Rosemary Altea Voice of the Spirit World
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by Rosemary

The Eagle and The Rose
Proud Spirit
You Own the Power
Meditation / Healing
Soul Signs
A Matter of Life and Death
Angels in Training


Eagle and the Rose

an excerpt from Rosemary's book,
The Eagle and the Rose

Available for Purchase in our Online Store as a book or cassette tape.

The Little Girl and the Tiger

It began with a phone call, a lady wanting a consultation. "You are a medium, aren't you?" she said quite aggressively, and before I could reply she demanded an appointment for herself and a friend, saying she had lost her daughter and wanted to contact her.

Now, being a medium doesn't automatically mean that I am a nicer or more tolerant person, though I do endeavor to control my thoughts about others. But I'm, afraid this phone call niggled me, and something about this woman irritated me a little. So when I had written down her appointment in my diary, by the side I put a question mark, something I usually do if I am unsure about someone.

Then I promptly forgot all about it until the week of the sitting, when I looked in my diary and saw the question mark there. At first I couldn't remember why I had written it in, but then it was like hearing her voice all over as I recalled her telling me that she had lost her daughter.

It is difficult to tell on the telephone what age a person is or what they look like; so I had no idea how old my prospective client would be and therefore had no idea how old her daughter would be. I might be looking for a teenager, a twenty-year-old, or even a forty-year-old. So although I knew my client had lost her daughter, I was still working blind.

The morning of the consultation I woke early. It was about six o'clock, and the first thing that came into my head was, "Oh, no, that woman is coming today." Then, shrugging it off, I turned over, hoping to go back to sleep. As I did so, out of the corner of my eye I saw something move.

Curious, I turned onto my back so that I could have proper look at whatever it was, and standing before me was a little girl. Visits in this way from those in the spirit world were not at all unusual, but this child was especially cute. She was about four years old and the sweetest, prettiest little thing, with a plump little body, round rosy cheeks, and beautiful blond hair. Her eyes were large and cornflower blue, matching the blue of the dress she wore. Clutched in one had was a teddy bear, very small, well worn, and ragged looking. What an adorable child, I thought.

Smiling shyly at me, with her free hand she waved. A small child version of a wave, wriggling her chubby little fingers.

"Hello, young lady, what are you doing here?" I asked, smiling gently.

"My mummy's coming to see you today," she whispered.

"Ah," I said, "is she now? And are you going to be a good girl for me, and talk to me when your mummy comes?"

The child nodded and giggled self-consciously, wriggling her little fingers at me all the time, and I smiled at her again and asked: "You will try hard, darling won't you? She bobbed her head up and down, and I took that to mean yes, but when I asked her her name all I got from her was a toothy grin.

I tried again but got nowhere at all, so not wanting to push too hard, I tried another tack: "Is there anything you want me to tell Mummy, or is there anything you want to say o me before your mummy comes this morning?"

Bobbing her head up and down again, she looked at me with those large cornflower blue eyes and whispered softly. "Tell Mummy 'bout the tiger."

Hopefully, I pursued this and asked: " What about the tiger? Can you tell me about it?" But she merely repeated again:

"Tell my mummy 'bout the tiger." And wriggling her little fingers at me once more, she disappeared as quickly as she had come.

Smiling now and happy, I turned over in the bed and catnapped for another hour before I got up. My two clients arrived promptly at ten-thirty A.M., and as I showed them into the study, it was obvious to me which one was the lady I had spoken to on the telephone. She had the same demanding tone in her voice. In her early thirties quite attractive, and with long black hair, she looked nothing like the child I had spoken to earlier.

Her friend was quiet-in fact, quite shy-and she also had blond hair.

Now then, I thought, trying to see some similarities between them and my little visitor, I wonder which one is the mother?

Immediately upon sitting down, I spotted the little girl, who was jumping up and down with excitement, pointing to the darker of the two women, saying: "That's my mummy, it is, it is!"

Using that power, that mind energy, with which I communicate with those in the spirit world and looking to Grey eagle for confirmation, I began. "All right, darling," I said, laughing, "hold on a minute," and I began to describe the fairy child who was now waiting so patiently.

"That's her, that's her," her mother gasped, "that's my Mandy," and fishing in her handbag, she brought out a photograph, which she handed to me. The photo didn't do justice to the child I had standing before me, but it was obviously the same child.

Smiling encouragement, I said: "All right now, Mandy, what would you like to tell your mummy?'

Pouting and cross with me because she thought I must have forgotten, she admonished: "You haven't told Mummy. You've got to tell Mummy 'bout the tiger."

So I explained to Mandy's mother how her daughter had visited me earlier that morning and that she had asked me to talk about "the tiger."

My client, puzzled by this, shook her head, saying, I'm sorry, but I don't know what she means."

Going back to Mandy, I asked gently, "Sweetheart, can you tell me a little more about the tiger so that I can help Mummy to understand?"

But all she would say again was: "Tell my Mummy 'bout the tiger."

Now when it comes to dealing with small children, I can have infinite patience, which I needed, as Mandy is a stubborn little girl. Having decided that her mother did know what she was talking about, she refused to reveal any more information, no matter what I said or did. Her mother just became more and more puzzled each time I asked.

"Perhaps Mandy had a toy tiger, or was she perhaps fond of tigers at the zoo?"

Eventually I ran out of ideas, and in desperation I asked Grey eagle, I should, of course, have asked him sooner.

Chuckling, he said, 'It's easy-look." As in a vision, I was shown a cat, a large tom, with ginger and white stripes. It was the sort of cat a small child might mistake for a tiger.

"Tell Mandy's mother what you see," continued my guide, "and then ask if she has seen one this morning, early, at about six-thirty A.M."

When I relayed all of this information to Mandy's mother, I really thought at first she was going to faint.

Then, slowly, tears began to trickle down her face, and in a voice barely above a whisper, she said: "My Mandy really is alive. She really can see me after all.

"I got up early this morning," she went on, "because I had such a lot to do, what with getting the boys off to school and one thing and another. The milkman had just been when I came down the stairs, so I went out to fetch the milk in. Just as I stepped out of the door a cat shot straight under my feet. It came out of nowhere and I almost went flying. It was a huge thing with ginger and white stripes, and now I come to mention it, Mandy's did look just like a little tiger."

Mandy, now very pleased with herself because she had been right and her mummy did, after all, know about the tiger, went on to tell me many more things.

Her favorite topic was her two brothers, both on this side, whom she obviously adored and who, by the sound of things, were real mischiefs. The older of the two was always getting into trouble, and Mandy gleefully related tales of his exploits.

Because she was so young, occasionally I had a little trouble understanding her. One minute she seemed just a baby and the next quite grown-up. But there was no mistaking one statement she made.

She was still talking about her brothers, and as she was describing how they would sit on the floor and draw pictures and swap coloring books, she said: "And they have sweeties, too-and Andrew always has a black mouth-and a black tongue." And then, in a small conspiratorial whisper, "He loves lick-rish, see, it's his favorite."

Mandy's mother laughed at this and confirmed that indeed her youngest son adored licorice.

At this point I hadn't yet discovered how Mandy had passed into the spirit world, and I didn't want to upset the child by asking her. But Grey Eagle, realizing that this information was necessary for Mandy's mother, gave me all the details.

It had happened on a warm summer's day, and Mandy had been playing outside on the path near her house. Her mother had repeatedly warned her not to go in the road, but on this day the temptation was too great.

She heard the familiar tinkling of the ice-cream van as it came round the corner, and in her excitement, she forgot her mother's warning.

"Ice cream." She squealed delightedly, and raced into the road.

The driver of the car didn't stand a chance of avoiding her, and Mandy was killed instantly.

Mandy's mother confirmed all of this, and now sobbing, she told me of the guilt and self-recriminations she had gone from medium to medium in a desperate search for evidence of Mandy's survival.

"I haven't known a moment's peace," she said, "until now, and I have come up against so many blank walls trying to find the truth."

I smiled and asked: "Just what was it that has been said this morning that has finally convinced you that your Mandy has survived death?"

She answered without hesitation and with no more doubts left in her mind: "The tiger."

Such a trivial but oh so significant piece of evidence. But such was the power of this evidence that it brought real peace to Mandy's mother and a true understanding that life really does continue on.

Mandy's mother could now rest easy, knowing that her daughter was indeed alive and safe.

But for me, the most important thing was that Mandy was finally content. She had her family back.and they knew it.

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