A Walk In the Clouds

By Rosemary Altea

From the NY Times best-selling author of The Eagle and The Rose, Rosemary Altea shares more stories of hope and inspiration from the Spirit World.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359598281

Rosemary Altea

Rosemary Altea, an internationally renowned spiritual medium and healer, has been featured on The Oprah Winfrey Show and Larry King Live as well as in Vanity Fair, People, and The New York Times. She is the founder of the Rosemary Altea Association of Healers, a non-profit organization based in England with patients worldwide and is also the author of the book/audio package Give the Gift of Healing. She lives in Vermont.

Book preview

A Walk In the Clouds

A Walk in the Clouds

Stories of Hope and Insights from the Spirit World

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Rosemary Altea

Hope is an eternal thing. Always in the hearts and souls of man; living and breathing; and even as it dies, it is resurrected, again and again.

Grey Eagle

You do not have to try to find us; you do not have to try to find those of us who love you and who now reside with God, said my guide.

You do not have to seek the place you think we are in. For we shelter you wherever you are. We have our arms around you at all times. Heaven is the roof under which you exist, and the place that you are in is the place that we share with you forever.

Grey Eagle

Dedication

As always, my work is first and foremost for my daughter Samantha Jane;

My beautiful child; and my most blessed miracle.

She is my best friend and confidant, and without her I would not exist.

And for my second, most beautiful and blessed miracle, my grandson Rhys Astel; a gift to us both. He makes us laugh and he brings us such joy and light. God has truly blessed us.

‘Do you love me or do you not…

You told me once and I forgot…’

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Acknowledgments

I would like to thank all my readers who have encouraged and supported me. My fans, all of you who follow me on Facebook, social media, Twitter and YouTube, and to those of you who cruise the website. I am so grateful to you all for your continued support; and I thank you for the love and the good energy you continually send my way.

To all my many students and healers, many who have been with me for more than thirty years, dedicating their time and energy to all the thousands of patients we have had come through our doors. Although our organization is now at an end, still we are together in our common purpose, and I am so grateful to have known them all.

I must not forget the media; and my thanks go to those of you who have been so kind and generous with your efforts; and to the presenters and producers who have always made me feel welcome and who try to give their audiences a little taste of the spirit world whenever they can. And especially to Larry King and Leeza Gibbons for their kindness and generosity...you are AMAZING!

My many thanks to my friends and family; to those of you who have never let me down; and especially to my darling daughter, Samantha Jane and to my darling boy, my grandson Rhys; they inspire me to keep going and give me strength. I love them beyond words.

Last, but by no means least I want to express my love and gratitude to the one who makes all this possible, for without him I would not be able to work as I do; my spirit guide Grey Eagle, who is always ever present by my side, and who has brought and continues to bring the greatest joy and blessings not only to me, but to so many others.

Prologue

When I first began this book I asked myself what message, if any, I would like to bring to my readers; what inspiration, if any, I would want to give? Immediately I knew; I knew because for the last few years my faith has been tested almost beyond endurance, and there have been many times when all I wanted to do was to give up and go away into a small corner and hide. But each time I thought I was at the end, each time I thought I could not endure anymore and was about to give up my life as it is now, and to give up my spiritual work, there was a small ‘something’ in my heart, in my head or in my soul that I could not shake and that held me back from giving up entirely.

Like a tiny flickering light, struggling to be seen in the depths of a great dark chasm, that ‘something’ refused to die; that ‘something’ refused to go away!

It was a miracle that I was writing at all, for I had often thought that I had nothing left to say. It was a miracle that I could even read through many of the stories I had already written, for they all spoke of that ‘something’ that I had thought for me was gone.

When you are ready to give up, even a drowning man will refuse the branch held out to save him; when you feel that you simply can’t go on any longer, even a starving child will refuse the bread which will save her life; when you are powerless to feel any longer about anything of any importance, even a mother will turn her back on her young.

We all, at some time or another, feel as if we are drowning, or starving, or powerless; this is how I have felt many times in my life; and even more so in recent years; and yet here I am! And yet, through all your darkest hours and all your trials and sadness’s, here you are! With that small light still flickering in the dark abyss of our despairs, and unable to put it out, no matter how hard we might try, it is that light, it is that light which we call hope that will always come to save us.

In every chapter of this book you will find evidence that hope does not die; on every page you will be inspired to understand the power and the strength of hope, which, even when all seems lost, hope lives eternal.

In every pause and in every phrase and paragraph, in every dot of the ‘I’ and cross of the ‘T’ hope lives; hope inspires; and you will see as you read, from the amazing and often incredible experiences of those who have allowed me to share those experiences with you the reader, hope lives eternal for you and for me!

Part 1 Heaven and Earth

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One Split Second

The day was perfect, and the ocean stretched ahead like a glistening blue mirage; the air was perfectly clear and clean, and in this perfect stillness, the only sounds that came across were from the noise of birds squawking merrily as they flew lazily over the water.

Still and quiet…a peace and tranquility hovering over everything; so why was I here?

Still and quiet, but perhaps deceptively so, and so I waited. Barely breathing and watching patiently; knowing surely that something bad was about to happen.

A split second later the air around me changed; and my breath caught in my throat. I could no longer hear the birds singing, and cold, cold fingers seemed to softly stroke my skin. I shivered involuntarily and became instantly more watchful.

It didn’t take very long before I heard the rumbling sound of a waterfall; the sky moved above me, and dark clouds leapt ominously across the ocean and darkened the water to a midnight blue. Then came the rain; so heavy it was a curtain through which I could barely see. Thunder crashed, and lightening lit up the heavens as the sudden storm raged furiously all around me…and I shivered again, feeling so, so cold, and more fearful now of what was to come next.

As the earth shook beneath my feet I lurch forward with the motion, and felt myself being carried away, along and then down and down. The heavens opened, and torrents of rain poured down so hard and fast that the ground beneath my feet was forced forward by the swell of the water as it built up and up. Then, like one moving, swelling monster, the ground gave way, crashing down, plunging deep, deep down over the cliff face, into the abyss…and with an almighty roar, down into the valley below.

And still I watched...and still I waited.

The screams came to me through the roar of the storm. Several voices carried on the wind, lifted to reach my ears. Sounds I was meant to hear.

I heard them calling out to each other and as I stood watching from my place, and as I listened to their panicked voices, I saw them.

I saw the young mother with fear in her eyes scoop up her small son and hold him tight; I saw her husband as he tried in vain to reach them, to steer his wife and son to safety. There was another young couple; the young woman, a girl really, her belly filled with the new child she was carrying, clinging to her husband for safety; but there was no hope for them; no hope at all.

I watched then as the homeless man, who had only come to the garden nursery the day before from where he was living on the beach, for a meal and a bed, in return for a little work, and I saw the fear and at the same time the absolute acceptance in his eyes as he stayed quite still and waited for the inevitable to happen; for the ground was crumbling beneath his feet, the water tearing away at everything that was safe, and the earth came to swallow him up. Then last, I saw the gardener, who only hours before had been happily tending his flowers, for he thought of them as his, even though he was only one of the hired help. I stood and watched from my quiet place, that place between past and present, between present and future, as the tumbling earth came crashing down on top of him. I stood silent and watching as the mountainside collapsed, and the water rushed down, crushing the life from their bodies as if they were merely pieces of stick. Crushing the houses in the valley almost as if they were merely pieces of driftwood; destroying the gardens and forcing a passage through what was only moments before one of the most beautiful valleys in the islands of Hawaii.

Eight of them I thought, as I watched the carnage, without even doing the math in my head. Eight lost; one a child of only five or six years, another, an unborn baby, due to come into the world only a month from now. Six adults, wonderful happy people, living in a paradise that most of us only dream of; now a paradise no more, and only hell on earth in its place for those of their friends and family who were left behind.

I sighed heavily; I felt as if I too were drowning, but then I realized that it was only the tears on my face and the pain in my heart that made me feel this way.

Slowly, slowly, back I came, up and up, and out from the hole that is always my passage to and from the past to the present, while the woman on the other end of the phone listened quietly as I recounted all that I had seen.

My client, Malia, an investigative journalist in Hawaii, had been covering the story of that fateful day when those eight people were killed. She had requested a consultation for what I had thought was to be a connection to her loved ones in the spirit world, but I quickly found out that there would be much more to it than usual.

It's not unusual for me to work with investigators, and on occasion I have worked with the police on missing persons and murder cases. However, this was a little different. There was a suspect; more than a suspect in fact, and the situation was very complex.

In certain areas of Hawaii measures are taken to prevent flooding because the rainfall is so high. So, they have in place what is called ‘run offs; these ‘run offs, placed strategically in the danger zones, literally direct the water away from houses, villages, buildings that would inevitably be washed away by flooding. Of course, most importantly, the ‘run offs’ are there for the safety of people who would otherwise be in grave danger if flooding were not prevented. However, if the ‘run offs’ are damaged in any way, they won’t work effectively, and flooding will inevitably occur.

The ‘case’ seemed cut and dried; obviously this particular ‘run off’ had malfunctioned, probably due to an unusual amount of rain that day and the disaster had occurred. My client’s question to me, after I had managed to connect with some of the victims, was strange. Was this an accident, or was there another explanation?

To try to find out the answer, I knew I must go back again; and so back and down and through the hole I went for the second time, but this time Grey Eagle took me further back; he took me back to a time just a week or two prior to the disaster. And I stood quietly in my place; that place between the past and the present, and I waited, and I watched, and I saw what had really happened.

The day was perfect, and the ocean stretched before me like a glistening blue mirage; the air was perfectly clear and clean, and in this perfect stillness, the only sounds I heard came from the noise of birds squawking merrily as they flew lazily over the water.

Still and quiet…a peace and tranquility hovering over everything. Still and quiet, but perhaps deceptively so, and so I waited, barely breathing, watching patiently; knowing surely that something was about to happen.

The crest I was on overlooked a beautiful estate; so many acres of property and such majestic views.

As I took in the beauty of my surroundings I heard the faint rumble of what at first sounded like thunder in the distance, and I turned my head to look in the direction I thought it was coming from. To my surprise I saw a huge piece of machinery, like a big industrial digger, making its way across the land and tearing up the ground in its wake. I moved forward slightly to get a better view of the driver of the digger; an old man in his late seventies or eighties I thought, obviously completely oblivious to the destruction he was creating, as mounds of earth lifted and heaved under him. He was enjoying himself! He was like a boy with a new toy! He was the master of the land and he could do what he liked with it! Closer and closer he came, and I saw the smile of determination on his face as he maneuvered the machine and forced it to do his bidding. He was, I realized in a second, a man who was used to having his way…and I felt a small shiver of fear run through me.

On he came, the machine-like putty in his hands. He knew the land well; he owned the land, thousands of acres all together, a beautiful estate, and he had decided that he was going to build beautiful and majestic homes on it, which was the reason he was there; he was getting every obstacle out of his way; he was going to make yet another fortune; he was going to sell the new homes to the wealthy and the opulent…they would pay a fortune for the view alone…and he was going to do it his way. The ‘run off’ that protected the valley below meant nothing to him, except that it was in his way; it was in the way of his plans. Of course, he could have gone around it; there was more than enough land for him to do that; but to go around the ‘run off’ meant having to spend more time, only a little, but he was an impatient man; he was a bullying man; he was a selfish man; and why would he care to go around an obstacle when he was so used to plowing ahead with his own plans? What did he care about permits and permissions? Apparently, nothing, for even as I watched he came ahead to the place where he knew the ‘run off’ was, and he just kept going, tearing through the ground as if the ‘run off’ was not even there.

Greed and avarice: The thought flitted briefly across my mind before suddenly I was moving again; not quite up and back, but now going in a more parallel direction, and the view before me now was an Eagle’s view of the whole valley below the point where the digger had done its damage. I felt my breath quicken as I looked down at the beauty of the place. I could see a child running though a garden of flowers; I could hear laughter and chattering voices, and as I moved down and into the valley itself, and as I walked among the flowers and the gardens, I felt that this must surely be what heaven on earth truly is.

For one moment I forgot the ugliness of the greedy old man; I forgot the cruelty of what he had done; I was living in those past moments before the water came crashing down and destroyed the heaven in which I was now walking. But that moment ended abruptly as I moved across time and space and was once again witness to the horrors of the disaster, and to the fact that one man, a man who showed no remorse for the consequences of his actions, and through money and connections, would get away with murder……

And once again I stood and watched from my quiet place, that place between past and present, between present and future; and once again I witnessed the tumbling earth and the flooding waterfall as it came crashing down on top of the eight who were unsuspecting of what was to come; crushing the life from their bodies; crushing the houses in the valley; bringing devastation to the gardens; and forcing a path of destruction through what was only moments before one of the most beautiful valleys in the islands of Hawaii.

As I moved up and back and out through the hole to the now, to the present, my heart was breaking, and I felt such a loss of hope. For a moment it was hard for me to feel the joy for those who were lost, but who had survived death and who were in a truly wonderful paradise; for a moment I was human, and in my humanness, I felt a certain kind of anger for the pain and suffering of the families who were left behind; in my humanness I felt such hopelessness at all the missed opportunities these people would never get to have. But that moment quickly passed as I began to speak with some of the victims, and as I heard the laughter of the little boy who had survived death and was together with his parents; and as I saw the couple, alive and well, she is holding the new born baby in her arms, as they explained to me the messages of love and hope that they wanted to send to their family who were left behind.

We are here and with God was the message. We are not lost, and one day we will all be together again.

And I felt Grey Eagle draw close to me, and I felt his fingers brushing away my tears; and I heard him whisper in my ear…

Hope is an eternal thing. Always in the hearts and souls of man; living and breathing and even as it dies, it is resurrected, again and again.

Part of The Plan

The drive had taken them more than four hours as they had come from Miami the day before and had stayed in a hotel near the beach for the night. I am sure that they were both nervous and excited at the same time, and when they knocked on my door at 10am the next morning I was waiting for them…and so was someone else!

I had seen their daughter briefly about five minutes before they had arrived, and had hardly had time to say hello, but I took her appearance to be a good sign; a sign that she was eager and ready to talk with her parents.

The couple were both short and stout; she, smaller than her husband by a couple of inches, but she made up for the difference in height with her attitude, as you will see. We will call them Mr. & Mrs. Smith.

The first thing Mrs. Smith asked for was the bathroom, and I showed her the way before seating her husband on the sofa opposite mine. Out of the corner of my eye I could see their daughter waiting patiently for us, and I was ready to begin, hopeful of the outcome of our session. However, on emerging from the bathroom, Mrs. Smith came bustling through into the living room and without preamble began a critique of my towels…or more precisely, in a strident voice she commented on the fact that I had far too many towels in my bathroom, and did I really need to put them all out as I had done?

Taken a little aback by her comments, I quickly brought the conversation away from the towels and around to the reason they were in my house. They had lost their daughter; she had died tragically young, they said, but before I could even begin to explain what we were going to try to do, Mrs. Smith, in a no-nonsense manner, made it very clear that she did not believe that I could talk to the dead.

I’ve heard about you she said, which is why I’m here. But I don’t believe in you; I think you’re a fake, and I’m here to prove it!

You might at this point be wondering why I had not shown Mrs. Smith the door by now; the answer is simple. I knew she was in pain, and sometimes, when we are in pain, we often say and do things we would never do otherwise, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Also, I could see her daughter quite clearly, and I understood how important it might be for her to connect with her parents.

As I gazed at Mrs. Smith, her husband sat silent on the sofa, his head down, his face a little red with the embarrassment of his wife’s rudeness.

I took a breath, and pointed to the sofa, indicating that she should sit down, and I began to explain that I was going to try to speak with the young woman who I could see standing next to us and whose patience, it seemed to me, was quite extraordinary, given her mother’s attitude. But again, Mrs. Smith had barely allowed me to finish speaking before she verbally attacked me again.

Doesn’t really matter what you say she said caustically, I don’t believe in the after-life. I think this is a scam; just a way for you people to make money!

Now I was beginning to get a little annoyed. I had given up my morning to see these people, who had insisted on a face to face consultation, and I had agreed because I believe that the loss of a child must be the worst kind of loss to bear. However, I can perfectly understand if a person is skeptical; I believe that we should all be a little skeptical; my issue was not with what Mrs. Smith was saying, but with the way she was saying it. Her attitude was disrespectful; arrogant, rude and obnoxious. This was not a good way to begin!

At that moment I felt a gentle movement to my right, and I immediately calmed myself. Grey Eagle’s hand was on my shoulder, and again I glimpsed the young woman I knew to be the daughter of Mr. and