhassig - Ballinrobe - Ballintubber - Ballon - Ballybofey - Ballybrophy - Ballybunion - Ballycastle - Ballycotton - Ballydehob - Ballydesmond - Ballyfin - Ballygarvan - Ballyhale - Ballyhaunis - Ballyheigue - Ballyjamesduff - Ballylickey - Ballylynan - Ballymahon - Ballymakeera - Ballymascanlon - Ballymoe - Ballymote - Ballynahinch - Ballyragget - Ballyshannon - Ballyvourney - Baltimore - Baltinglass - Banagher - Bandon - Bangor Erris - Bantry - Barleycove - Bayside - Bellavary - Bellderrig - Belmullet - Belturbet - Bennetsbridge - Birr - Blacklion - Blackrock - Blanchardstown - Blarney - Blessington - Borris - Borris-In-Ossory - Borrisokane - Boyle - Bray - Brookfield - Bruff - Buncrana - Bundoran - Bunmahon - Burtonport - Butlersbridge - Buttevant - Cadamstown - Caherdaniel - Cahersiveen - Cahir - Callan - Cappamore - Carlingford - Carlow - Carnaross - Carndonagh - Carra - Carrickmacross - Carrick-On-Shannon - Carrick-On-Suir - Carrigadrohid - Carrigaholt - Carrigaline - Carrigallen - Carrowteige - Cashel - Castlebar - Castlebellingham - Castleblayney - Castlecomer - Castleconnell - Castlehill - Castleisland - Castleknock - Castlemartyr - Castlepollard - Castlerea - Castletownbere - Castletownshend - Cavan - Celbridge - Charlestown - Charleville - Clane - Clara - Clarecastle - Claremorris - Clifden - Clogher - Clogherhead - Clonakilty - Clonbur - Clondalkin - Clonenagh - Clones - Clonmacnoise - Clonmany - Clonmel - Clonskeagh - Clontarf - Cloone - Cloughjordan - Cloyne - Coachford - Cobh - Collon - Cong - Coolmine - Coolock - Cootehill - Cordangan - Cork - Courtmacsherry - Courtown - Cratloe - Cregganbaun - Crookhaven - Croom - Cross - Crosshaven - Crossmolina - Curracloe - Daingean - Dalkey - Delvin - Derrybeg - Dingle - Donabate - Donaghmore - Donegal - Doneraile - Doolin - Doon - Douglas - Downings - Dowra - Drogheda - Dromahane - Dromiskin - Dromod - Dromoland - Drumcondra - Drumshanbo - Dublin - Dún Laoghaire - Dunboyne - Dundalk - Dundrum (Dublin) - Dundrum (Tipperary) - Dunfanaghy - Dungarvan - Dungloe - Dunlavin - Dunmanway - Dunmore - Dunmore East - Dunshaughlin - Durrow - Easky - Edenderry - Edgeworthstown - Emo - Emyvale - Ennis - Enniscorthy - Enniskean - Enniskerry - Ennistimon - Eyeries - Ferbane - Ferns - Fethard - Fintown - Foxford - Foxhall - Foxrock - Foynes - Freshford - Furbo - Fenagh - Galway - Garryspillane - Glandore - Glangevlin - Glanmire - Glengarriff - Glengevlin - Glenties - Gleneshane - Glin - Glounthaune - Golden Falls - Goleen - Gorey - Gort - Gougane Barra - Gowran - Graiguenamanagh - Granard - Greencastle - Greenore - Greystones - Gweedore - Halfway - Harold'S Cross - Headford - Hollymount - Hospital - Howth - Inagh - Inishcrone - Inistioge - Inniscarra - Jenkinstown (Kilkenny) - Jenkinstown (Louth) - Julianstown - Kanturk - Keel - Kells - Kenmare - Keshcarrigan - Kilbeggan - Kilcock - Kilcoole - Kilcormac - Kilcorney - Kildare - Kilflynn - Kilkee - Kilkelly - Kilkenny - Kilkieran - Kill (Kildare) - Kilkerrin - Kill (Waterford) - Killadysert - Killala - Killaloe - Killarney - Killenaule - Killeshandra - Killiney - Killorglin - Killucan - Killumney - Killybegs - Kilmacthomas - Kilmaine - Kilmallock - Kilmore West - Kilmore Quay - Kilmuckridge - Kilpedder - Kilrush - Kiltamagh - Kingscourt - Kinnegad - Kinnitty - Kinnity - Kinsale - Kinvara - Knightstown - Knock - Knockanure - Knockcroghery - Knocktopher - Lahinch - Lanesborough - Laytown - Leap - Lecanvey - Leigh - Leitrim Village - Leixlip - Letterkenny - Lifford - Limerick - Liscannor - Lisdoonvarna - Lismore - Lisronagh - Lissycasey - Listowel - Littleton - Longford - Loughrea - Lucan - Macroom - Malahide - Mallow - Manorhamilton - Mansfieldtown - Marshalstown - Maynooth - Mayo - Meelick - Midleton - Milford - Millstreet - Miltown Malbay - Milltown Galway - Mitchelstown - Moate - Mohill - Monaghan - Monamolin - Monasterevin - Monkstown (Cork) - Monkstown (Dublin) - Mountmellick - Mountrath - Mountshannon - Moville - Moycarkey - Moycullen - Moylough - Moynalty - Moyne - Moyvane - Muff - Muine Bheag - Mulhuddart - Mullinavat - Mullingar - Mulrany - Murrintown - Murrisk - Muskerry - Naas - Navan - Neale - Nenagh - New Ross - Newbridge - Newcastle West - Newmarket-On-Fergus - Newport - Newtowncunningham - Newtownmountkennedy - Nobber. - O'Briensbridge - Oldcastle - Omeath - Oola - Oranmore - Oughterard - Owenbeg - Oysterhaven - Oldtown (Dublin). - Palmerstown - Pallaskenry - Partry - Patrickswell - Paulstown - Pontoon - Portarlington - Porterstown - Portlaoise - Portmagee - Portmarnock - Poulaphouca - Quin - Raheny - Ramelton - Ranelagh - Rathcoole - Rathdowney - Rathfarnham - Rathgar - Rathkeale - Rathmore - Rathmullan - Redhouse - Ringaskiddy - Rochfortbridge - Roosky - Roscommon - Roscrea - Rosenallis - Ross Port - Rosscarbery - Rosslare/Rosslare Europort - Rosslare Harbour - Rosslare Strand - Roundstone - Rush - Rylane - Saggart - Sallins - Sandyford - Sandymount - Scariff - Schull - Shanagarry - Shanagolden - Shannon Harbour - Shannon - Shannonbridge - Shercock - Shrule - Sixmilebridge - Skerries - Skibbereen - Slane - Sligo - Skreen - Skryne - Sneem - Spanish Point - Spiddal - Stepaside - Stillorgan - Stradbally - Strade - Stradone - Straffan - Stranorlar - Strawberry Beds - Strokestown - Sutton - Swineford - Swinford - Swords - Tallaght - Templemore - Templeogue - Terenure - Termonfeckin - Thomastown - Thurles - Timahoe - Timoleague - Tipperary - Tourmakeady - Tower - Tragumna - Tralee - Tramore - Trim - Tuam - Tuarnafola - Tubbercurry - Tullamore - Tullow - Tulsk - Tyrrellspass - Two-Mile Borris - Tydavnet - Union Hall - Urlingford - Vicarstown - Virginia - Waterford - Waterville - Westport - Wexford - Wicklow - Windgap - Youghal -

Pathway to Spirit 7 Princicpal of Spiritualism

Phsyical Mediumship Southern Ireland

Phsyical Mediumship Southern Ireland

Pathway to Spirit
7 Princicpal of Spiritualism