I have a confession to make: I love Bashar. Since the day I met him, he’s been my teacher, my mentor, my friend. He literally changed my life. So how excited was I when Darryl Anka and April Rochelle invited me to a small-group private session? Beyond thrilled. Not for a nanosecond, however, did I suspect there’d be a thick layer of sweet icing on the cake.
Each of us had nine minutes to talk to Bashar. I asked if
there’s anything the hybrid kids would like us to put on the website that we
haven’t thought of. He’s always pushing us humans to do things ourselves rather
than relying on him. He pointedly said that I can access that info myself. I
said, “Okay, I’ll talk to them later.” He replied, “You can talk to them now.”
A child’s voice said, “Hello.”
You can count on one hand the number of times a hybrid child
has come through in the nearly 30 years Darryl’s been channeling. I was
gobsmacked. Who was this? Girl? Boy? The energy felt male but I had no idea
which of my children it was.
He (or she) stressed a couple of things. One, that I always
get an immediate response when I ask for communication with them, even though
I’m not always open to receiving it in that moment, and that the amount of time
my process takes is important.
Two, he said I can “get down on the floor with a piece of
paper” and create “artistic depictions” of the kids to put on the website. We
have, of course, put Bridget’s amazing art up, but I
don’t have an artistic cell in my body. I’m actually quite embarrassed to post
my “artwork.” But the child said that when I explore my own creativity more
fully, in the way a child would, in the way they, the hybrid kids, do, then I’ll
be able to hear them faster, more easily, more clearly. So I have.
Before signing off, the child confirmed that s/he is indeed one of mine.
After the session, I asked Darryl if he could describe what
the child felt like. “Male teen,” he said. “Far beyond his years. Even though
he knows he’s a child, he doesn’t want to be treated like one. He can take care
of himself.”
“Hmm,” I thought, “sounds like it might be Albion.”
Here’s what I knew about Albion before that night: Anima
said he’s 15 years old. When I asked if I should seek help from other people to
communicate with my kids, Anima translated Albion’s emphatic advice: “Keep it in your
own backyard!”
I myself had downloaded that, although he’s not my oldest
hybrid son, he does act as big brother to the others. Protective of them but still
something of a loner. He’s also a musician and plays a flutelike instrument we
don’t have here.
On the way home, I stopped for gas. My car radio was not on
when I pulled into the service station. Also, in this car, when you turn the
ignition off, the radio goes off. I turned the car off, started the gas pumping
and went back around to put my credit card away. When I opened the door, the
radio was playing classical music. I’ve had the car for 2 ½ years. The radio
had never turned itself on before.
I freaked, reached in and turned it off. The second I did, I
realized what had happened. Albion, musician that he is, had sent me a crystal
clear message: “Hi, Mom. Yes, it was I.”
Thank you, Albion, my beautiful son. My great love to you
and to your siblings.
I hear you.
