Angel Whispers

By Phil Rice

Angel Whispers is a lighthearted and easy read until the story takes a turn which will touch the reader's heart. Set in the scenic West of Ireland, follow the story of Aimee and Greg when life serves them a cruel blow. The author threads her spiritual understandings into this delightful story about life and the soul's progression. Can love overcome all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phil Rice
• Release date: Jun 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301707515

Phil Rice

Phil Rice lives in Mayo on the northwest coast of Ireland. She is a spiritual healer. ANGEL WHISPERS is her first book. "In some ways it speaks of my grief in losing people I love. I hope it gives some comfort to those who need it". She has talked about her gift in the Western People (quote taken from source): "SPIRITUAL healing is not a learned skill, it’s a gift",explains Phil Rice. Her gift has been handed down over four generations but Phil is the first of her family to put the gift to public use. Phil is passionate about animals and regularly volunteers with the NWSPCA, she organised a fundraiser in October 2011 with the proceeds going to the charity. She is inspired by animals’capacity for unconditional love and regularly uses her healing abilities on injured pets at the Small Creatures veterinary practice. Raised in Kilkenny, Phil’s psychic abilities were evident in her childhood but talk of such a nature was strongly discouraged in those times. She says of her gift: “My childhood memories of it were that it was like having invisible friends. It was always as though I was in this tunnel of sunshine”. It was not until Phil endured the trauma of losing two close relatives, her mother and father-in-law,within the space of ten days that her gift re-surfaced. In her grief-stricken state the experiences she had known as a child came flooding back. She describes the Christmas of that year as “horrendous”. She was surrounded by spirits – most of them trapped and needing her help to cross over into the other side: “It was like carrying a flash light in the dark and everyone was following me,” she recalls. “If I passed someone in the doorway they would be able to feel the energy of the spirits pushing past after me”. Phil was able to see this energy as colours in the air around her, like vortices with different shades pouring into each other and sometimes the spirits manifested themselves in physical form or as a voice inside her head. She says she suffered terribly with burning and tingling heat sensations in her hands. The symptoms were medically treated as rheumatoid arthritis but once she began to heal people Phil realised that the sensation was coming from her healing energy. Over the next seven years Phil devoted herself to studying her gift and is now a certified medium. She is highly experienced in her art and knows how to afford proper protection to those she works with. She says she has really fine-tuned her abilities now and differs from other mediums in that she can channel the spirit’s energy so effectively that it can be felt by the person she is working with. She can also provide validations that will prove the identity of the spirit she is communicating with – usually a piece of information that she could not otherwise have known about the person. Phil initially began to use her healing gift to help family members and friends but word of her abilities quickly spread and today she heals individuals practically on a full time basis but also works with nursing homes and other such facilities. Phil says her proudest achievment was healing her grandson in the womb. Doctors continually told her daughter that the baby was not thriving and would not survive but Phil knew otherwise and employed her healing gift. Baby Eli was safely born at 30 weeks gestation, weighing just 1.5lbs and continues to do well. But Phil stresses that she is not a medical doctor and always advises clients to consult their GP where necessary. She also acknowledges that there are occasions where the only assistance she can provide is to give someone the inner strength they need to tackle a situation. Phil has met with people with all kinds of conditions including depression, alzheimers and back pain but her forte is in helping people deal with grief, bringing healing to the bereaved person. “Mediumship is another form of healing. It’s easing mental grief”, she explains.

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ANGEL WHISPERS

By Phil Rice

Copyright 2012 Phil Rice

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Rock bottom became the solid foundation, on which I rebuilt my life

(J.K. Rowling)

The Rock

The early morning mist lies on the dark water. The world is still asleep, waiting to be awoken from its slumber by the weak sunrays that are breaking though the grey stillness. The sea washes against the rocky beach. Small pebbles roll backwards and forwards with the flow of the ebbing tide.

It will be another beautiful day. Through the dissolving mist, I can see Aimee. It is six thirty in the morning and as usual she is meditating, sitting on her usual rock facing out to sea. It lies like a proud queen among its smaller companions. The flat surface neatly holds her slim body as she sits crossed-legged, yoga-posed, palms up, her beautiful face towards the early morning sun, catching the first rays. The soft morning air moves small strands of her hair around her face.

If she could only see what I now see. My heart opens with so much love for this beautiful woman. Leaning forward I, stroke her hand. Her fingers curl as we touch. ‘Hi Greg, I was beginning to wonder where you were this morning’.

This hour’s stillness calms her for her day ahead, like an anchor on a ship that she cannot do without.

***~~~***

Be foolishly in love ... because love is all there is

(Rumi)

Holidays

The brilliant blue sky touched the endless flat sea. The noise of the boat engine disturbed the silence. Its sleek white shape cut through the waves, sending flying fish jumping up from the salty water ahead of it. A distant splash drew their attention. They were hoping to see the large shoal of dolphins that had been feeding in the warm waters off the Canary Islands over the last few days. They had been out for several hours now without much success. Aimee was sitting on the large bow of the boat, her tanned legs were stretched out in front of her. She was hoping that today she would see this magical animal. Her freckled skin was showing the first signs of sunburn and her shoulder was turning pink. She leaned over and pulled her t-shirt on over her bikini to protect her from the sun’s strong rays.

One of the cabin crew was making his way around the side of the boat. He balanced a tray of drinks on the palm of his hand like an acrobat on a tight rope, riding the rise and fall of the boat with the greatest of ease. ‘Hey lady … like a cool drink?’ Aimee took a glass of sangria from his tray. Beads of moisture ran down the outside of the glass. The ice chinked against the rim with the movement of the boat.

It was getting too hot and she could hear Greg, her boyfriend, talking. They had rented the boat and crew for the day. Getting up she made her way back there, taking care not to slip overboard. Sitting down beside him under the shade, the cream leather felt cool under her legs. It was a real scorcher of a day but in the shade it was quite bearable. Greg put his arm around her shoulders his fingers constantly moving against her skin.

Miguel, a crew member, climbed down from the upper deck. ‘The captain said to tell you we are starting back and will be dropping anchor shortly for lunch just off one of the beaches. Feel free if you want to have a swim when we stop’. He pulled snorkelling gear out from under the seats. Someone had turned on a CD player and Spanish music added to the tone of this wonderful day.

They were heading directly back towards the land. Ahead of them they could see a rocky shoreline. The sea was washing up against the dark sand at the water’s edge. The boat slowed down and eventually the engine was cut off. She heard the clank of the anchor chain as it began to slip into the blue sea with a small plop. The boat gently rocked from side to side and Miguel swung a barbeque out over the sea and worked on lighting it. The smoke blew away from them towards the rocky shore. Quickly, Greg picked up some snorkelling gear and climbed down a short ladder to a swimming platform. Small waves slapped up against it. He held his hand up guiding her down till she stood beside him.

‘Last one in … ’ He bent down and splashed the cool seawater at her. Laughing, she pushed him into the water before quickly diving in. The coolness of the water was welcome after the heat of the day. Greg swam back to the boat to get their snorkelling masks. Together they swam on the surface, looking at the colourful fish that darted between the rocks below.

The smell of cooked food from the barbeque drifted out to them, reminding them that breakfast had been a long time ago. They made their way back to the platform, him pulling Aimee up the steps behind him. He handed her a towel and they sat down at a table laid for them.

They were refreshed after the cool water and were now starving. Plates of mouth-watering barbequed food were carried over for them and the crew. After lunch, the captain started up the boat. Greg and Aimee joined him on the top deck. As they cruised slowly near the shore he pointed out caves and other places of interest. They were planning to dock in Mogan for fuel. The captain suggested that it was a lovely port to walk around, so they pulled on their shorts and t-shirts and, as the boat docked, sat back watching the scene around them.

It was market day. Stalls displaying beautiful bright coloured goods attracted tourist attention; rings and bracelets sparkled in the dazzling sun, and bright clothing fluttered from the stalls in the sea breeze. Since it was after lunch only a few tourists were still shopping. Most of them were carrying plastic bags with their purchases.

Aimee and Greg walked down the gangway to a little side street that brought them into the village centre. The scene that greeted them was absolutely amazing. It looked like a little Venice. Over the years the locals had reclaimed the land back from the sea and built their homes on it. There were small canals and waterways flowing between the buildings. The water was crystal clear and they could see small fish swimming around. Little stone humpback bridges joined one narrow street to another. Every house had brightly coloured flowers in window boxes. In open doorways sleeping dogs lay, taking full advantage of the shade. Aimee saw this scene through the eyes of an artist. Petals falling from the flowers floated on the slow-moving water beneath the houses. Small balconies overhung the ground floors, the higher walls richly decorated with ornamental tiles. Every house had window shutters, some of these were closed against the bright sunshine. It was a quaint and beautiful scene.

A young boy was making his first million by posing for the tourists doing back flips into the crystal water for a Euro. Aimee pulled out her camera to catch the scene while Greg flipped him his euro and watched him dive in.

Walking around, they were enthralled. At the entrance to the pier they passed a grotto to the Virgin Mary and read the little sign that asked them to pray for the safe return of local fishermen. An old woman was sweeping around it. She leaned her brush handle against her chest and pulled her dark shawl over her sun-wrinkled face. She looked at them and muttered something about tourists in Spanish. Aimee looked at Greg, whispering ‘It’s too late for sunscreen for her!’

They walked past the stalls, pausing every now and then to look at their wares. The owners were sleepy after their early morning start and many were having a light siesta while keeping an eye on their stock. One stall ahead of them had the most beautiful blue scarf. Aimee cautiously lifted it, not wanting to draw any attention to herself from the pushy stall owner.

He was watching the fair-skinned girl from the corner of his eye, wondering if he would bother to rise. He slowly got up and pushed more scarves forward on his counter. Greg joined her and Aimee gave him a dig in the ribs to take notice, ‘Just the thing for Gran, she would love it’.

‘Which? The scarf or him?’ he laughed. ‘The scarf, you idiot, she would run rings around him! Bargain hard’. Greg pointed at a box of cashmere scarves, to a dusty pink one, ‘that’s a lovely colour.’ Aimee put her hand reached her hand out, it was soft and would keep its wearer warm during the long winter months in Ireland. She draped it over her arm for Ruth, Greg’s mother