Rosemary Altea and the Coming of 'Grey Eagle'
I found myself talking of my experiences as a child when in the night the faces would come and the whisperings would begin. I told of how many times in my life I had been transported, as if by magic, to a different time or place in the universe, to be with people I didn't know yet felt comfortable with . . . until I had to explain it to myself later. I told of my visions and of how I would sometimes sit in a room . . . and see not the room, but another place entirely.
The more I talked, the more I found I had to say, and then I saw it, quite naturally and quite clearly. It was just like being in a cinema when the lights grow dim and the people all around you fade into the background. Then the screen lights up, showing the picture bright and clear and larger than life, so all-consuming that it pulls you through the void which separates the real from the unreal, allowing you to become part of the scene being unfolded before you.
When Rosemary Altea attended another presentation at the home of the Denhams, guest speaker Mick McGuire was a practicing healer who revealed himself to work with a spirit guide that was a Native American chief known as Red Feather. When McGuire held her hands, she began to shake as she felt "strange and strong vibrations" run through her body and uncontrollably "let rip a yell, so fearsome it must have sounded like an Indian war cry." He explained that the surge of energy was the result of his guide acknowledging her own guide. She was struck by the fact that so many of these guides seemed to be American Indians. In her book, Altea described her progress. She continued her research and began participating each week in a 'circle' where she developed her mediumship abilities. She eventually began to give psychic readings. Rosemary recalled:
It felt natural for me to acknowledge him, and I smiled a sleepy hello.
He bowed graciously, looking completely at ease, and I knew that subconsciously I had been waiting for this moment to arrive.
He wore a bright-colored kilt and a jacket, with a sword belt strapped across his shoulder and a sporran laid over the kilt; on his head he wore a tam-o'-shanter. His shoes were soft and looked similar to those worn by ballet dancers, and his socks were the long woolen type. And he danced. Every time he was pleased with something, or if he felt that I needed cheering up, which was quite often in those days, he would dance a little jig.
If my dancing Scotsman, always with me, wanted to communicate certain information to me quickly, the most efficient way was to show me certain pictures or symbols. He didn't have to explain these symbols, or signs, to me, I just knew instinctively . . . what they meant. It was a bit like learning the highway code, using road signs to indicate certain situations, such as a railway crossing, road construction ahead, and so on.
I woke up one morning and automatically turned to where my dancing Scotsman usually stood, but he was not there. I sat bolt upright and searched around the bedroom. He was nowhere in sight!
Two weeks passed, and it now seemed that my dancing Scotsman had gone forever. But the space in my life that he occupied was slowly being filled. My mystery figure, the unknown spirit entity, was making his presence felt more and more. At first his "presence" had been spasmodic; now I "felt" him constantly, always there, drawing closer.
The date was February 10, 1982. My daughter, Samantha, was not quite twelve years old. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I was driving home from Doncaster along a straight country road, when it happened. I got my final clue. A huge bird seemed to come from out of the blue and flew straight across the hood of the car. My foot hit the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt, with me inside shaking like a leaf. I'd really thought I was going to hit the thing.
What was it? I thought. An eagle? No. It couldn't have been, we don't have eagles in this part of the country. But it was. As soon as I'd thought those words I knew that I was right.
Samantha was waiting for me outside the school gates, and I picked her up and drove straight home.
So I nodded and smiled as I listened attentively to her chatter. Then she said, "And we've been doing birds, Mum, as well."
"Birds? What do you mean, you've been 'doing' birds?" I replied.
Samantha explained how they had been discussing various types of birds in her nature class that afternoon.
On this Wednesday evening we five sat in a small circle, not really knowing what to expect, Adele least of all. Mick had requested she sit quietly and not interfere in any way, no matter what happened.
No sooner was I "out" than I was replaced by the first spirit entity waiting to communicate.
Being only in the first stage of trance, I was able to see and hear all, and as I looked on I was amazed at the transformation my body was making. I watched in fascination as my physical body began to move, slowly at first, as if someone were trying it on for size. Then, quickly becoming used to it, "he" stood up.
It seemed not to be my physical self any longer, being much taller and quite broad set, giving the distinct impression of a male form rather than female.
He stood high in stature, his shoulders set back and his arms folded across his chest. It was no longer my own physical form that I was looking at, but his.
His very presence was electric and tremendously impressive, but the thing that struck me most about him was the power and energy that seemed to exude from his very being. He was tall and broad, dark skinned, with shoulder-length black hair. And he had the most startling and beautiful eyes. Standing straight and proud, bare chested, with his arms folded, he looked around the room.
Then he spoke, in a voice strong and vibrant with energy, and all became clear.
"My name," he said, "is Grey Eagle, and I am Apache.
"From now on you will know me as guide, teacher, and mentor to your medium.
"Together we will work in spiritual harmony, she and I. Your medium will learn many things, and her progress will be great.
"We will achieve much.
"My little flower is weak and exhausted from her many earthly trials. She needs water, food and sustenance, which I, as her spirit guide and protector, will give.
"Which I will always give."
Grey Eagle spoke more. His English was good, with only a slight, undefined accent. His voice held a special quality, firm and strong but at the same time gentle. I was drawn toward him, compelled to listen.
"We know each other, she and I, and yet she will not remember me.
"We who are of spirit have been waiting.
"The time is now.
"We have asked of her a great service.
"She will do well."
After reading about Rosemary's life-changing vision of the 'lady in gray,' I realized that here there were links with many other paranormal case chronologies. (article) This visionary experience is one of the many unforgettable occurrences found throughout the annals of transcendental communication.