‘I wasn't your av­er­age coun­sel­lor, I had a di­rect line to Spirit’

Elizabeth Robin­son, 52, was work­ing as a coun­sel­lor when spir­its gave her a spe­cial mis­sion to wake up the world

Spirit and Destiny - - Contents -

Elizabeth Robin­son's con­nec­tions in the af­ter­life gave her a spe­cial mis­sion to awaken peo­ple's hearts and minds

‘I wasn’t your av­er­age coun­sel­lor, I had a di­rect line to Spirit’

Iwas clear­ing away dishes af­ter Sun­day lunch when the sharp trill of the phone broke the si­lence in the house. I jumped, send­ing a plate crash­ing to the floor and stared down at the shat­tered pieces.

It was a cold day, Jan­uary 11, 2004 and

I’d been on edge all week­end at my home in Ash­land, Ore­gon, where I lived with my 13-year-old daugh­ter Jes­sica.

Ever since I’d fin­ished work as a coun­sel­lor on Fri­day night, I’d been swamped by a feel­ing of de­spair. An ir­ra­tional sense of im­pend­ing doom that re­fused to budge.

Some­one’s life was in dan­ger. I felt as if I needed to pro­tect some­one. But who? From what? And why?...

I hadn’t been able to shake off this ter­ri­ble feel­ing of dread. Then around lunchtime on Satur­day, as I was tak­ing out the rub­bish, I had a sud­den feel­ing of sur­ren­der fol­lowed by an over­whelm­ing sense of peace.

The whole ex­pe­ri­ence un­set­tled me.

Now, as I reached for the phone, the knot in my stom­ach tight­ened once more.

‘It’s Elise,’ said my friend on the other end. Her tone was un­usu­ally se­ri­ous.

I heard her let out a long low breath as if she was strug­gling to col­lect her­self.

I waited im­pa­tiently for her to con­tinue. ‘It’s Shylo,’ she said.

My heart beat faster. Shylo was one of my clients. An 18-year-old col­lege stu­dent that

I’d seen for a coun­selling ses­sion four days ear­lier. She was strug­gling with de­pres­sion af­ter suf­fer­ing a head in­jury in a car ac­ci­dent. In­tel­li­gent. Beau­ti­ful. Ca­pa­ble.

I saw her in my mind’s eye in my con­sult­ing room, her soul­ful brown eyes fixed on mine as she searched for an­swers as to what new pur­pose she could find from the shat­tered de­bris of her life.

I was the per­fect per­son to ask. I wasn’t your av­er­age coun­sel­lor, I had a di­rect line to the Spirit world. I saw, heard and felt them. I also had a spirit guide who gave me in­for­ma­tion about clients’ past trau­mas and fam­ily his­tory go­ing back gen­er­a­tions that helped me ad­vise them.

I’d built up a rep­u­ta­tion within the men­tal health com­mu­nity, shar­ing my ex­pe­ri­ences at na­tional con­fer­ences, and talk­ing about the need to com­ple­ment sci­en­tific medicine with ‘in­tu­itive coun­sel­lors’ like me, who had ex­tra help from an all-see­ing spirit world.

The news was tragic

Dur­ing one of our ses­sions I’d had a strange vi­sion that Shylo was be­ing pre­pared by be­ings in the spirit world for a dif­fer­ent life. They’d vis­ited her when she was in a coma fol­low­ing the car crash.

‘But what am I be­ing pre­pared for?’ Shylo kept ask­ing me ev­ery time we met. But I’d never been able to an­swer her ques­tion.

Elise took an­other in­take of breath on the end of the phone.

‘I’m sorry… Shylo killed her­self yes­ter­day.’ For a sec­ond I couldn’t process her words. They flopped out of the re­ceiver like use­less shapes in­stead of sounds with mean­ing. As I watched them bob to­wards me like wisps of cloud they knit­ted into a rock-hard ball and hur­tled to­wards my chest.

Pow! They hit me like a punch and I fell back into a chair from the un­ex­pected force.


It turned out she’d taken her life at the same time as I felt that over­whelm­ing sense of

sur­ren­der and calm. I just knew that it wasn't a co­in­ci­dence. What I'd felt was her pass­ing.

I felt a rush of anger. What use was my con­nec­tion with the Spirit world when I’d never seen it com­ing?

I’d failed poor Shylo. There was no point to my gift if I hadn’t stopped this young girl from end­ing her life.

That night I crawled sob­bing into my bed. Noth­ing had pre­pared me for the hor­ror of this tragedy. A beau­ti­ful girl with a great fu­ture ahead of her – gone in an in­stant.

It must have been the early hours when I saw her. She was stand­ing in a dimly lit cor­ner of my bed­room, look­ing at me. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a pony­tail like it al­ways was, and she looked as real as she did when she was alive. I sat bolt up­right.

Her brown eyes creased into a smile. ‘Hi Elizabeth…’ she said.

An un­ex­pected vis­i­tor

The next few min­utes passed in a blur. It was as though we’d seen each other only the day be­fore, as though noth­ing was out of the or­di­nary. She chat­ted away as she usu­ally did about what she’d been up to.

I lis­tened mes­mer­ized as she re­vealed she was in a pe­riod of ‘ad­just­ment’ from the phys­i­cal world, and that she had a men­tor in the af­ter­life help­ing her. ‘This was the

‘life’ they’d been pre­par­ing me for when they vis­ited me in the coma,’ she smiled.

I felt my anger about her death drain away. Of course, Spirit al­ways had a mas­ter plan!

It wasn’t my fault I hadn’t saved her. She had a big­ger mis­sion that I couldn’t have fore­seen.

‘But if I had my life over again on Earth I wouldn’t have ended it,’ she con­fessed. ‘Not if I’d known the pain I’d cause my fam­ily.’

When she left 20 min­utes later, I felt com­forted and so happy she’d sought me out.

I was get­ting ready for bed a few days later when she vis­ited me again with more rev­e­la­tions from the other side. ‘You choose how to be of ser­vice to the phys­i­cal world af­ter you die,’ she re­vealed, set­tling her­self com­fort­ably on the bed.

‘You can sup­port a fam­ily mem­ber left be­hind, or go into ser­vice for the ben­e­fit of hu­man­ity – so if there’s a ma­jor ‘catas­tro­phe’ you can help peo­ple cross over – or work with newly ar­rived souls.’

I started to look for­ward to Shylo's vis­its ev­ery cou­ple of days, cu­ri­ous to learn more about her new ‘life’.

The next time she ap­peared as I was nod­ding off to sleep, it was to tell me I had a mis­sion too. ‘Me?’ I said amazed.

‘You,’ she smiled, amused. ‘Your mis­sion is to tell the world what it’s re­ally like in the af­ter­life.’

Af­ter she left I wor­ried about what she’d said. Telling the world would mean rais­ing my head above the para­pet. I was known for be­ing an in­tu­itive coun­sel­lor in my work com­mu­nity but ad­mit­ting I see and talk to spir­its to thou­sands of peo­ple… that would be a step too far. My spir­i­tual awak­en­ing

had al­ready torn my

mar­riage apart. I didn’t want my life ripped to pieces again.

I thought back to Oc­to­ber, 1992 when I’d had a past life flash­back that opened the flood­gates to my sixth sense and con­nected me to the Spirit world. I’d been teach­ing Jes­sica, then two, how to swim in a pool when I lost my foot­ing and slipped un­der the sur­face. As I sank down, I was flung back to an ear­lier life where I was a Mum, strug­gling to save me and my son from drown­ing in a ship­wreck. In­stead of the calm wa­ter of the pool, I was tossed around in the vi­o­lent cur­rents of the ocean, my long, heavy dress drag­ging me down, as I des­per­ately tried to keep us afloat as the waves buf­feted us.

I’d been ter­ri­fied of wa­ter all my life. Was my fear down to a past life? One that I’d been shown that day in the pool?

My log­i­cal-minded en­gi­neer hus­band

Mark didn’t want to know about that ter­ri­fy­ing flash­back – he thought I was hal­lu­ci­nat­ing, go­ing crazy.

But weeks af­ter the ex­pe­ri­ence I started to hear Spirit – in­for­ma­tion pop­ping into my head about friends and fam­ily that later turned out to be true. An ill fam­ily mem­ber… a sur­prise di­vorce… a job loss…

It was hard to ex­plain

Two months af­ter the flash­back, at home do­ing the hoover­ing, I saw in my mind’s eye a man from the Mid­dle East in a white tur­ban. ‘I’m your spirit guide,’ he an­nounced, to my sur­prise. ‘I’ll be by your side to sup­port you on your spir­i­tual jour­ney.’

If I strug­gled to com­pute what was hap­pen­ing to me, my poor hus­band didn’t stand a chance.

In bed that night af­ter my spirit guide’s visit, Mark looked at me like I’d gone gaga. ‘Are you for real?’ he said aghast.

I was no longer the ra­tio­nal, straight-talk­ing woman he’d mar­ried.

How­ever I in­tu­itively felt this new world made more sense than my old one and I wanted to find out more.

I started to spend time brows­ing the shelves of New Age book shops to un­der­stand more about the spir­i­tual world.

The dis­tance be­tween Mark and I widened. He wanted an or­di­nary life, an or­di­nary wife, some­one to take on hol­i­days, share a home with, in­dulge with nice clothes.

‘That’s enough for me,’ he said tear­fully one night as I told him about my lat­est ‘down­load’ of mes­sages from the spirit world.

But, how­ever much I loved him, a cur­tain had been pulled back and my old, ma­te­rial world now seemed so mean­ing­less.

Mark and I strug­gled on for a few more years but, un­able to bridge the chasm, six years af­ter my awak­en­ing we di­vorced.

When my spirit guide ap­peared one night in 2002 and sug­gested I moved to Amer­ica with Jes­sica, I didn’t ques­tion it. ‘A new life awaits you,’ he said.

Then when Jes­sica was of­fered a school ex­change trip to the States a short while later, I knew it was a golden op­por­tu­nity to do as my guide had urged me.

Mov­ing on

Once in Ore­gon, my rep­u­ta­tion as an in­tu­itive coun­sel­lor with one foot in the spirit world grew.

But al­though I was happy to be known for be­ing un­con­ven­tional in my work, I was still feel­ing re­luc­tant to take on my mis­sion from Shylo and re­veal our chats about the af­ter­life.

Shylo con­tin­ued to visit me at least one night a week. ‘You’ll tell the world all about our con­ver­sa­tions. You’ll see,’ she’d en­cour­age be­fore dis­ap­pear­ing again.

I pushed it to the back of my mind and got on with my work and bring­ing up Jes­sica.

Then one af­ter­noon, Septem­ber 27th, 2004, the phone rang.

As I reached for the re­ceiver, I felt a pierc­ing pain in my right shoul­der and arm.

‘Ar­rgggh.’ I screamed. Then, just as sud­denly as it came on, it van­ished.

It was a friend of a col­league. ‘It’s about John E. Mack,’ he said in a shocked whisper.

Our friend and col­league, a Pro­fes­sor of Psy­chi­a­try, para­psy­chol­o­gist and Pulitzer-prize win­ning bi­og­ra­pher, had been killed in a hit and

‘I was squint­ing into the light and John stepped out and into

the room’

run a few hours ear­lier af­ter walk­ing home from a lec­ture he’d given in Lon­don. The driver had been ar­rested at the scene.

‘He was hit in his right shoul­der and arm.’ I went cold – that was the same place I’d had an un­ex­pected pain mo­ments be­fore the call.

We had work to do

John was an im­por­tant men­tor in my life. He did research into the af­ter­life and it was through him that I’d been in­vited to speak at men­tal health con­fer­ences.

‘You add a new di­men­sion to our work as heal­ers,’ he’d tell me. And now my friend and sup­porter was dead.

I stum­bled up to my bed­room and sat in the dark, numb, think­ing I’d never see him again.

It must have been two hours later when I no­ticed a faint glow on the other side of the room. As I looked, it grew brighter and brighter un­til I was squint­ing into the light and John stepped out and into the room.

‘Just touch­ing base,’ he said, a mug of cof­fee and a sticky bun in hand, like he al­ways had! Next minute we were chat­ting away, the same as I did with Shylo.

‘At the mo­ment I passed, I heard these amaz­ing angelic voices,’ he told me.

I wasn’t sur­prised my beau­ti­ful friend had been ac­com­pa­nied by an­gels at his part­ing.

‘By the way,’ he said, turn­ing to step into the light. ‘Me and you’ve got work to do. We need to tell the sci­en­tific world that it’ll ben­e­fit from work­ing with more peo­ple like you.

‘We need to share this evo­lu­tion­ary mes­sage for hu­man­ity that des­per­ately needs to awaken.’

With that he van­ished into the golden glow.

For the next month, John and Shylo would ap­pear reg­u­larly at dif­fer­ent times. Shylo to tell me more about her life in the af­ter­life, John to dic­tate a new way to unite the sci­en­tific and spir­i­tual worlds to ben­e­fit our well­be­ing.

I’d make my­self avail­able to them any time of the day or night. Some­times

John would ma­te­ri­alise with Amer­i­can psy­chi­a­trist Elis­a­beth Targ, who died in 2002, and also spe­cial­ized in psy­chic phe­nom­ena.

‘Remember your mis­sion,’ nudged Shylo af­ter one of her vis­its.

It was be­com­ing clear that I was be­ing called on to be a spokesper­son for those whose lives con­tin­ued on the other side. I opened my lap­top. If it was my mis­sion then it would be a good idea to make some notes!

In Oc­to­ber, I was at home in my study writ­ing up John’s lat­est dic­ta­tion on his sci­en­tific and spir­i­tual heal­ing sys­tem when I got a pri­vate mes­sage on my com­puter. A young school friend of Jes­sica’s back in Aus­tralia had died af­ter a sui­ci­dal cry for help.

My blood ran cold. Mia was only 14. Dev­as­tated, I gen­tly broke the news to Jes­sica when she got home.

Then two days af­ter her death, Mia ap­peared and sat down on the bed next to me.

I ac­cepted my mis­sion

‘Do I speak first, or do you ask me ques­tions?’ she asked hes­i­tantly.

My heart leapt. She looked just as she did when she was alive. Glossy brown hair, big brown eyes, cute dim­ples.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. ‘Dar­ling… god it’s good to see you.’

‘I’ve got a mes­sage for Mum and Dad. I don’t want them to blame them­selves,’ she said. ‘Will you please tell them for me.’

And then she was off chat­ting away about her new life. A keen an­i­mal lover, she was de­lighted when she saw pets on the other side.

‘There are dogs in the af­ter­life!’ she laughed. So, when Shylo re­minded me of my mis­sion the fol­low­ing week, this time I acted on it.

I started to record all of my con­ver­sa­tions metic­u­lously. Af­ter all, I was their voice on this earthly plane.

It took years but grad­u­ally I’ve sum­moned the courage to tell the world there are no good­byes and I’m proud to take on that mis­sion.

My great­est wish is that by shar­ing Shylo, John and Mia’s sto­ries among oth­ers, I’ll awaken peo­ple’s hearts and minds, just like their spir­its did for me.

ELIZABETH’S BOOK There Are No Good­byes, is pub­lished by Hay House, priced £12.99

At my home

in Ore­gon

Shylo was such a beau­ti­ful young girl It's my job to share the mes­sage

Me with my friend and men­tor

John E Mack

(left and be­low)

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