I was born in July, 1933, in a rather remote part of County Clare, in Ireland. Stories of ghosts and fairies and the banshee (a female spirit who always seemed to be combing her hair and in attitudes of mourning - at least that was my understanding) were very much part of my childhood. There were fairy forts and pathways and bushes which were "out of bounds" for playing in, or walking on, or touching, or using in any way - all taken seriously (I think) by young and old alike, but mixed with orthodox Roman Catholicism in a curious blend of wonder dominated and limited by fear.
I got married we had two children, I progressed in my carrier as a civil servant, my life fitted into fairy predictable routines, and I dabbled with writing plays, all the while telling myself that I would make a real go of it when I could retire from the Civil Service at 60. I managed to write a few plays and I entered them for occasional competitions and sent them to some theater managements without success except to a limited in the case of one competition where my entry was considered meritorious enough to allow me to be considered for inclusion in a panel of writers for television. However, that, too, I put on the long finger waiting for the perceived paradise of retirement.
Then in my early 40s, a new world opened up for me, which, as it evolved, made my ambition to become a playwright (even a famous one!) fade into the background and lose all its significance for me. Until I came to write this I had forgotten that a trigger point for me was seeing a book in a public library entitled "A World Beyond", by Ruth Montgomery. I borrowed the book and was fascinated by the scenario of the life after death which it presented communication received by Ruth Montgomery from Arthur Ford, who was well known as a medium during his earth life, from which he departed in 1971. Shortly after reading that book I heard about guides, which really turned life around, or upside down, (or downside up!) for me.
I had grown up with a strong belief in guardian angels. I found it a wonderfully comforting thing as a child. I used to talk to them then, but I don't remember ever having heard them talking back to me - just as well, probably, or I'd have been terrified, given the exposure to ghosts I was experiencing. But I thought of my guardian angels as my friends and there was no fear associated with them - as long as I couldn't see them or hear them! Later on, after my father died, I was terrified of seeing him, much as I loved him when he was in his physical body; such is the influence of conditioning.
Then at the age of 44, early 1978, I began to see and hear angels; a matter of fact statement which covers a plethora of mixed emotions. I was thrilled, intrigued, delighted, and, at the same time, disturbed. All the doubts and the fears of my conditioning came to the surface. Was it "good" or "bad"? Was I imagining it all? Was it the devil and all his cohorts of evil spirits playing tricks on me? Was I simply going mad? Walking along streets with people (in physical bodies!) all around me, I could hear other conversations in the air. Sitting in trains, I got visions of other civilizations and other ages. I looked at people sitting near me, chatting, reading newspapers or books, gazing out the windows, or just sitting silently, and I wondered about reality. Could they see any of what I was seeing? It didn't seem so. Were they the lucky ones to be unconscious of it all? Would I be better of if I could go back to being the way I was? I didn't want to be back there, but I found it very difficult to cope with ordinary, everyday life. I wanted to get away by myself to savour it all, and yet I felt I had to continue with my daily routines as if nothing was happening. I was abstracted and difficult to live with (more difficult than usual!). Yet, strangely, people I worked with didn't seem to notice anything unusual about me (I think!).
After a few months I realised that I couldn't go on living in what seemed like a multiplicity of worlds. Since I was on planet earth, I'd either have to leave it or be grounded in the experience of it. Then it came to me that the answer was simple - I could just ask my guides to control what was coming to me, to let it happen only by arrangement. I asked - and, miraculously, my life returned to "normal", or sort of normal. Perversely, I missed the excitement and wonder of all the continuing communication - but, at least, I was able to function within the physical reality of my environment.
Now, though externally life had settled back into some kind of normality, the internal change was enormous. Life had opened up into a vast vista of never-ending, evolving consciousness, which put all the happenings of day-to-day existence into a totally new perspective. And yet it wasn't new. Somewhere deep inside me I had known it all the time and the unfolding process as I began to write down what was coming to me became a joyful and wonderful journeying to the surface of my awareness. The name Shebaka didn't mean anything to me (other than that I liked the sound of it), which I found easier to accept - at the time I think I'd have found it very hard to accept a name that had historical associations for me. As it was, no preconceptions intruded on my consciousness.
As I said in the preface to the first volume, when I started writing I had no intention of publishing the material and even when I realised that what I was writing seemed to be assuming the form of a book, I thought that it would be nice and neat - and safe - if publication could be achieved posthumously. (I wasn't sure how I'd have managed that! Actually, though, I thought it would be a good test of the genuineness of the material if it was brought to public attention without my having anything to do with it.)
Again I'm repeating myself in saying that the writing has not been, in any sense, automatic. I am aware of Shebaka but not in a visual or obvious way. It's hard to explain; I can feel a presence and powerful energy flowing through me. Yet the energy is gentle and totally non-directive. I write in my own way and my own time and within the capacity of my own vocabulary and my own style. Ideas, concepts, facts are presented to me in a broad, yet unmistakable, way. I have to think a lot about some of them before I can put words on them, and sometimes I find it very difficult to express accurately in words what's emerging into my consciousness. More and more I'm being faced with the limitations of words and I can now see more clearly why complete, unambiguous, communication is virtually impossibly to achieve verbally. Yet we have to deal in words within the restrictions of our earth existence, so it behoves us to do the best we can as we can