As I drifted in a neurological trance, daughter Tanya came across as slightly strange and understandably unfamiliar, but Val remained very much the person I had known for so long. The two of us discussed our daughter and then moved on to other subjects. She answered my questions, volunteering perspectives I had never heard of or even imagined. She disagreed with some of my observations. As an example she explained that while many couples are likely to lose embryos over the years, the embryos do not necessarily end up as personalities in a post-mortem environment.
She was quite adamant, “Much more is involved than merely a physical act that creates a baby. At least one parent must be aware of its presence, invariably the mother. At that point a source of sentient energy, a spirit, is attracted to the embryo. Without that there is nothing to develop and so nothing exists in the after-death state.
“Take Tanya. We both knew I was carrying her. Therefore she was a creation of our minds as well as our bodies. Our minds invited a spirit personality, a human being with a particular agenda. We met her agenda even as she met ours. We fleshed out her aspirations and she fleshed out ours, a process which continues and will continue.”
Always the male I asked for more details.
“The three of us together created a mental-emotional mould or matrix that was able to shape, within natural boundaries, both the spirit personality presenting itself and its unfoldment. Of course we were not consciously aware of this. But always we were creating. Everyone is creating. It is not possible to stop creating, because consciousness is about creating.”
I asked why Tanya died before being born.
Val: “She chose a developmental journey in spirit rather than physical because it suited her purposes. Different growth opportunities exist on each plane. Her primary focus and responsibilities are her own life, just as yours is your life and mine is my life.”
The dialogue continued from time to time as the days went by. Sitting by myself, always deeply entranced while communicating, I was aware of a process similar to taking dictation. I raised questions and the voice responded, sometimes making points I failed to understand or which I simply disagreed with. On occasion Val irritated me and I irritated her. Our physical relationship remained pretty much intact.
At one point we started talking about the strange process through which our spirit child had been educated about life on the physical plane. It became obvious that the physical was as important to her as it was to Val and me, the fact notwithstanding that she died before seeing the light of day. The physical was described as being the bedrock on which the human species fashioned its evolvement.
Then what was the significance of the non-material, post-mortem environment in which Val and Tanya found themselves?
It was Tanya herself who provided a first-hand account of one of its important aspects. Tanya – the profoundly sensitive, wise, yet childlike family member who identified so closely with Val and me – described how she communicated with those around her, and how she thereby forged an identity and in the process embraced the unique learning experiences she sought out. She pictured in intimate detail the two large groups of people she lived with, sections of Val’s extended family and mine, and the manner in which the groups owed their identity to positive emotional affinity: love. Tanya was happy in a way that was not possible in the physical.
Coming into this environment as a baby she was nurtured and treasured as she continued developing. She “grew” a personality and an awareness of both her immediate circumstances and the physical plane, by immersing herself in the mental-emotional experiences of those she lived with. Yet this was always done within the matrix the three of us put together. She was ours and we were hers.
From time to time during my entranced excursions into this dimension, I revisited her. I was fascinated. During many years of involvement in transpersonal psychology I had never encountered concepts similar to those described by the ageless youngster who engaged me.
Tanya: “This is how we communicate, Dad. It’s the same with everyone. Our minds fuse together, so we can almost live what the other person has lived. Briefly we are a single mind. That’s one way I learn, although those with direct physical experience do it differently from people like me.”
Des: “How’s that, Honey?”
Tanya: “Well, whereas Mum shares information about the physical, I just take it, absorb it and process it.”
With my entranced mind more attuned to Tanya’s reality than my own, I continued writing as she continued talking. I found I was able to move “closer” to her proximity and more comfortably pick up her dialogue, or move further away and better access my command of the English language. A balance was involved. I had to be able to do both. I was aware that Tanya’s thoughts were clothed in my words, but this understanding was academic. It made no difference to what happened.
Daughter’s account went on to describe how the same communicating process enabled her to accompany a host back into his life in physical as he recollected the experience in vivid detail, and share selected experiences. This had been the case since early childhood, but always in an age-appropriate manner. In piggy-back terms she lived parts of many physical journeys. She was helped to create within her what had not existed before, and as a result became a composite being, following a developmental path that was not available in physical. Her objectives were being met.
Contributing to this was the unfailing, spontaneous capacity for love that was an inherent part of the environment and therefore the two families. These dynamics, along with many others, were explained by both Val and Tanya.
Perhaps their efforts can come together to comfort any parent who has lost a child, or a baby to either miscarriage or termination.