This coming Tuesday (4/23) join Nancy Wait as she chats with Carol Lamb, writer, teacher and founder member of Rainbow Light Foundation, an international teaching organization based in the North of England.
Born Remembering is the story of the journey of the soul and the continuity of consciousness, a true account of premonition, pre-cognition and retained soul memory of other lives. How channeled communication indicating a predetermined plan to establish a healing network became a reality in line with the dynamic shift now occurring, as medical science and the soul sciences merge.
For the past seven years The Living Memory Research Trust has collated a comprehensive archive of documented and monitored clinical case studies acquired over a twenty-year period through their clinics and therapist training programme. These inspirational healing experiences reveal the multi dimensional nature of consciousness and the eternal journey of the soul.
The seminar and Workshop programme ‘Converting Celestial Energies into Bio Chemical Formulas’ explores the link between soul memory, epigenetics, medical astrology and healing through sound and will be available online in June 2013 through The Academy of Spiritual Sciences.
BORN REMEMBERING – THE BOOK – PREFACE
This is the story of the journey of the soul, the continuity of consciousness beyond the body and most of all, remembering.
A healer’s paranormal experience of retained soul memory of other lives, of premonition and pre-cognition, never discussed until a predestined meeting forty years later triggered a tsunami of events.
An investigation into paranormal experience, memory of other lives and angelic connection. A true account of spontaneous soul recognition of shared lives, initially experienced by an unsuspecting group who came together in 1991 to become the storytellers from the past.
Born Remembering documents the benevolent communication of Ascended Masters guiding planetary evolution, as we face the challenges of the transition to a new age of consciousness.
Direct channelled communication and the step by step fulfilment of prophetic guidance indicated predestination. The unfolding of a divine blueprint revealed a Life Plan and shared purpose along with a request to:
‘Tell them… You come to the Earth of learning… you learn or you fail to learn… you return and return again to the vain forgetting and the endless remembering of home.’
I was born remembering. It would be some years before I realised that others did not. As I gazed up at the twinkling stars in the black velvet night sky, they seemed to my childish eyes to beckon and to call. Which one of them was my true home, I wondered, for I was sure that this was not. As I heard my mother’s voice calling that it was bedtime, I came back to the awareness of my body and the coldness of the stone step on which I was sitting, arms folded around my knees. I stared down at the scuffed shoes and wrinkled ankle socks, suddenly feeling very small once more. I was six years old.
In the early 1950s the harsh realities of daily life in a Lancashire mill town in the North of England left little room for dreams. The people around me were practical, hardworking and friendly with the dry humour for which Lancashire folk are renowned, qualities I came to value in later life. Children were expected to be ‘seen and not heard’ and a strict code of behaviour was the norm. Almost all the adults I knew, women as well as men, worked in the local cotton mills; the post war years had left a legacy of an emancipated female work force reluctant to return to their former financial dependency upon male breadwinners. Some mothers remained at home to care for children but many worked full time with childcare shared between close relatives and near neighbours. Equal opportunities and the ‘new man’ had not yet arrived; housework and childcare was almost exclusively the province of women with ultimate discipline generally vested in the fathers. Throughout my childhood I remember only one single parent family, the mother in question being a widow.
In the nineteenth century, traditional cottage industries of spinning and weaving had provided the cloth for which Lancashire and Yorkshire were to become world famous. By the twentieth century the Industrial Revolution had evolved, spawning the huge cotton mills of Lancashire and the woollen mills of Yorkshire. My own parents both worked in the same cotton mill, my mother returning to work when my baby sister was three months old. The management of the Lilac Mill had shown great foresight in their attempts to retain their skilled women workers; childcare was available to employees for children from six weeks to twelve years of age. Part-time work was unknown; parents brought their children to the nursery at 7.30 am and collected them at 5.00 pm. Nursery nurses cared for the under fives, while those of school age were escorted to and from the local infant and junior schools before being collected again by parents at the end of a long day for all concerned.
My day began when I was awakened by my mother at 6.15 am. My clearest memories are of winter mornings and the reluctance to move from the warmth of the bed. My first view of the day was seen through the beautiful leaf patterns traced by the heavy overnight frost, not on the outside but on the inside of my bedroom window. Central heating was unknown and there was no heating at all in bedrooms. I would hurry to the warmth of the kitchen in my nightgown to dress before the open fire in the clothes my mother had laid out the previous night.
The bus depot was situated opposite my parents’ house. Each morning mill workers congregated at the end of the street to queue for the convoy of buses which would take them the thirty minute journey to the mills in the next town. Men automatically gave up their seats to allow women to sit, often standing for the duration of the journey; it was unheard of for children to take a seat if an adult was standing. My earliest awareness of pregnancy was when I was no longer able to sit on my mother’s knee at five years old because of ‘the baby in her tummy’. ‘Standing room only’ meant I would spend the journey clinging to the chrome bar of the seat as the bus lurched and swayed, trying to ignore the waves of travel sickness to which I was prone. I would jump down from the bus with relief to walk the remaining quarter of a mile to the cobbled mill yard and the welcoming warmth as we entered the factory building.
The warmth of the nursery enveloped me as we entered and hung up our coats and scarves, leaving our Wellington boots by the door, the numbness of my fingers and toes thawing as I anticipated a breakfast of tea and toast. By the age of seven I was sometimes allowed to assist in the kitchen by carrying the trays of toast into the nursery. Mrs Ramsden, the cook, might have stepped straight out of a Dickens novel: middle aged, a round, ample bosomed figure, sandy brown hair swept up with wisps continually escaping from her cap. Always smiling, she was a handsome woman, yet somehow there was also a hint of sadness around her which I didn’t understand. She would slice the bread and my job was to butter the huge slices as they popped up from the giant toaster. Bustling around the kitchen, setting the trays of drinks, she would encourage me to ‘Put plenty on now, don’t scrape it off again.’ There was something very satisfying about buttering the mountains of toast to carry them through to the waiting children.
One morning as Mrs Ramsden toasted and I buttered we chatted away and I asked if she had any children. Her eyes misted over as she replied that her little girl was now in heaven, gone to join her daddy. I asked why her daddy had gone to heaven and she explained that he had been ill and was very tired and so had gone to Jesus. Her daughter, she explained, had been so sad that she had died of a broken heart. As tears filled her eyes she said, ‘One day I will see them both again, till then they’re with the Lord.’ I wasn’t too sure who The Lord was and had stopped buttering the bread, wondering why she could not see the little girl who was dancing round the kitchen as she spoke, for I somehow knew this was her daughter. She wiped the tears away saying, ‘Come on now, lots of butter, we must get on.’ This was one of my earliest experiences of ‘the other world’ and I instinctively knew not to ask any more questions or to volunteer the information……
Carol’s publications – http://www.bornremembering.com/Publications.html
The Rainbow Light Foundation – http://www.rainbowlightfoundation.net/Welcome.html
Some links and key people and research mentioned during the Radio Show:
Professor Bruce Lipton – Cellular Research Scientist, Epigentics ~ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjjvimJRevQ
Rupert Sheldrake – Biologists Morphogentic Fields ~ http://www.sheldrake.org
Bruce Lipton’s website ~ http://www.brucelipton.com/
Marcus Pembrey: Professor of Clinical Genetics, Epigentics and inherited Memory ~ http://www.bbc.co.uk/sn/tvradio/programmes/horizon/ghostgenes.shtml
Amit Goswami – Professor of Physics ~ http://www.amitgoswami.org
The Academy of Spiritual Sciences ~ http://www.theacademyofspiritualsciences.net
Paranormal Matters Blog Talk Radio ~ http://www.blogtalkradio.com/paranormalmatters
The Living Memory Research Trust: http://www.rainbowlight.uk.com/Living_Memory.html