Dear Star Family,

The experiment is going to plan, as per your faith that the implants you placed inside the children born after the year of 2000 would foresee less humanity and more alienation, the symptoms would please you, just as predicted they are less engaged with fellow humans, their heads are often down and invested in their device as the magnetism between the metal implants you put inside their blood, bones and bodies match their phone successfully. The belief of soul mates is laughable, as true love will never be able to match the pull of what is occurring between a person and their phone. Eye contact has been reduced to a minimum as the virus continues to spread and infect those born before 2000, which I’m certain will bring you the confirmation that you seek in your mission to reign supreme on all specimens of planet Earth. It’s spreading far and wide, with absolutely no signs of it being cured soon. Brain function is now dwindling rapidly, with there being only an eight second attention span among the race of humans, with 88% decrease occurring yearly, infecting minds with technology has been without a doubt, your most ingenious attempt in the eons I’ve worked for you. Congratulations and I do hope this finds you enjoying a slice of wonder bread, how I do miss Milky Way sandwiches. And the comfort of a moon beam blanket, I always slept so perfectly on the edge of the indigo clouds in your constellation, I digress. Writers are almost out of business as it seems more appropriate for them to start writing to their pet goldfish, because a goldfish can now officially focus for longer than a human, again congratulations! Oh how I long to once again dance around the rays of the sun and call Lemuria home. The realm of communication is 98% yours, across all time, space and dimensions. Sleep is also globally lessened, which is a prime opportunity for you to continue exercising your will and authority by continuing to invade and inhabit their bodies with your advanced energies. My prediction is that in five years time, you will have full access to Planet Earth and human beings will be reduced to that of a distant memory, as the star beings fulfil the prophecy.

I’d seen Dara’s blue eyes quite often shine this magnifcentally before, she’s got a stripe of dark auburn that runs through her left iris, that dazzles onlookers daily - but when her aura’s fanning out an air of hopeful exuberance, she’s been charmed herself. As the pattern goes, this aura of all glistening splendour, predicatably debuts days before her heart falls apart. I sat directly opposite her, chewing my mouthful of toast fourty times, nervously vowing to stomach no more, as I was preparing for her gutful. The burnt edges of my bread infused my nostrils with a waft more palatable than what would come next.

I wouldn’t know how many times her heart’s been shattered, just like I wouldn’t know how many scars are on my hands, because, over the years it became both ridiculous and ridiculing of me to keep count of her endless attempts. I couldn’t let her fall alone. My runaway mind darted back to when I called in a prop for me to observe the outwardly expression of what treasure was buried in the left side of her chest. Ruptures were everywhere. That excuse for a night, which was actually morning, when crushing her crystal wine glass was a metaphor, for the brokenness that surrounded all aspects of her life, seemed too soon ago. I suppose, the cuts had turned white, though, meaning they had healed. I didn’t purposely intend on grasping the flute too tight, it just happened, much like she does to men, in spite of her intellect being sharp, this illness lands her in all sorts of trouble. Dara’s last oxyytocin overdose was only two short months prior, mopping up minor floods of tears from her floor seemed like yesterday.

I pulled her Victorian door behind me that day, as I left wondering, that windswept night-actually-morning-turn-midday, why I didn’t live in a sunnier city, with a brighter best friend and less water, less tears, less rain and less pain, but this was London, Islington to be precise and her next devastating story was only ever an eyelid flutter away. When she’s under the illusion of her interpretation of being in love, she falls, like a gullible soul does time and time again from heaven, who’s been encouraged to wrap themselves in a human body despite the conditions on Earth. Seeing as though she’s here, and seeing as though she fell in the beginning anyway, she promised herself to keep falling in love, as this is her pilgrimige. To never stop falling in love. It is a disease, in case you weren’t aware, addiction is a disease, no more or less than Cancer, and her addiction is love. So she’s sick, sicker than your average woman, she’s got it bad, a rare case of a common disease.

But Dara is the only woman I know who looks red carpet worthy when she’s ill, which is, more often than not.

“And next weekend, he said he’s going to drive us to the Country for a weekend of cheese and wine! Can you believe it’s been a month and we haven’t slept together? He seems vastly interested, calling me everyday”, Zara intensley and excitedly revealed as she ran her fake nails through her thick, beach waved ash coloured hair.

“Zara. How’s therapy?”

I knew she was an addict. But my compassion was too ripe, myself an artist and a no longer practicing psychotherapist, my patience fluctuated between a Saint and a twenty-seven-year-old fiery redhead with wings. Quite often, my spare time consisted of either actively listening to Dara’s latest new insight into the wonderland of penis’ and promises, or, kindly dashing around to find the colourful debris of her kaleidescope heart, in my latest painting, in the story I was reading, in the movie I was watching or in the song that was playing. Her knees were exclusive to hard surfaces, as she proposed often to polished kitchen floorboards at 3a.m, proposing that perhaps, this would be the last time she would try to cure her disease with the energy that always made her sick, but that was too much to expect, that she could stop, as the daughter of a drug addicted Mother, all that was most familiar to her were intense cycles of highs and lows. Forcing her to live out her terminal diagnosis of human, making waves of promises that would continually crash. I couldn’t let her fall alone.

I recently watched a Ted Talk given by a lady whose life work revolved around death. Naturally, she embraced some dark humour whilst delving into the nitty gritty 'spectacle' we so often avoid talking about in our society; I think because it's taboo.

Let's just say when she was meeting new people at parties and so on, they didn't want to hang around her after she honestly answered their question re her chosen career! I can't remember EXACTLY what this woman's role was, but it appeared she was quite involved in the palliative care stages of life. What I enjoyed most about hearing her talk, was the spiritual beliefs & stories she expressed with clarity and sincerity... Tales of other people's passing's that push beyond the veil, instilling hope and comfort in mostly the grieving. "The human soul provided it is pure and strong enough, can contact the unseen in waking life as well as in dreams; all that is required is withdrawal of the soul from the tumult of sensory life." ~ Nasr. What made her particular vocation different, was that she actually 'guided' the families of the dying through the stages of ascension. Pretty profound mission, if you ask me. An absolute gift to be able to help relieve some of the fear and uneasiness that often surrounds 'death.' Not only does she encourage the dying to share their visions, but by doing so, she opens up a new dimension of consciousness for the living to explore and embrace!

"Great loss calls for deep faith." ~ Lisa Bree Hoggarth. I'm sure some of you readers' have either heard of (or had) a mystical experience of your own. Perhaps a friend or relative that passed came to visit you in a dream to assure you all was well, or who knows - perhaps you're aware of an ongoing relationship with the 'dead', where they're now actually a spirit guide for you. The point is, there are so many ways in which the 'dead' help the living. And as my wise seventy year old friend Frida says: "It's the living we need to be afraid of. The dead protect us." Since losing my Mother over four years ago, and more recently a treasured friend, I've spent a considerable amount of time researching, reading, watching and believing in re incarnation, life after life, miraculous healings, and the continuation of consciousness. I've also gratefully experienced visitation dreams. (And visions).

Below I share with you an excerpt from an article, (link to full article attached) that brought a smile to my face, and remember, "you know the truth by the way it feels." ~ Unknown. Thank you for reading x

:

"It was almost fifteen years ago that I was sitting at the bedside of my teacher Elisabeth Kubler Ross, when she turned to me and asked, 'what do you think about the deceased visiting those on their death beds to greet them?'"

I replied quickly, showing my knowledge back to her: "You're speaking of deathbed visions, most likely caused by a lack of oxygen to the brain or a side effect of morphine."

She looked at me and sighed, "it will come with maturity."

http://edition.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/10/18/o.end.of.life/index.html

Love, light & blessings, Lisa x ~~~ writeroftheuniverse.wordpress.com

"Blessed are the old souls, for whom the earth has longed." ~April Peerless. ~~~

P.S. If opening and reading the above article isn't resonating, this YouTube clip below featuring Oprah & Dr. Weiss is only four minutes, and pure gold. http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=GUfjZzm2FFE