The Magic Carpet Ride: To Feel Is to See, to See Is to Feel

by Crystal Dunn

Overview

Crystal Dunn was a born sensitive. From her earliest days, she has always seen the world with uncommon depth, a perception that has given her an adventurous and spiritually rewarding life.

In The Magic Carpet Ride, she shares her life story, from a childhood full of imagination and connected to the supernatural through a youth and adulthood dedicated to helping others. Dunn has explored the emotional depths of human nature and gained great understanding through her work as a caregiver, mentor, and advisor for the elderly, youth, and disabled population of our society. Now she shares the ups and downs of the heart-opening lessons she learned along the way. Throughout her journey, synchronicity, insights, and personal tragedy have awakened a movement within her to carry messages of transformation. This led Dunn on a special spiritual adventure taking her from Australia to Aotearoa, New Zealand, where she came to know and love Maori traditions and culture and became more involved in a magical, natural world steeped in sacredness and legend.

Engaging and inspirational, this memoir shares the personal story and journey of an energy healer with a deep and lifelong connection to the spiritual world.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781452528670
Publisher:	Balboa Press AU
Publication date:	05/13/2015
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	122
File size:	228 KB

About the Author

CRYSTAL DUNN is an energy healer, poet, artist, spiritual teacher, mentor, and psychic. She is passionate about creating an elevated environment in which understanding and direction can be established for a powerful yet loving healing of the mind and soul. She currently lives in New Zealand. Visit her online at [e-mail].

Read an Excerpt

The Magic Carpet Ride

To Feel Is to See, to See Is to Feel

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By Crystal Dunn

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2015 Crystal Dunn
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-2866-3

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CHAPTER 1

I grew up on the Mornington Peninsula, across the road from Port Phillip Bay. I am the youngest of five to a solo mum. The house we lived in was built in 1858 by H G Chapman as one of the first guesthouses in service to the ever-growing port harbour. It had a large veranda out front, as well as four bedrooms, an attic, and a cellar. The lounge room had an open fire and the kitchen had a warm pot belly stove. The bathroom grew a cluster of mushrooms each winter. The outside toilet housed a wonderful array of different sized daddy long leg spiders. The laundry adjacent to the toilet had the original concrete double basins with our equally nostalgic wringer washing machine. It was on a quarter acre block scattered with fruit trees of crab-apple, fig, lemon, and blood plum. The shed was as old as the house, made of corrugated iron with a rusty holed roof. Life was simple yet not care free.

This was where I first recall being visited at night by beings not of this world. This phenomenon started from as young as I can remember. The nights they came I would be awoken by their presence. I was too scared to open my eyes, for once I saw them everything would change. Spontaneously I would not be in my bed anymore. The round purple rug in my room would be floating above blackness, with me in the middle and a group of beings around me. I remember watching a movie screen where my window used to be. I was shown pictures of a boy around the same age as me. I felt a bond with him like a brother. I felt content when I saw him on screen. Next thing I knew I would wake up on my purple rug; the floor was back underneath me and I was in my room. It was tricky jumping from my rug to the bed, in case the floor disappeared again. I thought of running to mums bed, but I was too petrified that there would be no floor to stand on between my bed and the door. This was when I would usually wet the bed, as I was too scared to move. The warmth comforted me long enough to fall asleep. On the nights the beings didn't show up I would wake, sense for any movement, if it was clear I would throw my bedclothes off and run as fast as I could down the hall to jump into mums bed. Once in her bed I didn't feel safe until I was touching her, with my foot, arm, or even just one finger. I thought as long as we were touching, Mum would wake up if they tried to take me. I could then relax knowing I was safe and undisturbed. This went on for many years along with the embarrassment of bed-wetting. I had a plastic mattress protector that crumpled when it was sat on, letting everyone know that I wet the bed.

Mum tried numerous incentives to prevent me from wetting the bed, no drinks after dinner, and a present if I did not wet the bed for a week. I got a couple of presents, but little did mum know that on those particular weeks I didn't get visited at night. I never knew when they would show up. There were times between visits when I almost forgot about them. I thought it must have been a dream. I lived in one world by day and another at night.

My mother started to become progressively ill with Agra phobia. She spent numerous days in bed and was unable to leave the house for fear of crowds and wide open spaces. This left me to fend for myself because my teenage siblings were not home a lot of the time. I didn't understand why mum couldn't get up out of bed. I remember going for long adventures on my bike, mainly to the beach. I would experience the magic in my day and excitably return home for dinner. It was not until I saw mum that I remembered she was sick. I had no one to share my story of the day. With one look at her, my excitement turned to despair. as I wondered what to do.

I don't remember eating or even feeling hungry, just the puzzlement and my lack of understanding of my mother's condition. One morning an ambulance arrived to take mum to hospital. She said goodbye to me and told me not to worry. She said she would be back soon, when she was all better. I felt hollow and thought she would be back the next day. I woke in the night and ran to mums room, only to find her bed empty. I was bewildered as to why she was not in her bed. I knew she was in hospital, but I wondered why she was not home yet. The house was empty, with not a soul to be found. I went out the front to look for her, for anyone. I gazed down the road both ways but no one was there. I stood under the streetlight and cried, "Mum, mum, where are you?" This felt like forever as my emotions built up to hysteria. I had never felt so alone before. I noticed three figures in the distance. I kept yelling out for mum as they drew closer. It was dark and the only light was that of the street lamp I stood under. I became frightened as they drew closer. I heard them yell out my name, but I could not recognize them. I yelled out again for mum, and got a reply "It is Kathy". The other two figures were my brothers. I was so relieved to see them. They had gone to the shops while I was sleeping, not knowing I would wake. Not long after this happened I was sent to the house of my eldest sister Patricia. She lived in the country with her husband and two young daughters. It was decided I would stay with them until mum was well enough to have me back. I was timid, even though my sister and her family spent most holidays with us. Everything was different when I lived with them. I had so many new restraints and boundaries I was not used to.

My sister got word mum was coming out of hospital a few months later. Arrangements were made for me to return home. I felt blank. No butterflies or feelings of excitement. I wanted to go home more than anything but I couldn't shake the feeling of when I last saw mum. She was so sick she didn't even notice me. I wouldn't believe she was better until I saw her again. When I saw her, she was smiling and gave me the warmest hug. This showed me that she was all better. Mum became involved with the local community again, helping wayward mothers and their children find strength and purpose.

CHAPTER 2

My childhood became filled with many supernatural experiences that became normal for me.

At the age of five I remember playing on my two seated swing in the back yard, pushing it to and fro with my imaginary friend. I was mesmerized at how I could stop pushing and come to a halt, then my imaginary friend could make the swing move to and fro again. The delight of playing with someone no one else could see was elating. A thought crossed my mind, a test. I said out loud "If you are real you will push". There was no movement. My imaginary friend then got up from the swing. I ran after him saying "No, I am sorry". I started to cry. My imaginary friend said "I will come back one day". "You can't leave it was just a game", I said. He walked a few steps away and then vanished.

Years later as an adult in my late twenties' I visited my sister Kathy for a cuppa and a chat. We got talking about the imaginary friend I had when I was little. She said "You totally believed he was real, you even gave him a name". Perplexed I asked "What was his name"? She said "Pat". The memory of my mum's uncle Pat came flooding to my conscience. My mother had a photo of him on her dressing table, of which I would stare at as a little girl. Now I knew why, it was him all along, not imaginary. He was my guardian angel. This gave me solace in my connection to him.

By the age of six I was walking to and from primary school on my own. One beautiful clear day I saw an elderly couple walking up the street towards me. They had different colours around them, which pulsed and charged with each movement. I wondered where their colours came from. When I arrived home I told mum what I had seen. She explained that they were called auras and that people have different colours around them. I asked why? "You are seeing their energy it is a special thing to see", she said.

Kathy who was nine years older than me, overheard what had happened on my way home from school that day. Mum asked Kathy to go to the shops for her. Kathy asked if I wanted to come. I said "Yes", excitably. I was happy to go to the shops with my big sister. We had just got out the gate and a person came toward us, my sister asked "What colour is that person". I was puzzled at her request, looking in her face for answers. I said nothing. Another person walked past. "What colour are they", she asked again. A hard feeling was in my chest, I answered "I don't know". My sister asked the same question of each passer-by until we returned home. I didn't want to see the colours anymore and I didn't after that.

I found it hard to make friends as a child because of how sensitive I was to the feelings of people and my surroundings. I managed to befriend one girl named Tara. I asked her over to my house after school one afternoon to play. I loved to draw, so we got out paper and pencils to sit down at the double desk in my room. I had two single beds in my room, opposite each other, up against the wall. One of the single beds was for guests, which adorned my large selection of toys. The desk was opposite the window giving us a view of the two single beds and the whole room. We were drawing away when Tara said "I feel funny". I instinctively knew what she was feeling. I said "It is ok, it is just the other little girl that lives here, if we are quiet, we might see her". We sat quietly, intently looking at where we felt the funny energy. The bed with all my toys on showed an indentation, like the weight of a person sitting on it. My favourite toy was a Miss Piggy doll, made of latex rubber. She had wire through her arms and legs to enable movement. Before our eyes we saw one of Miss Piggy's arms slowly bend upwards. We looked at each other excitably. I noted an ounce of terror in Tara's eyes. Then the other arm also raised up. Just at that moment mum walked into the room to see how we were. The little girl's presence disappeared. I told my mother we were busy so that she would not stay long. Tara asked "Where has the little girl gone?" I replied "I did not know, she just comes to play sometimes".

I made another special friend at primary school a boy named Gerald. We didn't meet until a few years later when I was eight years old. We would spend our weekends together, riding our bikes, walking our dogs along the beach, and looking for adventures. One day we decided to hang out at my house, seeing as no one was home. We sat in the lounge room and talked. At the other end of the room was a long wooden cabinet. Mum had many framed pictures hanging on the walls above it. For some reason I started talking about my grandmother who had passed away before I was born. Gerald asked "Are you ok". I replied "Yes why". He said "There are tears coming from your eyes". "I don't feel sad, I think it is my grandmother", I said. In that instant there were four loud thuds on the wooden cabinet. Gerald and I ran for our lives to mum's work. We saw that the community house where mum worked was closed. Gerald said "I am due home, are you going to be alright?" I replied "Yes, but I am not going into my house if mum's not there". I got home and stood at the gate. I yelled out for mum. "Mum are you home?" I heard mums voice yell back "Yes". I ran down the corridor yelling out "Where are you". She replied, "I am in the kitchen". I looked at her in fright. Mum asked "What is wrong?" I told her about the four loud thuds on the cabinet. I explained that Gerald and I were talking about grandma, when tears started to well in my eyes, and it was after this we heard the thuds. Mum tried to be rational saying "One of the pictures probably fell off the wall". I was adamant and said "No if it was a picture that fell off the wall it would just go thud once, not four times". Mum said "Well let's go and have a look". There was no sign of a disturbance. There were no fallen pictures, or anything to explain what Gerald and I had heard. Mum said not to worry about it as she was home now. This was comforting to a point, but it still did not explain what had happened.

When renovating the front room, a pair of children's shoes were found in one of the walls near the front door. In the 18th and 19th century, it was believed that children's shoes hidden near openings of the house would ward off evil spirits. Many things went missing in that house, particularly anything that was a pair, yet only one item would be taken. By the time I was twelve we left this haunted house. I had become accustomed to the energies that lived there with us. Kathy also felt strangely attached to them. I still remember the day we left. Both of us shed a tear, as we said goodbye to the house.

CHAPTER 3

When I hit teenage years my bizarre childhood experiences couldn't have been further from my mind. Puberty set in and I became emotionally self-absorbed. At the age of nineteen I had my first vision. This was where my history with unusual phenomena resurfaced. I was basking in the summer sun. My mind drifts off and plays a vision like a movie. Full colour and emotion grab my attention.

I am in the Australian outback walking up an embankment of dusty, rocky, red ground. I am not alone. A small group of people I feel familiar to, are walking in the same direction. There is a moving sense between us as we reach the top and peer across the valley below. There are two red suns above us creating an ember like glow. We are all there for the same reason. All drawn to this energy field we are looking at. Embarking back down the cliff, I am ushered by a male voice saying "Don't forget the templates". I look down to see a rock bullion with ancient writing carved into it like that of hieroglyphics. "Don't forget the templates" the voice ushers again. I pick up the rock and it disappears into my hand, becoming part of me. The sensation of picking it up and holding it, has not left me since that day.

At the age of twenty-one I went on a holiday up north in search of a warmer climate and more fun. I found a job waitressing and I met some of my favourite people, which I am still friends with to this day. I worked night's waitressing and by day attended tertiary education studying fashion design. I found a house to rent that was advertised in the local paper. It read - wanted a caretaker of one hundred and thirty acre property, while the owner travels overseas. (Free rent). I arranged a meeting with the owner to view the property. I asked my friend Isa to come. She also brought along her young son. It was nestled in the hinterland twenty minutes away from where I worked. On our way there we passed a quaint little plant nursery. We stopped in to have a look. We followed the path to a small cottage nestled amongst all the plants, trees, and shrubs, for sale. We peered inside the window, through majestic deep purple curtains to see crystals and trinkets for sale. There was a man pottering about the nursery, so I asked him about the opening hours of the cottage. He said that the lady who runs the cottage is only open part-time, and probably best to give her a ring to make an appointment. The man got one of her pamphlets for me. The pamphlet said that she did tarot readings and spiritual advancement courses. Isa and I were both interested, as neither of us had experienced a tarot reading before. We decided to give this lady a ring to arrange an appointment when we returned home. We travelled on to view the rental property. The driveway was easy to overlook as it was just a small cutting that blended well into treed bush land. The driveway wound round a gully in an s-shape with a twelve metre drop on one side. The house was five kilometres away from the main road. It was perched next to a deep, wide valley, with a high embankment. Isa's young son said that he didn't like the feeling of the place. We both brushed it off as him feeling uncomfortable in the new surroundings. The owner's name was Bruce. He was nice enough, and in his early fifties'. He explained that he annually went overseas to obtain artefacts for his shop. He said "Everything is for sale in Asia". He stated that as long as you have enough money to make a replica of the object you want, you can import ancient relics. I was amazed by this statement, and a little put off his character because of it. He escorted us around the property in his four-wheel drive. The main job on the property was to check and regulate the water levels of two dams. This was done manually with a floater valve. It all seemed straight forward enough, so I accepted the challenge. We went back to the house for a cup of tea and a chat. The house was hand built. It was made out of the most beautifully coloured wood. The smell of the wood was divine, along with its character. We sat out on the wide veranda which overlooked the valley below. I asked if it would be ok to have my dog on the property. Bruce said that would be fine. He let me know there was a horse living on the property but not to worry as it looks after itself. He then out of nowhere, asked "Do you believe in the supernatural?" I replied "Yes why do you ask?" Bruce went on to tell me that he feels there was an old Aboriginal burial ground not far from the house. He said "I didn't know about it until I started excavating for the house plot, I found some old artefacts which are in my room upstairs". He said, "The room you will be staying in is next to mine". He asked that I didn't touch anything in his room, especially the artefacts. I gave him my assurance that I would not intrude on his personal space. I asked to look upstairs at the room I would be staying in. There were two bedrooms upstairs, with a studio overlooking the valley. An inspirational setting to do my arts and crafts. He showed me a unique musical instrument from Far East Asia that reminded me of a glockenspiel. It consisted of three thin metal bars at different horizontal levels. The bars held eight, large hollowed out nuts. There was a slit going halfway through each nut to create a percussion sound when hit. The varied size of the nuts, gave off a wonderful variation of sound. He went on to tell me of the last caretaker on the property. A woman in her thirties who read tarot cards and believed in the supernatural. He said "The woman saw an Aboriginal man on the veranda". "A real person", I asked. "No the ghost of one", he replied. I think to myself, I am not feeling comfortable about accepting to look after this property anymore. He went on to say "The woman invited the Aboriginal man into the house". I sat there flabbergasted, wondering what he was going to say next. He said "It is ok, I got rid of him from inside the house, just don't invite him in again". I said "You don't have to worry about me doing that". He said "You may see him from time to time standing on the veranda, he won't bother you, as long as you don't invite him in". I said "No way, I am not that silly, I can't believe that woman did invite him in, crazy". He asked "Are you still interested in moving in". I accepted the offer, as it was a beautiful rustic home with the most captivating views, plus free rent.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from The Magic Carpet Ride by Crystal Dunn. Copyright © 2015 Crystal Dunn. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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