Living with My Spirit Guides

By Greg Thompson

Greg Thompson was four years old when he first met his guardian angel. It would not be the last visit from that angel or other paranormal beings. In Living with My Spirit Guides, Thompson narrates his story as he offers a different perspective on life when communicating with spirit guides daily.

This memoir chronicles how he has grown from a child who accepted his world that others did not understand to a life where he openly talks about his connection to a larger world. Thompson shares how he communicates with his spirit guides, how it has changed throughout time, and how he has additionally learned to talk with other forms of life.

Living with My Spirit Guides conveys what it feels like to be an empath who can pick up emotions from anywhere in the world and how it feels walking through a crowd that is either extremely happy or mad. Thompson tells how he learned to control those feelings within him, how he deals with knowledge of someone who is sick or dying and they don’t know it, and how to help them with the aid of his spirit guides.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Nov 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781982256906

Greg Thompson

Greg Thompson is a retired IBM software engineer who lives with spirit guides daily. They help him through rough times and rejoice with him when life is good. He personally has had several near-death experiences and one shared death experience.

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Copyright © 2020 Greg Thompson.

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This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author

and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of

the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of

people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use

of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical

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intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you

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Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-9822-5689-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-5691-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-5690-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020920596

Balboa Press rev. date: 10/23/2020

CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1:    The Early Years

The Visitor

Higher Education

Waiting

Chapter 2:    Death

No Daddy

Aware of a Recent Death—October 23, 1958

Antichrist

My First Death: The Crosswalk

Goodbye

My Second Death: Car Accident

Aunt Nancy

I Give Up

Mayme

Lessons Learned from Death

Chapter 3:    Reincarnation

The Chieftain

Space Dock Worker

Serving in Egypt

Off World

Chapter 4:    Father And Dad

Hi, Father!

Family Together

The Unspoken Ghost

Chapter 5:    Meditation

Hollywood Movie Dream

Chapter 6:    Predictions

Mother Sees the Future

My First Prediction—Death

My Second Prediction—Saved from Death

The Sequential Dream

The Painting

Using My Gift in Paris

Using My Gift in Eugene

2002

Columbia Space Shuttle

Seeing an Event While Driving

Someone Cares

Changes in 2003

Frank

Goodness

A New Beginning

Retirement, New Jobs, Death, Moves, and a Car Wreck

Out of Focus

A City in Ruins

Awareness—August 18, 2005

Buster

Warning! Warning!

Where Are the People?

Light and Love

Crop Duster

2009

A Look around the World

Predictions in 2012

Chapter 7:    Communications

Soviet Union

Communication with Other Life Forms

Human Energy

Spenser’s Tune

War or No War

A Message from TV

Drumming Experience

A New Acquaintance

Whale Pointe

Grizzly Bears

Humanity Is Being Born

They Need to Be Taught a Lesson

Cleansing the Earth

Trees

High, Powerful Energy

One

Sibelius and the Sun

Weather Negotiations

Death Date

Time to Move On

A Little Bit of Heaven

Found!

Chapter 8:    Change In Delivery

It’s Back!

Early Sight

This Can’t Be Happening!

November 13, 2015

White Eagle

Home! February 20, 2017

Connection

Musical Vibrations

Chapter 9:    Health Issues

Bad Health

Drumming Visitations

Weak Heart

Body and Soul

Chapter 10:  Helping People Live Or Die

Earthquake in Turkey

Osama Bin Laden

Consoling an Afghan

Green Light

Syrian People Asking for Help

Tortured Man Needing to Die

Empathy

Paris, Again

Oh My God!

Chapter 11:  Nine Eleven

1971

1991

1993

1996

1998

1999

2000

2001

September 11, 2001

October 2001

Chapter 12:  Reflections

Manifestations

Lessons Learned

INTRODUCTION

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T HIS BOOK HAS BEEN IN the making for many, many years. It started as a journal after I was invited to talk about my experiences to a group of people who believe in a spiritual world. I never talked about this part of my life much because I tried it once when I was young, and I was ridiculed. I swore I would never, ever talk about it again.

But 9/11 happened, and I could no longer keep it to myself. You see, I had seen this terrorist attack over and over for thirty years before it happened, and when it happened, I was relieved. Now everyone knew about it, and I thought it was over. But no, I felt guilty because I had not stopped it. The guilt was tearing me apart, so I talked to a friend about it. He suggested I talk to a group of people he knew because they would understand, and I might get some peace.

How do I talk to strangers about this? I started thinking about my life and the events that had happened. I had not written it down before, so I was not sure how to prepare. I went to this group and spoke without notes for two and a half hours nonstop. I never realized how much had happened in my life that many considered unusual. I then wrote it down and started keeping a journal. A couple of the people in the group told me I needed to write a book. One of them even insisted after he died!

As I thought about my life, I realized even more that I depend on my spirit guides for many decisions I make. When I was a child, I did not think anything about them or that it was unusual. As I got older, I learned that I needed to keep these conversations to myself. I was able to talk to my mother, who seemed to not mind, but no one else. My guides helped me through rough times through my junior high and high school years when I felt out of place and awkward. They helped me focus on helping others, who I saw were also outcasts, by teaching me to be kind to them and listen. In later life, they comforted me when a close relative would die or a big decision had to be made. They did not tell me what to do but rather were just there. Sometimes that is all one needs—to know that one is not alone.

So, after eighteen years, here it is. I am not a professor of paranormal events, and I do not suggest that I have answers to life in general. I know that reviewing these events in my life has made me realize why I am here on earth. I am here to help others. I also know that I think differently now that I have written this book. I am grateful for my spirit guides.

CHAPTER 1

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THE EARLY YEARS

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I N MY FIRST FEW YEARS of life on this planet, I had to learn what my role was on earth. Why was I here, and what was expected of me? I knew that this physical life would be longer than my other lives by many years, and I would grow to understand my lessons in life as I went.

When you are young, you are innocent, and so I did not understand that many of my experiences in my early years were different from those of my peers. Luckily, I had a mother who understood and supported me. She never told me that I was wrong when I told her something that most people consider paranormal. As I got older, she cautioned me to not tell everyone what I saw or felt. I learned later to keep my mouth shut until I could determine whether or not the person I was talking to would accept my conversation about such matters.

The Visitor

I was blessed with three sets of grandparents. I had my father’s parents, who lived in Portland and who spoke German in the house when I visited overnight. I had my mother’s parents, whom I stayed with occasionally as a child. And I had my stepfather’s mother, whom I rarely stayed with overnight.

Around the age of four, I was visiting my stepfather’s mother in Gladstone for a night. I called her Lizzy at the insistence of my mother. Her house was an old farmhouse that sat on forested land, and there was a neat old dairy farm down the hill from it. The house had been added on to once, according to my grandmother. It now had two bedrooms; the master bedroom on the back was the addition, and the original bedroom was just down the hall, across from the bathroom. I was going to sleep in the original bedroom instead of with her that night, and that made me very happy. She snored and moved around in bed, and it made me uncomfortable whenever I had stayed there before. I was afraid I would get squished. But now I was old enough to have my own bed! And this bed was a full-size bed, not like the twin bed I had at home. She left the door to the room ajar so she could look in on me. She, of course, told me it was so I would not be afraid in the room since it was new to me. There was a small amount of light that came in from the front room down the hallway, and it made the room look big. Having a room like this one was like being a grown-up!

I was enjoying the thought of being in this room, and I stretched out my arms and legs, pretending to make a snow angel figure. Ah! What fun! I giggled. As I started to get sleepy, I felt like I was not alone in the bed. I did not get scared, but there was something in bed with me. Or rather, there was something on the bed!

I slowly turned my head to the right, and I thought I could see something, but I was not sure. I turned my head back around and looked upward. Then I looked quickly to the right, and still I saw nothing. This is crazy, I thought. But the feeling would not go away. There was something on the bed with me. How do I see it? What is it?

I decided to not look for a moment or two. It must be my imagination. Really, what could possibly be on my bed except maybe a ghost, a mouse, a—? Oh dear, now I was getting scared. I slowly turned my head to the right again and was determined to see whatever was there.

There was a shape on the bed that looked sort of like a small, translucent person. It was sitting on the bed, and it had a piece of paper and a pencil in its hands. It was writing something down. I was not sure what the shape looked like, because I could see through it! A ghost?

I referred to the apparition as it, but that is not really correct. What do you call something that is alive and full of energy but has no gender? In the English language, there is no word for it.

I whispered, Who are you?

After a momentary hesitation, the shape answered, I am your guardian angel.

"What! My what angel?" I yelled.

The angel did not respond but continued to write on the paper. I waited for it to stop writing. Finally, the angel stopped and looked at me.

Why are you here? I asked.

I am here to observe you.

We stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. I realized that the angel was waiting for me to talk, so I asked, Why are you observing me, and who are you reporting it to?

The angel answered, I need to see how you are doing and make sure you are all right. Are you all right?

I said I was fine.

The angel continued. I am not supposed to let you see me. I am sorry I frightened you. You see, I really want to talk to you, though it is not allowed. I truly am interested in what you think of life here and if you are happy.

I answered that life was great as far as I knew and then asked the angel if the angel would be coming back again sometime.

I will visit you one or two more times in your life, the angel said. It will be times when you need help or comfort.

That made me think that my life was preordained. I wanted to know if the angel knew how my life would unfold. The angel said it had a rough idea of how it would go but that I had final say on how my life would turn out.

I asked if I could be told how my life would go. The angel politely said that it could not tell me because it would not be fair for me to know in advance and it was best for me to make those decisions myself.

Ah, come on! You can tell me!

The angel responded that it could but that it would then have to erase the memory of what was told to me. I pleaded to be told, and I knew I would remember some of it. Finally, the angel agreed and told me my life story on earth, and then it erased the memory. I have no idea what was told to me.

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened wider, and my grandmother said, Who are you talking to, Greg?

No one, I answered.

Well, go to sleep! And she closed the door.

I turned back to the angel, but it was gone. It was, though, not the last time I heard from my guardian angel. It was right about seeing me again.

Higher Education

I was nearly four years old when my mother decided I could have my own bedroom. Before that time, my mother had me in a crib in one of the three bedrooms on the second floor of our house in Oregon City. The crib was way too small, and I sometimes sneaked out of it because I was bored and wanted to do other fun things rather than be stuck in that crib. However, I had to wait until my mother thought I was old enough to have my own room. It seemed to be an eternity, and I am sure my mother was anxious to move me from the crib since she found me getting out of the crib more and more as I got older and more mobile.

The bedroom my mother put me in was next to my old room. In fact, one had to go through the new bedroom to get to my old room. The new bedroom was smaller and was in a dormer that had two windows that looked out onto the backyard and included a small window on each side wall. I later learned that I could crawl out of one of those small windows and play on the roof. It was fun until I fell off the roof and scared my mother. The backside of the bedroom had the furnace chimney that came up from the basement, and it stuck out into the room. It was the only direct heat source in my room; the secondary source was the warm air that would come up from downstairs. The door to my old room was on one side of the chimney, and the other side had a door that led to the landing and the stairwell going downstairs. The bed was up against one of the back windows, and one of the small windows was above the bed. I liked to open that small window and let the fresh air in no matter what time of year it was. I especially liked it when the rain or snow would fly into the room and onto my face as I slept. I also loved it when I woke up in the morning with snow on my face and my pillow. Snow meant no school! But more than that, I was immersed in nature.

My mother and stepfather painted the room and insulated the walls before I moved in. The walls and trim were painted bright yellow, and the wooden floor was sanded and painted a dark blue. My bed was on one side of the room, and my dresser was on the other side, with about two feet between the two items and a small, pale red rug in between. When you are young, that is plenty of space. Also in the