Creative Clearing

In 2003 I experienced a spiritual crisis. A spiritual problem (also called “spiritual emergency“) is a form of identity crisis where individual experiences drastic changes to their meaning system (i.e., their unique purposes, goals, values, attitude and beliefs, identity, and focus) typically because of a spontaneous spiritual experience. A spiritual crisis may cause significant disruption in psychological, social, and occupational functioning. The spiritual experiences thought to lead to episodes of spiritual crisis or spiritual emergency is often closely attributed to psychiatric complications related to an existential crisismystical experiencenear-death experiencesKundalini syndromeparanormal experiences, religious ecstasy, or other spiritual practices.

Since childhood, my whole life has focused on a personal cultural journey to aspire to be an integrated spiritual component of Dreamtime. I knew nothing else. At age five, my grandfather, a fully initiated man, activated my “strong eye.” when he gave me my Willy Wagtail totem – Ginnikin. From there, it was a natural progression. Of course, many misunderstood my “higher purpose.” I experienced a lifetime of stigma, ostracization, isolation, loneliness, and depressed states, bullied, harassment, and simply ignoring and mistreatment primarily by relatives. People assumed I was a mental case at just one glance without bothering to get to know me first; besides, people talked among themselves, and words soon went across the countryside to avoid me.

My mother was the only person on Earth who knew I was a chosen child. She kept it to herself. My maternal grandmother also contributed significantly to much of my learning, and I now realise she too was also “gifted.” like my grandfather. At no time was I NEVER deterred by my mum or my grandparents to stop being Aboriginal; my grandmother told me when I was in grade four I could be anything I wanted. For the most part, most so-called relatives believed the days of Aboriginality were over. They had assimilated into society and ignored cultural identity, except when answering paperwork on the question of Aboriginality. It’s pretty absurd now when I think about it.

So, in 2003 I went through a personal growth experience of super spiritual and cultural importance marked by extraordinary events. I experienced dreams and visions of other realms of existence, profoundly deep in divine revelations. At the time, I was living in Armidale and alone. I must get the sequence of events that occurred in their proper order. At the same time, the Mowi was also tracking my movements. The debil had always known me before I was born. One night I got a visitor from the celestial realms. A member of the Higher Twenty-Four Elders came to me to tell me he was the first. An Aborigine man. I knew he had ascended when I saw him; his form was translucent but clearly visible. I could see him from the chest up. He was naked. For a moment, my gaze fell on his chest; it soon occurred to me his chest size was enormous; I calculated from the scope of his body parts in comparison to chest size that he stood at least fourteen feet.

While working on this graphic with edit tools, the Elder’s eyes moved side to side; it was too spooky. I stopped and posted the picture as is.

Soon after, events unfolded quickly. This was when I saw uncle Frogman and Birdman, both trapped in portals against their choice. I designed a graphic of uncle Frogman, and the memory of the event is still evident; it happened quickly and without notice. I’m unable to take a picture of my encounter with uncle Birdman. Our meeting was brief, like three seconds. These otherworldly episodes led me to the Armidale hospital for a cognitive review. I remember it well. AS far as mental health services are concerned, I was psychotic. I remember feeling distressed and overwhelmed; I sat on the ER floor and said, I’m the woman who sits on a mountain. Soon after, I spoke to a doctor.

About five minutes into the consultation, I looked deep into the doctor’s eyes. His eyes were the universe. I was looking into space. I will never forget the stars shining in his eyes. The Galaxy could be seen all in the doctor’s eyes. I thought he was JC. It was too much; I left ER. That evening, I was led by the ‘Old People outside the city limits to a place unknown I walked without question. I was on the Armidale-Dorrigo road that leads to the coast; I walked for about twenty kilometres, maybe more. I still had the white hospital blanket wrapped around me. There was no traffic. I know that road well and came to a roadside toilet. I know I was being watched. I stood in the dark; I’m not sure how long I was there.

Making this graphic was emotional; I felt so sad. I don’t know how long uncle Frogman was trapped there; it was some time. It’s a portal-like realm; from my assessment, other people had gone into this place. Also explains the reluctance of uncle Frogman and Birdman to engage. This is my memory of it in as much detail as possible.
The Other Side. It was eerie recreating this graphic. The image is identical to my experience. I kept being told, “don’t go to sleep, or you will never get out.” I only saw the Ancestral beings scattered about in bird form; they looked at me and then away. As I approached a bridge, two snake heads popped up; I kept walking, saying to myself to face my fears. That’s all I saw there, but I know many eyes were on me.

I looked up and over the fence, walking towards me, where two Yowie people, a male and female. They knew I was coming and intercepted me. The male stood much taller than the female who hid behind him, peeking out, only occasionally holding onto the male. I stood motionless; the white hospital blanket wrapped around me made an impressive sight. I had no fear of them. Traditionally, we traded with the Yowie people when we travelled up the mountain for ceremonies and trading in now Armidale. They liked something bright or shiny. We stood silent for some time; I don’t know how long. My attention shifted. I returned to the main road. Standing in the middle where a man and a horse. I heard no hooves of the horse’s nothing. The man came to me he said to me, you know something. I said nothing. He tried to make a fire with matches, but it was too damp. I began to feel uncomfortable. I saw a snake fly from one tree to another. It watched me intently and, without warning, continued my walk on the road leading further from town.

About five kilometres, I turned off the main road onto a dirt track. I had entered the “Other Side.” I explained this in a blog when I began. I was there all night, and it broke down when I finally returned to the main road. A man pulled up in a car, told me to wait for a bus, and then drove away. On the other side of the road was a house, and two men were outside talking; I didn’t notice much more. While waiting, my eyes wandered over to a large paddock. I could make out tiny people in there, in a traditional setting. The Tankini people. They were also trapped; I was furious. It didn’t end there. I saw an uncle from the ankles floating in mid-air a short distance from me. I asked him via telepathy why the little people were there. He was silent. Then the mystery man and his horse appeared and stood some distance away. After that, I finally got a ride back to town.

The massive Blowhole in my dream. The Dreaming story I read was the entry point for the water serpent, Jeedara, where he lives today, where blowholes are said to be his breath. When Jeedara is angry, he creates dust storms. Another being was in the Blowhole, a male. In 2018 I was intercepted by an informant from the NT. Two weeks later, his spirit bird came to me in a dream; soon after, Dreaming spirits sealed all the entrance points to the dimensions I had been to. A man had entered a vision I had many years ago; I was told it was a signature of the occult. I heard feathers ruffling when the Dreaming spirits entered dreaming tracks, the man who invaded a sacred place has since died.

Mental health services gave me the label schizophrenia. I spent many years experimenting with different psychiatric medicines, like a guinea pig, wiping much of my memories. I was eventually put under the Mental Health Act, a satanic law, by an unknown person(s) and locked up against my will; police had supreme powers to intervene in my life at any given moment and put me in mental wards, treat like crap. The psyche nurses hardened by years of working in the system themselves the crazy and insane. Under the “Act.” you lose your dignity and human rights and have no say in your life. Last year I went to the Tweed Hospital for medical help. While there, a lovely male nurse said we’re taking you off the Mental Health Act. Just like that! Then, in March 2022, the mental health services at the Tweed Hospital discharged me from their services. I don’t take any medication now and was never crazy. The doctor who treated me all that time was an evil man. He made me take a lot of drugs that were not needed and made me dependent on mental health services. Granny, the Rainbow Serpent, wants to kill him.

I realised yesterday I had to retell my story and backtrack to erase my spiritual vibratory fingerprint from the files. In May, the Mowi or the devil came to my home one last time. I can’t remember all the details, but satan, the liar and loser of life, given his extermination notice from a baby! Cluedo. All negative memories and emotions are expelled from the mind and body to give rise to the ultimate level of self-development. Self-Transcendence is a lifetime of work in spiritual, metaphysical and ethereal states of being on all levels in all places on Earth. My Dreamtime family are safe and well. I waited so long.

Published by Bugal Wena

I hold a goldmine of inherited cultural information and a direct connection between knowledge. Bugal Wena - Caring and Caring.

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