This book is written from personal experiences, wisdom, knowledge and insights gained moving off grid for personal discovery. While some of the content shared may be considered therapeutic, it is by no means a cure­all. It is simply a journey which led to a deep connection with spirit and other dimensions through the grace of nature.

My intent in sharing these experiences is to provide hope for our future: To lead by example, highlighting what is possible and what can be discovered within us when we move with a sense of curiosity and childlike wonder. To step beyond what has been, sparking creative ideas and ways of shifting what no longer works for individuals or the collective.

If any of the content written in this book triggers an emotion from abuse, violence or any other cause, it is advisable to seek professional assistance in a way that works best for you.

Table of Contents

 

Acknowledgments …………………………………………………………………….ix

Foreword ……………………………………………………………………………….xi

Introduction………………………………………………………………………….xiii

Further Caveat to My Readers………………………………………………….xv

Chapter 1: Growing Up Different ……………………………………………….1

Chapter 2: Hopeful …………………………………………………………………15

Chapter 3: Divine Timing…………………………………………………………37

Chapter 4: Spiritual Connections………………………………………………53

Chapter 5: Ancestral……………………………………………………………….71

Chapter 6: Nature Connections………………………………………………..81

Chapter 7: Past Lives …………………………………………………………….103

Chapter 8: Healing is Possible ………………………………………………..117

Chapter 9: Call to Action ……………………………………………………….143

Chapter 10: Peace Within Brings Peace on Earth………………………173

Final Thoughts……………………………………………………………………..189

Acknowledgments

 

First and foremost, to God, Spirit and other realms, for our connection and all it has brought into being. To Raymond Aaron and his staff for assisting make my dream a reality. To Marti Trunnell. Thank you for being you and supporting me on this journey we call life. To Daltile and Stone for donating tile and supplies for the entire cabin. My heart is filled with so much love and gratitude for each one of you!

Foreword

Have you ever wanted to become better connected to the universe, as well as the nature around you? Do you see life as an amazing journey, and believe that your goal is to live in a state of fulfillment? If so, Divulging Different Dimensions was written to assist you to discover unique ways to move forward from challenging times, gaining wisdom and knowledge from a higher perspective.

Shirley shares her journey of self­ discovery in a unique and inspiring way. She leads by being an example of what is possible. Moving off grid in her late 50’s, with her companion dog Dottie, she spent her time exploring, and learning many lessons. This journey taught her the principles of life, as well as what is important and what brings value.

While she had to overcome many challenges along her journey, Shirley le rned many life lessons along the way, and now shares them with you. You have the opportunity to create a better tomorrow and live the life you have always dreamed of. Shirley’s hope is, by reading this book, you can discover the strength you carry within you, and learn to keep moving forward, even on the most difficult days.

Shirley wears her heart on her sleeve as she shares her challenges, her hopes and her dreams with you, stepping beyond her fears of being seen and heard by taking off the masks she has worn for far too long. She approaches life in a kind, gentle and humble way, encouraging you to do the same. She is here to shake things up, in hopes of a better tomorrow.

Raymond Aaron

New York Times Bestselling Author

Chapter 1

Growing Up Different

To be different is to bring change forth into the world. Opening the minds of others, expanding awareness, Which in time will bring harmony and peace. Our journey in being different allows us to delve deep within ourselves, learning and embracing our true authentic selves. We are the warriors, the warrioresses, the survivors of time and space, who have experienced battles, not to fit in, rather to stand out and shine our light bright, bold and with conviction. We get to feel, think and love more deeply and that is a true blessing!

This was my experience:

• Being raised by a woman with untreated mental illness and thinking I was the one with issues taking her comments, actions and non­actions personally.
• Feeling different while also yearning to feel her love and affection, to simply be touched appropriately.
• Creating beliefs about myself in an attempt to get the love all children deserve for simply being alive.
• Feeling and knowing I was not wanted as she mentioned this many times throughout my childhood. Her words cut through me like a knife, blaming myself for being born at all.

It was 1960 on a beautiful summer’s day, when a handsome young man, 19 years old, who managed a 600 acre ranch in Northern California, discovered a beautiful young girl of 16 years old hiding out on the ranch with her friend. The 2 young girls had hidden for a week prior to the ranch hand noticing them at the ranch. He felt an instant attraction for one of the young girls. She also felt an instant attraction to the young ranch hand. Within a month’s time they were off to Las Vegas, Nevada looking for a place to get married. The ranch hand called the young girl’s father, letting him know his daughter was in safe hands. This didn’t go over too well. Her dad blamed the ranch hand for his daughter running away from home. The young couple drove to Las Vegas yet didn’t get married. Shortly after returning to the ranch, the young girl discovered she was pregnant. The two of them married on October 19, 1960, giving birth to a son on July 20, 1961.

Now, the girl was 17 years old, with a newborn son, and her father and husband not getting along. She started babysitting for a local family. The man worked as a railroad engineer and his wife as a nurse. She soon left the marriage, taking her son and moving to El Paso,Texas, where she discovered she was pregnant again. She didn’t know if the father was her soon to be ex­husband or the railroad engineers. The engineer’s wife found out about their affair; the young woman called her parents, and they sent her a train ticket back to Northern California. Once home living with her parents and her 6­ month ­old son, she was pregnant and going through a divorce. She needed to find a way to pick up the items she left in El Paso. Her soon to be ex-husband offered to drive her there and back.

Her son spent weekends with his dad. She didn’t want this pregnancy, but because abortion was illegal, she made a fist with her hand, and hit herself in the stomach, attempting to abort the baby herself. When she went into labor her boyfriend at the time drove her to the hospital. This baby was me, born August 21, 1962. Later in life when Mom mentioned this to me. I questioned why I was born. While in the womb, being as one with Mom, feeling her emotions of not wanting to be pregnant along with the emotions she felt, when my Grandparents expressed how they felt about her being pregnant again and me taking this personally energetically. Mom also shared that my brother wasn’t happy with me being born. He didn’t like sharing Mom with anyone. It was never meant for me to take personally. It kept me connected to other realms, always knowing my angels wanted me, and were by my side and I, like Mom, would struggle with mental illness. The difference was my yearning and curiosity to better myself which would eventually bring me to live a loving, peaceful and joyous life. The first couple years of my life I spent with my mom’s parents. Grandma was a passive woman who went along with whatever Grandpa wanted. Before meeting Grandpa, she was outgoing, a cheerleader, excelled in school, so intelligent she moved up a couple of grades. She was the youngest child, having one older brother. Her parents were loving and kind to one another, and I loved visiting them.

Great Grandma and I sat on the couch as she tickled my leg, telling me stories about slavery, taking turns with her sibling as they bathed in the kitchen. I loved listening to her stories. Grandpa’s parents were the opposite. They were not affectionate, Grandpa grew up poor, and the kids made fun of him. His clothes were too small, with holes and stained. Many times he had no shoes to wear. I only met his parents a couple of times; they didn’t seem friendly. He was the only boy, and had 7 sisters. His dad was known to beat him, and was always very harsh as well. Throughout their marriage, Grandma was not allowed to drive or have a say. She totally gave herself up to keep peace within their relationship. Their first child was a son, their second a daughter (my mom). Grandpa favored Mom, even over Grandma. Grandma wasn’t allowed to have a cat, while he made sure Mom had a horse. This makes me wonder where her mental illness began. Was she born with it, or was it a result of her life experiences? As a child she learned to manipulate her dad, throwing fits when things didn’t go her way, ultimately getting what she wanted, not what she craved, to know what it felt like to be loved. The material items she received would never fill that void.

Mom remarried when I was 2 years old. The first place I remember living was in Citrus Heights, California. We lived in a duplex located in a cul-de-sac. Being so young, I do not remember much about living there, except for a few memories, such as my brother and I enjoying playing in a small pool and a sandbox located in the front yard. Playing at a friend’s house I heard Mom calling my name. Running home, I noticed a police car sitting outside the duplex. I knew this was not a good sign; while I was growing up Mom called the police on our stepdad many times. When I reached our front yard, Mom grabbed me, told me to get in the car, and said that the police were looking for me because she didn’t know where I was. From the tone of her voice and her grip on my arm I felt fearful of the police. It was never a good experience when they showed up.

Another memory was of my brother asking me to go for a walk with him. We walked to the corner at the opening of the cul-de-sac. We stopped when he grabbed my arm, then hit me in the face. I started crying, saying I was going to tell Mom. He said, “If you tell mom, I will tell her you ate her powder.” I told him I didn’t eat her powder. “She won’t believe you and you will get a spanking,” he replied. Knowing a spanking meant the belt, I didn’t say anything to Mom.

We moved to a small house located behind another house located in Woodland, California. Shortly after moving there, Mom gave birth to a little girl. I was 4 years old and my brother 5. After our younger sister was born Mom started work as a school bus driver, and her husband worked in construction as a framer. I am still reminded of him to this day when I smell carpentry work. Their marriage was fueled by alcohol, sex and violence, with the three of us kids witnessing many events which would be pivotal moments from which we formed unhealthy beliefs. These were stepping stones along the path to who I have become. Mom always said, “There is your truth, my truth, and the truth.” In writing this book I am sharing my truth and perceptions. Like most little girls, I wanted to help feed and hold our little sister. Both my brother and I were told to leave her alone before getting close enough to even touch her. Which I believe led to us not bonding with her as we had with one another. They treated her different than my brother and me; at first, they were harder on us but when she got older her dad became harder on her than us. Before starting kindergarten, our only friends were each other. My brother and I had a special bond. We were closer in age, enjoying similar games and activities. Because our younger sister was four years younger she didn’t have the motor skills, or similar interests. Because my brother and I did not know our dad, we grew up calling our stepdad Dad. If we brought up or asked questions about our biological dad, our stepdad became angry, saying he was our dad. We entered school using his last name.

The first day of kindergarten felt overwhelming. This was the first time experiencing so many other people, with each one having a different energy, and I not knowing how to feel safe away from my brother. He had always been there for me during our parents’ arguments, name-calling and violent fights, wrapping his arms around me, taking me into another room. One morning as we ate breakfast prior to school, I was feeling sick, throwing up in the oatmeal sitting in front of me on the table, and our stepdad demanded that I eat it. When he left for work, Mom said I didn’t have to eat any more of it, and took the bowl over to the kitchen sink.

I do not recall when my stepdad began sexually abusing me. It was something that happened as far back as I can remember. As far as we knew, we were no different than any other family. As a family we enjoyed going to the motorcycle races on Thursday nights, and eventually all of us except for our younger sister would have our own motorcycles. When old enough she would have her own pony.

For as far back as I can recall, I was the peacemaker of the family. Attempting to keep peace in an unstable home, feeling responsible for the behavior of others. Putting others before myself, taking blame for things I had not done, in an attempt to keep the peace. Later I realized this would be a double­ edge sword in many ways. Knowing I would be hit with a belt many times, to the point where the zipper on my pants unzipped and my pants fell down as my mom continued to hit me. I also witnessed this being done to my siblings. Either way, I felt this on an emotional and energetic level.

I knew and felt different from everyone else in the family. Quiet, shy reserved and highly sensitive, asking many times if I had been adopted. At seven years old, not understanding or accepting my difference and a yearning to go home, I created the belief that life on earth was hell and I was ready to go back home to live in a peaceful and loving atmosphere. Taking a knife from a drawer in the kitchen, I went outside, and kneeled beside the camp trailer in our backyard. With the knife laying on my wrist, I began to cry, calling myself a coward for not being able to follow through. There was something inside me that stopped me, an energy which cannot be put into words. A couple years later a commercial came on the television saying that every cigarette you smoked would take a minute off your life. Both of my parents smoked, leaving packs of cigarettes on tables around the house. I preferred to smoke Mom’s; their slogan was “I would rather fight than switch.” It was a hot summer’s day; I had begun smoking Mom’s cigarettes at the side of the trailer. Our babysitter caught me, and told me to get in the house and not drink anything until my parents got home. The time went by slowly, as I anticipated what the consequence might be, and thinking it would be a spanking with the belt. Mom arrived home first to say what she said to us so many times. “You have 3 choices in life.” She held one of her fingers up in the air. “You can keep doing what you are doing,” another of her fingers went up; “You can change what you are doing,” a third finger raised; “Or you can commit suicide.” She placed her three fingers in front of my face and asked me which one I chose. I didn’t answer. She then said, “Wait until your dad comes home.” That evening he sat next to me on the couch and said, “You want to smoke, do you?” I didn’t respond, which only made it worse. He lit a cigarette, took a drag, inhaling the smoke as I thought to myself, I already know how to smoke, I had already learned to inhale. This didn’t stop me from smoking; now I just needed to make sure they didn’t notice cigarettes missing from the packs on the table. At times I smoked the cigarette butts left in the ashtray. He continued to sexually abuse me, and got braver. Mom would be cooking dinner, my brother and sister watching television with my stepdad and me on the couch behind them. A blanket covered my body as my head lay on his lap, his hand inside my underwear. When Mom did enter the room, his hand stopped.

There were movie nights for us kids. On these nights, we were to change into our pajamas and choose what movie we wanted to watch, as Mom prepared popcorn and orange juice. Our dad was behind us on the couch. Mom, now in a teddy, would give each one of us a bowl of popcorn and a glass of orange juice as she said, “Your dad and I will be on the couch; do not turn around.”

When I was in the 4th grade, my right knee began to hurt and at times would not bend. I mentioned this to Mom a couple of times, and she told me there was nothing wrong with my knee and to stop making things up. At times, I sat on my bed crying, not knowing why. Mom would sit next to me on the bed and ask me why I was crying. I didn’t know why, or rather I didn’t know how to put into words what I felt except to say I felt sad. To comfort me she told me that it would pass.

A couple of months later, my parents had a date night. The babysitter arrived, we kids were told to be good and to be in bed before they arrived home. Later in the evening my knee began to hurt, and I started crying from the pain. My brother told me to shut up and stop crying, because he couldn’t hear the TV. I attempted to cry quietly. My brother told me if I was going to keep crying to go into the other room. Knowing I was frustrating my brother I went to my room, hoping the pain would stop once in bed. My sister and I shared a room where I slept on the top bunk. I attempted to climb the ladder, but my knee would simply not bend. I asked both my brother and sister if I could trade beds for the night, and both said no. I attempted to hop from one step to the next, attempting the same thing from the foot of the bunk bed. No luck. Feeling tired from trying, I sat on the chair in our room, thinking of another way to get into bed. The thought occurred to me to use my arms to pull myself up. My arms were not strong enough to lift my body. I asked my sister once more if I could sleep in her bed. The answer remained no. I remained in the large red chair with a blanket and my pillow prompted up on one of the arms, waiting for my parents to return from their date, anticipating how they would react with me not being in bed and not being able to sleep as I continued to focus on the pain in my knee. This only made the pain more intense. I heard them come home from their date. First Mom checked on my brother, then entered my bedroom. She asked what I was doing in the chair and not in bed. I told her my knee hurt really bad, crying as I said this. She left the room, and I overheard her talking to my stepdad, then asking the babysitter if she would stay longer to watch my sister. She came back into my room and told me to get ready because they would be taking my brother and me to the hospital. The drive took about an hour; we entered the hospital where we sat until our names were called. The nurse led us to one of the examining rooms and we waited for the doctor to come in. He wanted to check my brother first, as you could clearly see the flea bites on his skin. The doctor asked me a few questions. He then said my examination would take longer, and that it would be a good idea to take my brother back home. He asked me which parent I wanted to stay with me. I said my dad. The doctor left the room as my mom and brother prepared to leave, sending them home with some cream for the flea bites. He handed me a gown to put on as my stepdad walked Mom and my brother out to the car.

The doctor and my stepdad were in the examining room with me, and the doctor mentioned that he wanted to take some x­rays. After the x­rays my stepdad and I waited for the doctor to return after viewing them. The doctor then said he wanted to examine me more. He pulled down my underwear, and I looked towards my stepdad, feeling very uncomfortable, as if I was betraying my stepdad in some way. I was afraid that the doctor would discover what my stepdad had been doing to me. They admitted me into the hospital, where I would stay for the next week. I really enjoyed staying there. The nurses were so kind, asking me if there was anything they could bring me. I felt the compassion in their voices.

A couple of days went by, and a nurse came in and said I had a visitor. I figured it would be my grandparents or great grandparents. A lady with bright red hair entered the room with a gentleman, and they walked over to my bed and handed me a gift. I asked her who she was. She replied, “I am your dad’s sister.” Knowing it wasn’t my stepdad’s sister because he didn’t have a sister, I asked if my dad would be coming to visit me. “No honey,” she responded. “Why?” I asked. “He is working,” she replied. I felt like I didn’t matter enough to him. Once back home, my parents’ fights became worse. Mom told me it was due to my aunt visiting me while in the hospital. My stepdad stopped sexually abusing me as he once had. He entered my room in the middle of the night, my sister asleep in the bed below. He went to climb on top of me, telling me to be quiet. Something came over me as I said I would not, thinking he wouldn’t hit me because it would wake the others up. I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, where I spent many nights sleeping in the bathtub. My sister’s and my room was rearranged, with the bunk beds now separated. Hers was closest to the window and mine closest to the door. Our dresser was across from the footboard of my bed. Awaken during the night, sitting up, looking into the mirror, I began to see creatures running towards me. Some had saliva dripping from their mouths, and I heard a growling sound coming from the mirror. The mirror resembled a tunnel, with the creatures starting at a distance and stopping at the opening of the mirror. This would happen from time to time, and I wondered what it meant. I never mentioned it to anyone.

To escape life at home, I daydreamed a lot about the future. Many times, I daydreamed of me as an adult, married, with children and a loving home. I also daydreamed about how my husband would be caring, kissing and hugging the kids and me. Daydreaming often got me in trouble at school, with the teacher giving assignments with me not hearing a word they said and at other times being called on to answer a question from the teacher, only to feel embarrassed because, again, I had not heard what had been said. At home I would enter a trance state with my eyes open, only to have a family member move their hand in front of my face as they said “earth to Shirley.” Other times my entire body shivered, just for a second, or my left shoulder raised towards my face. I had no control over either of these movements, which is something that would continue well into my adult years. I later discovered that this was how my subconscious responded.

Eating dinner one night, my parents begin to argue, yelling at one another. Mom stood up, my stepdad stood up. His hands underneath the table, he picked up the table, and the food ended up on the ceiling, the floor, and all over us kids. He continued to yell as he headed towards her. They stood face to face, yelling at one another. Mom continued to yell, “Hit me, hit me!” It all happened so fast; I do not remember if he hit her. What I do remember was watching him tear her clothes off, and demanding that the food be placed back on the table. We kids did our best to do as he said. Mom sat down next to me, naked, as we continued eating dinner. We knew not to look up when fights like this took place. I do not know what prompted me to look up this time. When I did, my stepdad looked at me, anger on his face as he said, “You better eat, or you will be next.” I didn’t look up after that. They divorced shortly afterwards.

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