Hidden Language

The Three Dwarves in Cortland

Wayne Nicholson — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 21:42:43 +0000

I was pledging a fraternity in college, and part of the hazing process wasthe daily morning jog through the town with the rest of the “goons” or pledges. Cortland was a bit of a shock to me because of the weather that year. Whereas in Long Island we usually had good weather with plenty of sun, Cortland rested in a valley among seven hills, and the sun rarely showed, especially in 1967-68. We ran through the rain and slush each morning, in the cold, and although the running was fine with me, the damp cold took its toll. After two weeks of this routine I came down with pneumonia, and checked into the school infirmary, where I remained for a full week. Looking back, I don’t know why I wasn’t transferred to the hospital, unless it was an insurance issue. I had the only dayroom all to myself that week. All the other beds were empty. Each day was like the next, as I labored to breathe and slept. A nurse would check on me periodically, but otherwise it was just me in an empty room. Although I was pretty out of it most of the time, I did notice that I didn’t seem to be getting any better. My usual “walk it off” attitude was subsiding and was replaced by increasing concern.

One afternoon, on the fifth or sixth day, the sun broke and streamed through the windows. It was warm and inviting and I thought about getting out of bed, but was too weak to manage it. After dozing for awhile, I looked toward the doorway to the right of my bed and saw three small squarish looking men walk in. They seemed to be identical and filed in one behind the other. When they reached me I realized just how small they were, because when they passed behind the foot of the bed even their heads didn’t show. I tried to sit up to see, but fell back into the mattress and slept. Were these guys real or an hallucination? I don’t know, but I do know that I was well the very next morning and was discharged to attend classes.

Many years later I read a description of three men that seemed identical to my three dwarves, in an account by Whitley Strieber about his encounter with them. Was I cured by aliens? I don’t know, but its nice to know someone else had a similar experience.

If you’d like to listen to an interview I had with Whitley Strieber in December of 2008, you can find it at my website here

http://www.thehiddenlanguage.com/pages/media.htm

Flight

Wayne Nicholson — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 15:52:16 +0000

Flying first came to my life when I was in Grand Avenue Junior High School. I discovered it in gym class in seventh grade, while doing the broad jump. I found that I could prolong the feeling of flight by an act of will. By rising up inside myself, I could soar for longer and longer intervals. The feeling was so exhilirating and fascinating that I tried out for the track team just to help nuture the skill. I cared nothing for running, jumping or competition. Only the apex of the jump interested me, the moment between the rise and fall, the precise moment of freedom. It was at that exact point that I would consciously soar over the field, beyond the trees and rooftops, and extend over the horizon. No one watching ever witnessed the flight, and it was never reflected by the judges measuring stick, but I believed that someday it would be. Truthfully, even then I realized that I had no great talent for track and field events. My talent was for flying.

The timing of this discovery was, of course, no accident. This was the first pubescent autumn. The air was cool, the smells and colors intoxicating, and the girls were ever present in the minds eye. Hormones thundered in confusion through my body deafeningly. It was little wonder that I could fly. The conflicting images and needs that demanded my attention; school, part time job at the deli, family, love, all anchored me to the ground yet fueled the need for flight.

That same autumn, my father had his first of six heart attacks, and I found I could no longer fly. The shock and fear of loss weighed my feet to the ground. Track became the strenuous activity of of merely running and jumping. I quit the team, explaining to the coach that “I had to help out at home after school because of my father’s heart attack.” It was an empty excuse and the coach knew it. But how could I explain that I grieved not only for my father’s pain, but also for my own loss of flight?

Later in life the gift of flight returned, at first in my dreams when I would soar over the streets of unfamiliar cities, travel to the far planets, and glide above country fields. I once became aware midway through a dream, of flying over foreign countrysides toward three far off mountains. While soaring I repeated aloud Mer..Sumer..Kailash..Mer Sumer..Kailash. I later discovered that these were Himalayan peaks known to be power points on the planet and believed to house unseen temples of wisdom. When I woke I could only remember the flying, not the arrival. If I did arrive, I have no idea what might have happened or who I might have seen. I didn’t really care. Destinations were of no interest, only the freedom of flight mattered, freedom to be the point of awareness that I knew myself to be, unencumbered by shape or substance, unfettered by thought. In time I knew that even the sensation of flight imposed limitations, and occured within the confines of space and time. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

You can enjoy a flight of your own with my CD

Flight: Rise Above Your Problems, Dissolve Limitations, Build the Life You Want
Here’s the link

http://thehiddenlanguage.com/pages/flight.php

Guidance

Wayne Nicholson — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 23:37:34 +0000

“Your guide is telling me he has a gift for you,” Colleen mentioned, looking up from her book as I walked through the living room. “Cool,” I responded and kept walking. Messages to me via Colleen were nothing new. She is an exceptional animal communicator, as well as spirit communicator. (HolisticAnimal.com) She prefers working with animals though, because it leaves her feeling “cleaner.” “People carry too much junk for me to handle,” she says, “Its like being slimed.” I understand her viewpoint, but enjoy the challenge people present. The gift arrived three nights later.

I woke late that night to a brightly lit bedroom, and walked downstairs. As I reached the bottom, my head cleared the overhang and I was startled to see the livingroom filled with presents of all sizes, each wrapped perfectly. Standing off to one corner was a familiar looking man, about 5’10”, neatly dressed, with dark hair. He looked to be about 35 years old. When my eyes met his the scene changed to a city street, New York, I think. It was sometime in the past. 1920’s maybe? Then the scene rapidly changed from one place to another, one time to another. Greece, Rome, Africa, Ireland, England, the Civil war, the Renaissance, Reformation, Industrial Revolution. We were together in each of these times and lived as senators, slaves, merchants, comrades in arms, brothers, man and wife, healers, enemies and friends. We had shared countless and varied experiences, all with the same purpose: to learn, to grow, to serve.

I woke again, this time in bed, struggling to sort out the images and meanings of my dream. The idea of spirit guides was not new to me, but this experience helped me sort out my understanding of that precious relationship. Basically, everyone on earth has a spirit guide. That includes the Dalai Lama, the Pope, the Evangelist, the thief, the homeless man on the corner, the murderer and the murdered. The most saintly person you can imagine and the most foul mass murderer all have access to spiritual guidance if they want it and learn to listen to it.

If you wonder who’s listening to their guides, just examine their lives. Are they helping others? Are they striving to become better people? Do they have an optimistic bent, even when life gets tough. If so, guidance has been received and acted upon. Do they know it? Not always. Some people do not believe in spirit guides, yet live their lives with love and compassion. They don’t realize that many of their best thoughts and emotions, are instigated elsewhere. Usually the guide is someone like mine, who has shared many life experiences with you over a vast amount of time. And at other times, in other lives, you become the guide on the other side while they have their experience here.

Sometimes we have guides who are task specific. If you go into business, for example, a guide may step forward who specializes in business, or agriculture, or whatever your current project is. There are also guides who specialize in problem areas, such as drug addiction, alcoholism, and healing of all kinds. These folk come and go according to your needs. Your Master guide stays with you your entire life, through all experiences, triumphs and challenges. And as they say “Help is just a call away.”

Waystations

Wayne Nicholson — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 23:20:29 +0000

The line was long, very long. And I couldn’t quite remember what I was in line for, but I knew they would give the proper directions at the front of the line. The people in line with me didn’t seem to know any more than I did. We were the clueless, blankly staring, trying to recognize the surroundings, which were familiar somehow, but not yet identifiable.

Someone called to me and indicated I should leave the line and follow them. As I stepped out of line and walked toward him, my mind and vision cleared. I could see we were in an extremely large terminal of some kind, like a bus terminal, only the size of twenty superbowls. The ceiling was so high I couldn’t make it out. The space was filled with people standing in lines, waiting for directions and answers to the questions, “Where am I? Where am I supposed to go? How did I get here?” They were the recently departed, who arrived on the other side with no preparation. In life they tried to ignore death, or put off thinking about it until it was too late. Because they had no concept with which to understand their situation, they had to rely on the explanations of others. To do that, they had to wait in line.

I realized that I was brought to this place as the others were, in order to understand what it is like to pass over with no forethought or preparation. For me it was a learning exercise, since I had not actually died.

With that thought, my friend Cathy McCoon stepped forward. She had died of cancer some years before, after first losing an arm. Cathy was absolutely vibrant in life and full of spiritual conviction. We were good friends and I visited her in the hospital, after her arm had been removed. I was concerned and anxious to help, if only to lift her spirits. Foolishly, I leaned over and gave her a hug, which proved to be very painful for her. The expression on her face stayed with me for a long time. She of course, held no bad feelings. That just wasn’t Cathy. Her eventual death was difficult for me to accept, and I didn’t attend the funeral. But now she twirled around for my benefit, and showed me both arms to demonstrate that she was now whole. Her job at this terminal was as a greeter, helping to calm the confused arrivals.

The endless lines were grouped according to background, religion, attitudes, and general belief system. People gathered according to their expectations of the afterlife, and were led to environments that supported those beliefs. Gradually, new arrivals would begin to understand that the afterlife includes much more than they were taught or came to believe on their own. They could then explore any areas that their state of awareness would allow. Essentially, the only limitations are our own beliefs and expectations.

The people who have the most difficult time adjusting, are the ones who expect to be “the chosen ones” who would hold some spiritual position above the rest of the “unbelievers.” It was funny to watch the arrogant important people indignantly stand in line next to the humble folk who were indigent, or homeless, or even just lower middle class. The self professed “higher ups” couldn’t understand why they were being forced to keep company with those of lower social and intellectual standing. The truth is, they were not being forced. At that level of expression in the afterlife, “like attracts like”, and although they couldn’t see it, they had many shared attitudes with the other people in line.

I’ve learned there are many levels to the afterlife, and this experience represents just one of them. I think it’s comforting to know that we survive beyond this life. Its reassuring as well to think that what we do here can affect our understanding of events there later on.

A recent Animal Communication seminar

Wayne Nicholson — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 14:53:49 +0000

Colleen and I held a hugely successful seminar and training session on “Communicating with Animals at a Distance” in Jacksonville recently. My wife, Colleen, is an internationally known animal communicator, who has trained hundreds of people to speak with their animals at seminars, and has held thousands of animal communication sessions with people and their animal companions all over the world these last 18 years. My role in the seminars is to open with a grounding exercise, monitor workshop activities, and share hypnotic metawalks designed to help participants solidify their connection with the animals of their choice.

The group in Jacksonville were fantastic. Everyone succeeded at communicating with animals that were present at the seminar, as well as animals at distant locations, and animals who have passed to the other side. The weekend culminated with a trip to “The Oaks” ranch where participants met and communicated with the horses who live or board there. In order to provide maximum feedback, the ranch owners met with participants to review their communications and were able to confirm the many “hits”. Back at the seminar site, we also had dogs, cats and birds on hand from “The Barking Lot” and owner Sue Towler provided confirmation. The distant animals are from all over the United States and as far away as Port Elizabeth, South Africa. Feedback from the owners of those animals was provided after the fact by the owners, and sent to participants in a newsletter. Participants received certificates on completion.

If this sounds like something you might be interested in, you can find the upcoming seminar schedule here. Future plans take us to a private wildlife reserve in Clyde, NY in August. In November we’ll be at the Humane Association’s Popcorn Park Zoo in Forked River, NJ.

If you can’t attend a seminar this year, we have also produced the CD pictured that provides basic training in animal communication. For more information click here.

A Walking Meditation You Can Try

Wayne Nicholson — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 12:32:37 +0000

Here’s a stunning experience I’d like to share, with instructions on how to replicate it.
……It was a bright October day in Syracuse and the house was quiet. I had the place to myself. Our life at that time was fairly active, and I cherished these times of solitude, so that I could pursue my “study”. I began a meditation that I’d recently discovered, which involved not only sitting, but walking as well. A good fit for those of us who fidget. It presents a sequence of activity that is complicated enough to occupy the mind, while the spirit breaks free.
I sat motionless in the diningroom and focused my attention on my solar plexis. Each time my diaphragm would rise I would mentally say “up”, and each time it fell I would say “down”. Here’s how the mind gets occupied. If you think about it, when you inhale your abdomen expands, or rises. However, that is because your diaphragm is falling to allow your lungs to expand. When you exhale, your abdomen falls, because your diaprhagm is rising to squeeze the air out of your lungs. So, when your abdomen falls, you say “up”, and when it rises, you say “down”. Get it? It takes some concentration to keep that straight, but there’s more. After ten rounds of up and down, I stood and walked around the house, while maintaining my focus on the solar plexis, and repeating the word “walking” as I did so. I completed this cycle of up and down and walking for quite awhile. I realize that this could be considered insane activity by any standard, if it weren’t for the outcome.

My attention became so focused upon the solar plexis that I lost track of my surroundings, until right there in front of me sat a man dressed in loose white clothing. He was a man of color, although I can’ t say what nationality. He was bald and without facial hair, and looked at me intently while he lectured me about “his people.” That phrase is the only thing I remember from his conversation. I swear to you I could reach out and touch him, but didn’t because the shock of his appearance snapped me right out of my focused state, and at that moment he was gone…..

      I’ve thought alot about how that all works, and that experience has never happened again, but I may have sorted it out. First of all, it was an intensely physical feeling experience. He was right there! Not ephemeral and transparent. Not floating on a cloud or in a mist. He sat there in my dining room just as you or anyone else would. However, the room seemed somehow larger to me, and brighter, as if it was a bigger technicolor version of my house.
      About twenty years later, when we first got High Definition stations on our flat screen, I had commented to my friend, Jerry, that it was more appealing than the view of the river outside my house. I must tell you, that river view is a pretty good view. Jerry’s a clever guy, and he mentioned that the view outdoors is comprised of reflected light, while the HD view onscreen was a light source of its own. That explains nicely the diningroom experience. When you view an inner environment on a different plane, everything is a light source. There is no sun. The light comes from within every object, person or place. Therefore, I believe that the man in the diningroom, actually appeared in a version of that room that exists on a slightly higher vibration. I believe that the meditation sufficiently raised my vibration to allow me to perceive at that level. I also believe that he probably stepped down his own vibration somewhat to accommodate me.
      I can’t tell you the source of this meditation, because I don’t remember, although I know it is based in Buddhist tradition. Here are some instructions, in case you would like to try it yourself.

Find a comfortable place where you will not be disturbed. Disconnect the telephone, and turn off any appliances that might startle you.
While sitting in a chair, notice your solar plexis area rising and falling with your breath. Just be aware of it for awhile, pay attention to how it feels. Let this be about sensation, not thought just yet.

When you feel calm and centered, become aware of your diaphram (not your abdomen). You can’t really feel your diaphram, so picture it rising and falling with each breath. With each inhalation, think down, and with each exhalation think up. If you haven’t quite sorted that sequence out in your mind, stop the excercise and re-read the previous section until it makes sense. Don’t feel bad. This is the most confusing meditation I’ve ever tried, and if it weren’t for the potential benefit I would not have posted it here.

After thinking up and down ten times, stand up and slowly walk around the room. While you walk, think walking….walking….walking. If your mind wanders, or starts to spin off stories about the room and its contents, or things you’ve done there before, or anything at all, just quietly return to the thought, walking…walking…walking. Eventually you will only perceive the moment you are in, which is the real benefit of this excercise. You can do this, by the way, while you are driving ( driving….driving….driving) or during any activy at all. It’s a way to cultivate “the witness” which is the eventual awareness that what we do, is only a reflection of what we are, which is the limitless consciousness that continually witnesses our actions.

The type of encounter I described only happens when you are completely in the moment. I know because I allowed myself to be jarred out of that momentous experience and it ended immediately. Who knows what I could have learned if I had stayed centered? You’ll find your own answer with practice.