Once I learned how to do “Portal Work” I did so on all the CE mediums and was astounded by how their accuracy rate soared!! Opening up portals that are shut but shouldn’t be allows all sorts of information (and abundance, of course) to flood in, including communication with the deceased and other spirits. So, now, all CE mediums enjoy over 95% accuracy in their readings, including Jennifer Doran, here, a lovely medium who you can reach at www.psychicmediumjenniferdoran.com. Open your energy portals now through atlantisscalar.com. We now have Empath Protection and Messages from Loved Ones as two new services!
Speaking of the work I do, Erik and I always make sure all earthbound spirits who might be stuck on a client’s property or in their home gets guided to the Light. Here’s what happened to client, Heather, the moment I did just that:
Thank you, thank you, thank you. I had a spirit attached to me these past few days, and today he came with me to a friends house. I asked the spirit while I was driving ‘how does he travel with me to other places.’ Did they float alongside the vehicle? I assumed the spirits just stayed at the house. He said ‘I’m sitting in the back seat’. And I saw him sitting there in the back seat. About 30 minutes later, while still driving, I see him ‘sucked’ out of the vehicle. He looked so surprised. And I just knew you were doing portal work! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Heather
Speaking of Heathers, another Heather, Heather Hartford, very graciously started this fundraiser and there’s some pretty kick-ass prizes for the raffle and a big drumming circle event Sunday!!
Facebook Groups
‘Life After Life’ CE FUNDRAISER has 214 members. Join us for a fun filled weekend of light workers coming together to raise money for the Channeling Erik cause !
Last but not least, check out the latest from our own, Dr. Maria Johnson:
As promised, I share excerpts of Erik’s book from time to time. Here’s one:
My body looked like me, but it didn’t look like me. I looked pale. My nose didn’t look right. Even my fingers seemed too long. It was like I was looking at a cheap imitation of myself, a wax figure in one of those museums, a puppet without a puppeteer. Even though I didn’t feel any empathy for my body, I had this need to put it back the way it had been only moments ago—sitting at my desk with a normal-looking head. I didn’t want to, like, crawl back inside my body and reanimate it or anything; I just wanted to clean it up. I wanted to help.
The scene in front of me was so weird. It was like being in the mov ies and you see all that gory shit, and you say, “Oh, whatever. That’s just entertainment.” For me, it didn’t seem like real life playing out right in front of me. It seemed separate from me, like it was playing on a screen, and I was in the audience watching, instead of being one of the actors. I went to find the gun and pick it up. When I saw it and reached for it, I saw my new hand reaching for it. It didn’t look light or trans- lucent—you know, the type of thing that you would expect to see with a spirit or a ghost. It did have a kind of a glow to it, though. Silver, shimmery. I know it sounds weird, but it looked solid and transparent at the same time. Think about it: when you look at your reflection in dark water, it looks solid, but you know it’s just a transparent reflection in the water. Meld those two, and that’s what it looked like.
When I tried to grab or touch something, my hand went right through it. I guess it felt like a tingly pressure, but it didn’t feel like regular touch. I tried to touch my body, but I couldn’t grab ahold of it. Then I tried to strum the strings on my Fender guitar, but my fingers slipped through them too. No sound. I remember feeling pretty sad then, thinking that I’d never get to play music again.
Next, I heard my mother running up the stairs. I could tell she was climbing up the steps more than one at a time, tripping. She came into the room, but she didn’t come in delicately. She came in like she was on fire—a flaming cannonball barreling through anything in its path. My point of view rose up like I was flying. I wasn’t standing on the ground like a human. Even though I felt like I was hovering up high, I suddenly felt really small, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Still, I didn’t feel the same kind of shame or sense of regret I expected to. I just felt small.
I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but I didn’t feel the need to rush to her. I had this emotional detachment while watching her, but it wasn’t the same emotional distance I felt when I was about to pull the trigger or when I first left my body and looked down at it. It was an emotional distance that comes with an objective observation that made me feel separated from my feelings of remorse and shame.
Get your own copy HERE.
