Language of Miracles: A Celebrated Psychic Teaches You to Talk to Animalsby Amelia Kinkade
As a professional animal psychic, Amelia Kinkade helps clients locate lost pets, diagnose baffling behavior, and further explore the indelible bond that exists between people and their animal companions. But her real mission is to convince people that, with the proper dedication, training, and understanding, everyone can do what she does . Here, she explains the… See more details below
As a professional animal psychic, Amelia Kinkade helps clients locate lost pets, diagnose baffling behavior, and further explore the indelible bond that exists between people and their animal companions. But her real mission is to convince people that, with the proper dedication, training, and understanding, everyone can do what she does . Here, she explains the subtle cues that form the foundation of animal communication, and provides guided exercises that allow readers to explore these cues for themselves. With gentle encouragement, she shows how to look for communications typically drowned out in the noise and chaos of modern life, whether they take the form of clairaudience or clairvoyance. Filled with amazing stories, The Language of Miracles inspires readers to sit down with the animals in their lives and explore the unspoken world between them.
- New World Library
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Language of MiraclesA Celebrated Psychic Teaches You to Talk to Animals
By Amelia Kinkade
New World LibraryCopyright © 2006 Amelia Kinkade
All right reserved.
Chapter OneThe New Animal Alchemy
A clear distinction should be made between what is not found by science and what is found to be nonexistent by science. What science finds to be nonexistent, we must accept as nonexistent; but what science merely does not find is a completely different matter.... It is quite clear that there are many, many mysterious things. - his holiness the dalai lama, 1999
The big iron gates slammed ominously behind me as the high-ranking official, the assistant adjutant, ushered me through the guarded private entrance, closed off to the public. It was my second visit to Buckingham Palace. During my first trip the autumn before, I had stood outside the front gates with the rest of the tourists, popping off snapshots, gaping at the spectacle from a distance, separated from the Queen's abode by imposing guards and big, black wrought-iron fences.
Now, barely five months later, I was inside those gates. My floral scarf whipped in the wind, so I nervously tucked it into my beige cashmere jacket to sop up the trickle of perspiration dripping down my chest. I hurried to keep up with the quick stride of the captain of these barracks, the assistant adjutant. It was a cool, crisp May day in London, a far cry from the 100-degree-plus temperatures I weathered in my native LosAngeles, but the last time I'd sweated like this, I'd been in a Beverly Hills spa, inhaling eucalyptus. I tried to remember to breathe. As I strode across the palace yards, flanked on both sides by British military officials, the cheerful sun beamed down on my flushed cheeks and lit the castle walls in pink pastel hues, like a watercolor painting. Every ounce of my courage and talent was about to be tested.
As a "corporate enabler" and international translator with a growing reputation for solving problems in management and for creating cooperative teamwork, I'd been brought in as a troubleshooter on "official royal business." The military was having problems with a few of its personnel. Some of the older employees were growing discontented, and a few of the new foreign recruits were having difficulties adjusting to their environment and workload. None of these employees spoke English.
I was met by many more men in brass-buttoned uniforms who saluted me and clicked the heels of their shiny black boots as I passed. The assistant adjutant ushered me inside the building and down a long corridor, lined with cubicles where employees worked. The adjutant said, "I'm not sure we picked the best time for you to talk to them. We just served them lunch."
"It's okay," I said nervously. "Maybe they'll speak to me while they're eating."
"This is Captain Harris," the adjutant said. "His performance has been excellent for years, but lately he's been quite argumentative. He's seems to have lost his spirit. He's not nearly old enough to consider retirement, but he seems a bit discontented with this job. Ask him what the trouble is."
As I walked into Captain Harris's cubicle, he was facing the other way, eating a bowl of oatmeal. When he saw me, he did a double take, and then went back to his lunch.
"Oh, I thought you were a carrot," he said.
I was utterly bewildered. I'd worked with a number of mentally challenged employees in the past, but no one had ever mistaken me for a carrot before.
"What?" I asked.
"Your sweater," he said. "It's my favorite color." I looked down to find I was wearing a bright orange sweater under my jacket and the hot coral color did actually form the elongated triangle-shape of a carrot.
"Well, his peripheral vision is not very good," I said, jotting notes in my notebook, "especially not on his right side."
"Did you bring me any carrots?" he asked.
"No. I'm sorry, I didn't. I understand you haven't been feeling yourself lately. Are you having problems with your diet?"
"It's very boring," he said, moving over to a plate of dry-looking salad.
"And your digestion?" I asked.
"Not very good since my coworker left. Have you seen the cat?"
"No, not yet. What color is it?"
"She's gray and white striped. She visits my cubicle at night. She's been cheering me up since my friend got transferred."
"Do you know there's a gray and white cat in this building?" I asked the assistant adjutant.
"Oh, yes. That's Emma. I didn't know he liked her."
"Tell him everyone likes Emma. She does wonders for morale," Captain Harris told me.
"Ask him if he wants to retire," the assistant adjutant urged me.
"Of course not!" Captain Harris answered indignantly. "I'm one of the Queen's favorites! I've won many awards! I could never retire. It would disappoint her. We have to practice marching in the parade this Saturday, and the entire team is counting on me to be in charge."
When I relayed the message, the assistant adjutant's eyes bulged.
"Yes!" he confirmed. "They have a practice on Saturday. Well, if he enjoys his work, and he's looking forward to the big event, ask him why he hasn't been able to concentrate lately."
"Your boss has been concerned about your performance," I prodded. "Are you not happy working here anymore?"
"I miss my friend. Bernard. They moved him into the cubicle on my left. We enjoyed working side by side and talking after work. The little cocky whippersnapper was so full of himself. He made me laugh and feel young again. I was just beginning to show him the ropes when they shipped him out. He got transferred up north to work in the beautiful countryside while I got stuck down here. I want to go up there, too. Or I want him to come back. I miss him terribly. We need to be together."
When I relayed this message, the assistant adjutant was visibly shaken.
"Please tell him to bring Bernard back," Captain Harris said.
"He's lonely," I said to the adjutant. "He misses his friend who used to stand on his left. He gives me the name Bernard. He says Bernard has been shipped up north to the beautiful countryside to work, while the Captain has to stay down here all alone." The adjutant was speechless. When he found his voice, he said excitedly:
"Yes, it's true! There was a boy standing on his left named Bernard! I never knew he meant that much to the Captain. Bernard got transferred up to Prince Charles's hunting facility in the Midlands a couple of weeks ago. It's true! The countryside is green and beautiful, and all these boys have more fun up there hunting in the woods. We ship them back and forth so they get a change of scenery. We thought the Captain was too old to want to do that anymore. Bernard! That's astonishing! How could he possibly tell you his name! Whoever would dream he could call his friend by name!?"
What's wrong with Captain Harris? Why wouldn't he know his best friend's name? Is he senile? Is he deaf?
No. He's a horse. Captain Harris is one of the royal procession horses of Queen Elizabeth II. I was invited to Buckingham Palace in May of 2002 to work with the Queen's household cavalry just as the horses were training for Her Majesty's Royal Jubilee. A few days later, I was further honored by an invitation to Prince Charles's hunting facility, where I got to meet Bernard in person and give him a kiss on the nose. Animal lovers, have no fear. Both boys were joyfully reunited shortly after my visit. Welcome to the new animal alchemy where all animals - two- and four-legged alike - can "talk" to each other, quietly, peacefully, and without misunderstandings.
You can do it, too
"Animals can't talk!" That's what you've been taught. Well, what I propose is a revolutionary new idea. Animals do talk - all day long! And psychic ability is not a miraculous talent allotted to the lucky. It's a learned skill. And shutting out your intuition (and the thoughts of animals) is also a learned behavior. Someone taught you to do that. But the belief system that limits you to your five outer senses is not your own. It was the belief system of your parents, you grandparents, your teachers in high school, and the poor professors who wrote your textbooks, with what little they had to go on - yesterday's outdated science taught to them by their professors. We are about to embark on the most exciting time in the history of the human race. We are finally at a point of choice, where we can expand our senses to become "super" human and create an umbrella of compassion so that we can shelter our fellow earthlings with our love.
People often ask me, "Can you telepath with humans, too, or only animals?" To this, I always reply, "Do you mean other animals?" I'm about to blow the whistle on the big lie that animals are just furry blobs, and with this, I'm proposing two paradigm shifts. The first has to do with the way we view our fellow animals. They are far more intelligent and emotionally complex than we ever suspected. They can think and feel and yes, even reason. They have complicated relationships and experience the entire spectrum of emotions we call "human." The second quantum leap involves how we view ourselves. We have amazing powers that we never before dreamed possible. Our minds are capable of perception beyond the five senses - we all have extrasensory perception. It's innate in our neurophysiology, our bodies, and our brain chemistry. God hardwired it into the blueprint of your design. It just takes concentration and patience to harness it, develop it, and distill it.
Of course, you'll have people in your life who say, "I don't believe in any of that psychic stuff," but they're only hurting themselves. To deny the power of the mind is no different from refusing to plug in a refrigerator, a toaster oven, or a computer because one "doesn't believe" in electricity. Psychokinetic energy is the electricity of the new millennium. And with that I say, welcome to the twenty-first century! But how do we learn to talk to other animals? Stay with me here. I'm going to teach you how to "plug in." But first, let's look at the nuts and bolts of the new physics.
Use the force
"All matter is held in place by a 'force' ... behind this force we must assume the existence of a conscious and intelligent mind. This mind is the matrix of Creation."
Who said that? When? Did Gary Zukav say it last week on Oprah? Did Obi-Wan Kenobi say it to Luke Skywalker in Star Wars? Nope. This very modern Idea was blurted out eighty-nine years ago by a gentleman who was just a wee bit before his time. Genius physicist Max Planck made that reference to God after he accepted the Nobel Prize in 1917 for developing the quantum theory. This very daring statement almost blew his fellow eggheads out of their chairs. It wasn't enough that Max was accepting the Nobel Prize for developing quantum physics, the first concept to explain physics at the subatomic level. This new concept could also bridge the gap between science and spirituality - a gap filled with a battalion of trumpeting religious zealots who would condemn you to hell if you didn't bow down to worship their God, and an even more intimidating army of atheist scientists who at the mention of angels, telepathy, or mystical powers would dismiss you as a deluded nincompoop.
This brilliant man dared side with the nincompoops at the most conspicuous moment of his career. But he joined their camp with new ammunition: he had just created a "language" that was impossible for the scientific community to dismiss - a seemingly willy-nilly world of tiny bouncing lights (electrons) that could be either particles or waves and change form on a whim. In the realm of the itsy-bitsy, he found the keys to the secrets of the humongous, and thus happened upon the "force" and its "matrix," the mysterious energetic field that appears to be the blueprint of our world. Dear old Max may have been the first pioneer in the realms of consciousness who could actually prove the scientific validity of God. How I wish the wizard were still around so I could buy him a beer.
I am not a quantum physicist, and you probably aren't either, but that doesn't mean we don't have a right to talk about quantum physics. If we're going to discuss metaphysics, telepathy, and consciousness, we need a new language. The language of magic, which assumes a supernatural power beyond and separate from the natural world, no longer works; the condescending brainiacs were right: the mere mention of fairies, angels, and conversations with poodles - if spoken frankly without examination - makes you sound like a knucklehead, or at least like someone who's been eating the wrong kind of mushrooms on her pizza.
Nor did the religions of our parents provide us with a precise way to describe our most intimate transcendental states of consciousness. The Bible is simply brimming with references to mind-blowing miracles, but intelligent descriptions of how to reenact the miracles mentioned are nonexistent. It's like the Holy Book should have been accompanied by a Holy workbook. When I read it, I feel like I'm looking at pictures of elaborately decorated cakes, with no recipes. Science and God have rarely been introduced on the same pages. I think it's time we fixed that.
Excerpted from Language of Miracles by Amelia Kinkade Copyright © 2006 by Amelia Kinkade. Excerpted by permission.
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