‘Learn­ing to love my gift’

A psy­chic reader, shamanic healer and spir­i­tual teacher, Claire Stone took time to em­brace her des­tiny

Spirit and Destiny - - Contents -

Now a shamanic healer and psy­chic reader, it took Claire Stone time to un­der­stand and em­brace her des­tiny as a spir­i­tual teacher

‘I be­gan to un­der­stand there were spir­i­tual laws’

Spoon­ing corn­flakes into my mouth, I ca­su­ally told Nan what I’d seen the night be­fore, how I’d watched her and Grandad hav­ing tea on their laps be­fore tun­ing into the News at Ten.

‘You were tucked up in bed by then,’ Nan laughed. ‘I’d have heard you come down.’

‘No,’ I replied in­no­cently. ‘Be­cause

I floated.’

Nan’s face fell as I de­scribed the steak and chips I’d seen her and Grandad tuck into, the con­ver­sa­tions they’d had and the pro­grams they’d watched.

‘I saw it from the ceil­ing!’ I beamed proudly. As­tral pro­jec­tion was some­thing I’d done for as long as I could re­mem­ber and I was ex­cited to tell Nan what I’d seen when I’d left my body ly­ing in bed and floated down­stairs. But Nan didn’t seem pleased. She looked afraid.

She and Grandad started tak­ing me to church more of­ten af­ter that. And I soon learned not to talk about the spir­its I saw, like the nice older lady in her 1940s’ skirt, cardi­gan and apron, who’d of­ten chase me up the stairs and try to play with me. My sto­ries made Nan and Grandad more afraid for me.

‘She’s a nice lady,’ I tried to re­as­sure them. ‘She’s al­ways laugh­ing.’

But my words fell on deaf ears.

Feel­ing fear­ful

Mum was wor­ried too, drum­ming into me that med­dling with Spirit was danger­ous.

In the end, the con­stant warn­ings from my fam­ily worked a bit too well and I be­came ter­ri­fied of the spir­its I felt con­stantly in my bed­room at night.

I tried block­ing them out but I still sensed them, and in many ways, that made it scarier, be­ing able to feel their pres­ence with­out ac­tu­ally see­ing or hear­ing who was there. I de­cided I must be cursed, wak­ing in the night with a feel­ing of some­one be­ing there, turn­ing on the light in ab­so­lute panic.

I still saw an­gels, too, who man­i­fested them­selves as shim­mer­ing lights, just as

I was fall­ing asleep. They brought with them a pow­er­ful feel­ing of re­as­sur­ance and love.

Yet, mind­ful of my fam­ily’s warn­ings, I didn’t wel­come them.

‘Make it stop,’ I’d say, pil­low over my head and pray­ing to wake up ‘nor­mal’.


De­spite my fear, I still felt drawn to all things spir­i­tual. Aged 13, when all my friends were spend­ing their money on lip­gloss and mag­a­zines, I saved up to buy a tarot deck.

A con­stant bat­tle raged in­side me, be­tween my spir­i­tual call­ing and my fear of it.

I de­vel­oped ago­ra­pho­bia and anx­i­ety, dropped out of school and barely left the house.

Life was hor­ri­ble. I didn’t feel at home on earth, let alone in my fam­ily. That was when I be­came my own ther­a­pist, fight­ing the ago­ra­pho­bia and anx­i­ety, a lit­tle day by day. At just 17, I left home and found a place of my own.

It was al­most like some­one was guid­ing me, a voice in­side say­ing, ‘Just try walk­ing to the bus stop to­day,’ or ‘maybe just go one stop?’

I’d also spend time each week sit­ting on the floor of the lo­cal book­shop, scour­ing the one shelf de­voted to mind, body and spirit.

My first pur­chase was Liv­ing Mag­i­cally by

Gill Ed­wards, soon fol­lowed by The Ce­les­tine Prophecy by James Red­field.

These books opened up a whole new world for me. I re­alised there was so much more to the world than I’d been taught at church.

I be­gan to un­der­stand there were spir­i­tual laws and once I ap­plied them to my own life, magic be­gan to un­furl.

I felt ec­static, like I’d been plugged into joy. I started to work with the an­gels I’d al­ways seen,

in par­tic­u­lar Archangel Michael.

Syn­chronic­ity brought the per­fect peo­ple into my life and I quickly be­came a stu­dent of the uni­verse.

I trained as a level one reiki healer and, aged 19, found work as a Shaman’s ap­pren­tice.

Af­ter that I trained in sev­eral dif­fer­ent holis­tic ther­a­pies be­fore set­ting up my own heal­ing and psy­chic busi­ness.

Find­ing a voice

Al­though I’d of­ten hear mes­sages for clients from Spirit, I never called my­self a medium and de­lib­er­ately didn’t pass the mes­sages on be­cause I was still wary.

Un­til around four years ago, when I de­cided to train un­der a more ex­pe­ri­enced medium, so I’d know how to han­dle con­tact with Spirit safely.

There were lots of ex­er­cises I had to com­plete. In one he gave me an en­ve­lope with a photo in­side and asked me if the per­son in the photo was male or fe­male and dead or alive.

‘Try to tell me some­thing about their life, too,’ he said.

To my de­light I was ac­cu­rate ev­ery time.

Next, it was time to con­nect with our guides. Af­ter a med­i­ta­tion I had to imag­ine I was in­side a large bub­ble, be­fore al­low­ing some­one to join me in­side.

I recog­nised the per­son who stepped into my bub­ble straight away. It was the nice older lady who’d played with me as a child!

She told me her name was He­lenna and showed me a mem­ory, like a movie play­ing in my head.

I could see He­lenna and I be­ing shot by Nazi sol­diers in our last life. We’d been pris­on­ers of war to­gether in 1940.

In a flash I re­mem­bered how, in that life I’d been from Den­mark, a prac­tic­ing witch with a wood­cut­ter hus­band and two chil­dren called Rona and Homer.

The Nazis had taken me to Ger­many where I’d met He­lenna, who was also a white witch.

I’d known her all my present life but hadn’t known our his­tory.

Yet, even though the mem­o­ries were so clear, I was still scep­ti­cal.

‘You’ve got to prove all this to me in the phys­i­cal world,’ I told He­lenna.

Learn­ing the truth

That night, some­thing told me to google the names of my chil­dren from the past life I’d shared with He­lenna.

It turned out Rona was a Scan­di­na­vian girl’s name – though I’d never heard it be­fore.

Then one of the mums at the school gates men­tioned a deal she’d seen on­line.

‘It’s for a trip to Den­mark, to visit a mu­seum

all about Den­mark’s role in the Sec­ond World War,’ she said.

I was amazed. Hav­ing pretty much left school at 13, I’d had no idea Den­mark had even been in­volved in the war.

If I’d tried to imag­ine be­ing in­volved in the Sec­ond World War in a past life, I’d never have come up with be­ing from Den­mark!

It was the proof I’d asked for and, in time, I re­alised it had been He­lena who’d helped with my re­cov­ery from anx­i­ety and ago­ra­pho­bia.

She’d been a healer as well as a witch in the past life we’d shared. Along with the an­gels, she be­gan help­ing me through my devel­op­ment as a medium. Once I’d learned to tap into her, she proved an amaz­ing guide.

The best of friends

Of­ten I com­mu­ni­cate with her through au­to­matic writ­ing, though when I’m with clients her voice will come through to me, too.

She’ll sug­gest rit­u­als for clients, crys­tals that will be helpful or give me in­for­ma­tion to pass on. She has this phe­nom­e­nal bank of knowl­edge.

And she’s very funny, too. One day we were pack­ing up the camper­van to go on a fam­ily hol­i­day when I got the urge to check in with her.

I got a pen and pa­per out and be­gan to write, but her mes­sage seemed par­tic­u­larly cryptic,

‘The bells will be ring­ing.’

I had no idea what she meant. Un­til we ar­rived at the camp­site. It turned out it was right next to a church with bells that rang ev­ery hour, keep­ing us up all night!

‘Thanks for the warn­ing, He­lenna!’ I laughed. She loves the lime­light, too.

When I was in­ter­viewed on live ra­dio, she wowed the DJ in­ter­view­ing me by giv­ing me per­sonal mes­sages for him.

I once asked He­lenna for a sign that the in­for­ma­tion I had re­ceived from her was ac­cu­rate, ask­ing her to send a pea­cock feather as con­fir­ma­tion. The next day, I got a friend re­quest on Facebook from a lady whose pro­file pic­ture was a woman cov­ered in pea­cock feath­ers!

Then my hus­band came home from work say­ing he’d stopped by the lo­cal al­lot­ment for eggs on the way.

‘The pea­cocks there were re­ally noisy,’ he said. He’d never men­tioned pea­cocks at the al­lot­ment be­fore. So, a feather hadn’t landed on my lap, but they’d come to me in un­canny ways.

I spent so long strug­gling with my gift, but thanks to He­lenna I never feel alone with it.

She’s not just my guide, she’s my best friend.

More info Visit claire­stone.co.uk

It took me time to ac­cept my true path

My daugh­ter, aged four, med­i­tat­ingin Tesco!

with Spend­ing timewon­der­ful fam­ily my

Shar­ing my gift is es­sen­tial to me

Me as a child with my bestfriend, Gill

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