Glenn's Diary

Chapter 6

4th August 2005

Luciana, George, Red Thunder and Archangel Azrael

We interrupt this programme for a special news announcement!!!

Seriously though (although being serious isn’t always a good thing), as the days go by writing, if I’m contacted by spirit again I’ll let you know.

It was around 8.30 in the evening. Jill was cuddling with me watching TV. Once again, she was in a relaxed state as a young spirit girl approached her. Jill wanted to tell me about her. Her name was Luciana (Loo chee anna). She was seven years old with long, flowing, thick black hair, down her back to her waist.

Jill: Oh Glenn; she’s ever so thin, and her clothes are like rags. Slow down. Slow down. She keeps going into Spanish… Cordoba. What’s Bodegas?

Glenn: It’s Spanish for a winery in Spain or Spanish speaking countries.

Jill: She’s around you all the time. She tugs at your clothing; and you think you’ve caught it on something. She pulls on your left foot at 3 o’clock in the morning. That’s why you wake up sometimes. She’s drawn to you because you had no love as a child; but you’ve found love and given love to your children. The kind of love that ‘she’ wanted.

Her father died in 1552 and soon after her mother died. She went to live with her Aunt. There was a great famine. Her Uncle couldn’t afford to support her. Oh Glenn (she said with a quivering voice) she’s showing me her Uncle leading her into a barn. He took a scythe and cut her throat. (Tears start to roll down Jill’s cheeks.) She’s all skin and bone, yet she’s so beautiful. She wanted so much to be loved. She feels so close to you because you’re giving the love that ‘you’ missed, to your children.

She’s with you all the time. (Jill chuckles) She touches your face because you have such soft skin.

(Jill shudders in despair.) Ohhhhh Glenn…behind her is a growing queue of young children. It’s about 100m long. They’re all waiting to talk to you. They’re all so young. They’re dressed so poorly; in rags; skinny with malnutrition. They all feel unloved. They’re searching for the love they never had from their parents. They want you to write; for all the children that were never loved. “Ease their pain,” they keep saying. Glenn, I can’t do this. I’m so tired. It’s draining me so much. I’ve got to let them go. There are spirits queuing all around to get to talk to you. It’s overwhelming. I’ve got to shut off.

Glenn: Let them go Jill. ‘Bye Luciana, and thank you so much. If I could kiss and hug you, I would.

A little while later Jill startled me.

Jill: Good God!

Glenn: What’s up?

Jill: There’s a huge Negro just appeared.

Glenn: Where is he?

Jill: Right there, in front of us.

Glenn: What’s he want?

Jill: His name is George. "Not Chicken George before you say it", he's just said. (Jill laughed.) He knows you’ve got a sense of humour. He was a black slave in 1516. He wants you to write about the oppression, from the black slave’s point of view. “Ease their pain.” Write about the hopelessness.

At this point it was difficult to understand where George was ‘coming from’. Was he just tapping into the fact that I was writing and wanted to get into the act for some free publicity about slavery? Or maybe, his angle was similar, in that he wanted me to ease the pain of all the people who were slaves, that never had the love and affection as children; due to the oppression and splitting of families, both from Africa, and in the countries they became slaves, such as the USA and the Caribbean islands.

I got up and hobbled on my crutches to the toilet for a pee. I’d just finished fastening my belt as Jill appeared at the door. It was dark, and she startled me.

Glenn: Bloody hell Jill! I nearly sh^t myself! Don’t creep up on me like that. (She was smiling with a bemused smile.)

Jill: You need to see this.

Glenn: See ‘what’ now?

Jill: This huge Red Indian in ceremonial headgear. He looks so important. He’s trussed up like a peacock, and he’s huge.

Glenn: What’s he want?

Jill: To talk to you!

Glenn: What about?

Jill: He says you’re related. Hold on! 1823. 1823. Red River. He’s a Sioux Indian Chief. They made a treaty with the Americans; but they were betrayed. You’re his relative. He wants you to write about the lost love in children. You were a General in the Army. You made a truce with the Sioux Indians; but the Government betrayed you and the Indians. He’s giving me the date 1812.

Glenn: Jill you just said 1823 earlier. Make your mind up.

Jill: Yes. He’s giving me two dates. 1812 and 1823. Slow down. Yan… Wan… he’s giving me Indian words and it’s too quick for me to understand them. 1812. 1823.

We didn't get much after that so we went back into the lounge to finish watching a movie. We went to bed around 10.20pm.

As usual, we read for a while. Jill settled down to sleep. As she was drifting off she started to blow a little and I thought, “Here we go!” But rather than last time, her face didn’t distort too much. She opened her mouth and spoke in a soft voice:

Jill: We meet again my friend. She is weak! (I quickly reached for pen and paper from the side of the bed, so that I could remember most of what was about to be said. The palest ink remains longer than the faintest memory.)

Glenn: Hello Archangel Azrael. Please speak clearly.

Archangel Azrael: It pleases me so to speak to you, because you are a son of my own blood. Oh I do love you my son. How sad it is that as humans we don’t know what we have within. In the Spirit World we have already sounded out our trumpets to rejoice your presence. You must write about the pain of this world. I want you to be strong. Give some respect to the people who help you. You ask for contact from spirit; but it is not in the way that you expect. You have the ability. You must ‘feel’ your way and then you will ‘find’ the way. The woman beside you weakens; but in turn, you will grow strong together.

Glenn: Please don’t call her woman. She’s my wife. Please call her Jill.

Archangel Azrael: Write about your pain. Your pain is what connects you to the rest of the World. Many children are feeling oppressed and not heard. What can be achieved through love of self and the love that you give out; will eventually be returned. You may feel like a piece of sand right now, but ‘not’ a ‘piece’ of sand; you are a Dune. You will write a children’s book about the adventures of Max in a magical land. There’s much more to this world than just the physical. As you; as a child. Better than Harry Potter. Better than The Wind in the Willows. To a land where anything is possible. Your heart was the first thing that was conceived, and the last thing that will survive. The heart will always be pure.

Glenn: Archangel Azrael; where are you from?

Archangel Azrael: Germany!

Glenn: But I understood your name to be Hebrew or Islamic?

Archangel Azrael: Yes, I spent much of my time there and then much in Germany. It is written in the Holy books.

Glenn: Where can I read this in the books.

Archangel Azrael: You cannot read them. They are not available for people to see.

Glenn: Why not?

Archangel Azrael: The Catholic faith hides many truths. They do not like to give away their power. Their imperfections harbour many secrets. The Indigo Child: Max, along with others, is here to pierce the illusion of what is. To sidestep ways of what mankind has set up. Many people accompany him. Mankind will want to drag him down. He’s a leader. His knowledge is vast. He thinks so much quicker than the human mind. He thinks from the heart; not from logic.

Your father is sick. But he decided long ago to be a victim. He is not long for this world. He gave up on his ambitions and his dreams long ago.

You want to ‘sing’? You can still sing. You can still fulfil your ambition. There you can bask in your true love.

Glenn: Archangel Azrael. This is all well and good, but we need resources. We have this large house to run and pay for. We need income. We have to keep earning until we sell the house, so we can move to the ‘States’ .

Archangel Azrael: Jill is your Angel. She is here to guide and help you. She chose you to fulfil your prophecy and dreams. She forgave her dreams of dancing. She ‘chose’ you. She tries ‘so’ hard to please you. She tries ‘so’ hard to fulfil what is expected. She operates through true love, for you and your children. We must have faith. You have a new contract to come to you as proof of my word. It will earn the passing of your time until you find a person to take your home.

Glenn: How long is this going to be?

Archangel Azrael: Up to two years. The time is not right for you to go to America yet. It’s not safe for you. There will be further bombings in America.

Glenn: Where?

Archangel Azrael: New York, Washington and Los Angeles will be hit tragically. But there will also be much tragedy from hurricanes and earthquakes. Within 2 years you will be overseas and find your true happiness. I must go now; she is very weak.

Glenn: Let me help you find the books.

Archangel Azrael: The books will not resurface for many years, for in them it is written of the female strength and the rising of the female. Mother Mary was the first fear. Man resented this and rebelled. To rebel they created Catholicism and Christianity to control this fear. The feminine form is to have love and compassion for all. I must go. Keep writing. Ease their pain. We will talk again.

Glenn: Thank you Archangel Azrael.

At that point Jill stirred and her eyes opened.

Glenn: Were you awake for that?

Jill: For what; I’m so tired, I feel so drained.

Glenn: Archangel Azrael’s been to see me again. Listen to what I managed to write.

And I shared the information with her.

The following day I was coaching Stephen Rolphe here at our home and offices. He was being coached on emotional intelligence and behavioural skills to enhance his leadership skills, managing a team of ten sales people in a company called Bistronics. It was tiring for me, working whilst nursing my broken leg; but needs must when there are hungry wolves at the door.

I was drained. Outside, in the back garden, the sky was a beautiful deep blue, hosting a few cotton ball clouds which were gliding slowly across the sky. A bit of a rarity in the UK. The sun was warm on my skin, as I hobbled out of the house on my crutches. Jill came to greet me and we sat outside together on sun lounge chairs, watching the two boys bouncing up and down on the trampoline. Cooper was teaching himself cartwheels and handstands.

Jill walked back into the office, a few feet away from where we were sat. I reclined the sun lounge to feel the warmth of the sun on my face and to get my foot in the air, to drain some of the swelling. I lay there trying to remember the name of the Spanish speaking girl from the previous night. I say Spanish speaking, because as I surfed the net today, looking for clues for Bodegas, 1552 and famine, it seems there was a great famine in ‘New Spain’ in 1552. So she may have been one of the early settlers in South America, Mexico or North America.

The sun was beaming warmly on my face.

“Phoof!”

It was like someone had blown in my ear. There was no ‘blowing’ sound that you hear from someone’s mouth; no wind; not even a gentle breeze. It was just like air rushing in my ear, but without the sound. I just got the feeling and not the sound.

“Luciana!” I exclaimed softly. “Thank you Luciana.”

I lay there for a while before I went into the office. Jill had already given me a sheet of paper with something printed on it as Steve was leaving. It didn’t seem appropriate to look at it in front of Steve. It might have spooked him. It was about the Red Indian chief. I sat down at my desk to read it:

Red Thunder. A chief of the Pabaska or Cuthead band of Yanktonai Sioux in the early part of the 19th Century; also known as The Beaver.

Lieut. Z. M. Pike saw him at the great council at Prairie du Chien (French for Prairie of the dogs.), Wisconsin, in April 1806; and pronounced him as the most gorgeously dressed of any chief he met.

With his famous son Waneta, he enlisted with the British in the war of 1812, and fought at Fort Meigs, and at Sandusky, Ohio. He was killed under tragic circumstances by the Chippewa on Red River of the North in 1823.

Colonel Robert Dickenson, the British agent in the West during 1812 – 1815, married a sister of Red Thunder.

www.accessgenealogy.com/native/tribes/

siouan/siouxchiefs.htm

WOW!! There comes a time in a doubting Thomas’s life, when you just can’t ignore the truth. It seems that Red Thunder wanted me to know that in a past life, I was Colonel Robert Dickson and I was related to Red Thunder.