Finding You Across Dimensions: Grief, ‘Us-ness,’ and the Whispering of Horses

An excerpt from the book Nondual Medium: Clairessentia, Conscious Awakening and the Spirit World

“I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie
I have my freedom, but I don't have much time
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried
Let’s do some living after we die.”

— The Rolling Stones, Wild Horses

To explore how the spirit world and our earthly reality meet and breathe in real time, we need only look at an unforgettable morning in the historic Blue Room at Stansted Hall.

I was sitting in the sanctuary of the Arthur Findlay College alongside a cohort of international students, listening to the exceptional British medium Debra Chalmers. Debra was demonstrating the delicate art of linking with the spirit world to retrieve clear, verifiable evidence for a sitter. To ground the teaching, she prepared to give an unscripted demonstration.

Before Debra turned in my direction, my body registered a distinct shift in frequency. An electric charge hummed across my skin—a subtle, interior version of goosebumps. Without a word spoken, an unmistakable certainty settled into my marrow:

She is coming to me.

Something in the spirit dimension was linking directly into the space where I was already linked.

I had arrived at Stansted Hall carrying deep questions. I wanted to explore the subtle boundaries between psychic telepathy and genuine communion with the spirit dimension. Were my departed loved ones truly present, or was I merely navigating the psychological projections of my own unresolved grief?

The Clashing Realities of Time and Soul

Debra turned, looked upward into the subtle atmosphere, and stepped toward my chair.

“I have somebody here,” she began. “It’s a young woman. I have the feeling she died before her time, in the very middle of her life, with so much left unfinished.”

Debra’s eyes had not yet locked onto mine, but within my heart, a bell struck. I knew she was describing my sister,Alexandra.

“I am getting that she is a mother,” Debra continued, scanning the sentient impressions in her field. “There is a baby involved somehow...”

I raised my hand. Alexandra had passed away less than a year after giving birth to her first child.

Debra pressed deeper into the link, describing the suddenness of the transition and the visceral feeling of a vibrant life abruptly cut short. Yet as she attempted to translate the communicator’s timeline into linear language, confusion arose.She perceived that Alexandra’s passing was directly entangled with childbirth. Sitting as the sitter, the standard protocol of traditional mediumship demanded a binary answer: “Yes,” “No,” or “I don’t know.”

Yet my actual experience was yes, no, and I don’t know all at once.

The biographical reality was nuanced: Alexandra had suffered an infection during an emergency Caesarean home birth involving meconium in the amniotic fluid. That trauma gave rise to an antibiotic-resistant bacterial strain that remained dormant for months. Nearly a year later, it flared into an ear infection, which rapidly turned into fulminant bacterial meningitis, taking her life within three agonizing hours.

Debra then described a long, suspended silence—a period where this young woman wanted desperately to speak yet found herself unable to communicate. Debra struggled to fit this into ordinary linear time. But what is twelve hours in a medical coma to a departing soul? To an embodied mind, it is half a day; to a consciousness transitioning across dimensions, it may feel like an eternity. Debra was receiving pure impressions from emotional memory and somatic evidence, labouring to translate multidimensional soul memory into conventional human logic.

The Wall of Protection

As evidential details mounted, an internal defence mechanism flared within me.

The grief was so raw, the exposure so sudden, that my psyche instinctively armed itself. I felt myself tightening, bracing against the link to keep from falling apart in front of a room full of peers. My professional conditioning—the impulse to maintain control, to "babysit" the medium so she wouldn't fail, to manage the energetic climate of the room—threatened to shut down the connection entirely.

Recognising that the link was meeting friction, Debra paused. Rather than forcing the narrative, she leaned back into the silence and asked the communicator directly for a singular piece of undeniable evidence—something uniquely known between the spirit and the sitter that could never be guessed.

Debra looked straight into my eyes:

“She is saying to go back to the horses. Does that make sense to you?”

Sitting behind my protective wall, I answered immediately:

“No, it doesn't. Alexandra loved horses, but I have never had anything to do with them. In fact, I am quite scared of horses!”

Debra gracefully accepted the response, offered a brief teaching point on interpretation, and closed the demonstration.

The Clairaudient Bridge

The sitting ended, but the words refused to leave me: Go back to the horses.

Later that afternoon, needing air, I walked through the manicured grounds of Stansted Hall. As I strolled past the paddocks, I stopped to watch the Arthur Findlay horses grazing peacefully against the fence line.

The phrase struck me like a physical blow: Go back to the horses.

Suddenly, the floodgates of memory opened:

• I recalled Alexandra’s passionate study of Monty Roberts and horse whispering.

• I remembered her dream of building a sanctuary with a round pen to rehabilitate horses and heal people.

• I remembered her time at boarding school, where she had literally been saved by a horse, anchoring a lifelong devotion to their presence.

As I stood watching those horses, it was not merely an abstract memory that returned—it was an acoustic floodgate. My inner ear began to hum with the exact acoustic signature of Alexandra’s wedding day. I could hear the instruments tuning,the laughter of the guests, and my two children, Yedidya and Toni, striking the opening chords of Wild Horses:

“Wild horses couldn't drag me away...
Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day.”

This is how clairaudience truly operates in nondual mediumship. We are conditioned to believe clairaudience is an external, booming voice speaking into the physical eardrum, like a radio playing in an empty room. Far more frequently,it emerges from within the sentient depths of soul memory. It is a spontaneous acoustic playback—a sudden melodic hook, a lyric, or a vocal cadence that cuts through everyday mental chatter.

The lyrics that had once celebrated an earthly union were now carrying an unmistakable prophetic weight:

“I have my freedom, but I don't have much time...
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried,
Let's do some living after we die.”

Within twelve short months of that performance, Alexandra had run out of earthly time. The music played at her wedding had secretly prefigured the heartbreak of her funeral. Yet in the clairaudient recall of that song, the lyric ceased to be a tragedy; it became an anthem of survival.

Neither mortality, nor the suddenness of meningitis, nor the heavy silence of the grave could drag her love away. The horses were not an accident; the melody was the acoustic vehicle through which her soul announced: We are still riding together.

The Power of ‘Us-ness’

I remembered a spiritual healing retreat we had attended together years earlier. During quiet evenings, we sat together for hours, blending deeply in discussions about horses, the fear of rejection, mortality, and how the ancient intelligence of horses could guide a human soul through suffering.

Horses had never been a casual hobby for Alexandra. Horses were our private symbolic alphabet. They were the exact relational bridge through which the practical, grounded Alexandra and the intuitive, spiritual Georgi met and understood each other without masks.

Then, a final memory surfaced: just prior to the pandemic, a magnificent white horse shamanic drum had arrived in my life, completely unbidden.

Standing beside that fence at Stansted Hall, weeping in the English afternoon light, I understood. Debra had not plucked a trivial fact from my conscious mind. Had she been practising basic telepathy, she would have hit a dead end, because I consciously believed I had no connection to horses.

Instead, Debra had tapped into what Bart ten Berge describes:

“The physical form disappears, but the meeting position—the Us-ness between us and the people who passed away—is still there... And when we connect with the one who passed away, that Us-ness is changing. It gets more and more purified.”

Debra dropped through the surface layers of personality down into the shared soul journey between Alexandra and myself—touching a sacred symbol that bypassed my conscious defences and reconnected our hearts here, now, physically, spiritually, boundlessly and across eternity.

Evidential accuracy does not live in isolated trivia. It blossoms naturally when we understand how the infinite Source crystallizes into the living, relational evidence of a soul.

Extracted from Nondual Medium: Clairessentia, Conscious Awakening and the Spirit World.