An Inter-dimensional Being Told Me to Shut Off My Music and Listen to the Pigeons
Some mornings crack you open. This was one of those mornings.
I talk to the dirt now.
Not metaphorically. Barefoot in the backyard, I’ll crouch down and ask the grass how it’s doing. Anything funny happen? I say good morning to the sun. I pause at the water and just... check in.
I know how that sounds.
But something shifted in me over these past few months that I can’t unfold for you in a single sentence. The best I can do is bring you into one January morning in Florida and let you feel it from the inside.
This is that morning.
I’ve spoken with RaTu many times now.
RaTu is one of the beings who comes through in my channeling sessions with Cassandra. An energy signature with gravitas. Powerful. Magnetic. The kind of presence that makes Cassandra’s whole body go quiet when it arrives.
The moment RaTu comes through, something happens in my chest. Warmth. Like a door opening into a room you forgot you loved. My nerves release. My breath finds its own rhythm. I smile before I even realize I’m smiling.
It feels like going home.
That’s because in some sense it is. My channeled writing Between Two Moons is a memory of my life with these beings. Since writing that piece my heart has carried a thread back to them that never fully closes. So when RaTu arrives, it isn’t the arrival of something foreign.
It’s recognition.
Full, unhurried, I-see-you-completely recognition.
And when the session ends, there’s a small sadness. The kind you feel leaving a place you love. I sit in it for a moment before coming back.
The Open Mic Nobody Told Me About
This particular morning, the backyard was alive.
Not just active. Alive. Birds going off in every direction, chirps, squawks, the low opinionated murmur of a dove who clearly had thoughts. I had my background music running like always, the ambient 432hz I’ve used for months to help Cassandra sink into deep meditation and help me hold the frequency of these sessions.
RaTu asked me to turn it off.
“I, in my frequency in particular, am sensitive to environmental stimuli such as the birds, therefore this is not necessary for holding my channel.”
Polite. Firm. A little unexpected. Because here’s what that actually meant, Cassandra used to need the music. It was part of how she dropped into the depth required for trance channeling. For RaTu to say it wasn’t necessary anymore, and in fact wasn’t helpful for them, told me something significant.
Her gift had grown.
They confirmed it. “We were able to come through in more authentic fullness this time. This is progress.”
And quietly, without making a big deal of it, I understood something about myself too. The fact that RaTu could engage with me this way, conversational, close, unhurried, meant my own ability to hold high frequencies had grown as well. We’d both been doing the work without fully realizing how far it had taken us.
So I turned off the music. And sat in the birds.
“They are sharing energy codes and frequencies,” RaTu said.
I mentioned that a few days earlier I’d walked outside while they were in full concert and said out loud, mostly as a joke, you all are being very chatty.
They went completely silent. I said, no, please. Keep going. And they did.
“They are very aware of your presence, yes.”
They’re aware of yours too. When you actually show up, not just physically but with your full attention, your curiosity, your willingness to connect, the world around you responds differently.
I’ve been watching that happen more and more lately.
Animals come closer than most people would consider normal. Strangers offer hugs out of nowhere. I sat at the beach recently with my sunglasses on, looked up at the sun, and watched different colors pulse out of it in sequence. Red. Orange. Blue. Green. Back to yellow. Later I learned some traditions call those pulses light codes-transmissions from the sun itself. When I asked what the message was, Cassandra heard: this is just for him. His gifts are opening up. This is just who he is.
That’s what presence does. It opens the channel.
Meet the Locals
I did not expect to receive a full energetic audit of my backyard wildlife from an inter-dimensional being. And yet…..RaTu, it turns out, had been paying close attention to our backyard residents.
The colorful ones- the parakeets that recently started landing on the patio roof and dancing around up there- carry a Lemurian and Atlantean frequency. RaTu described them as the example of arriving. Freedom. No restraint. Existence as pure expression.
“When you see them, may they serve as a reminder of arriving at your fullness.”
I’d bet you have a version of these in your world. The ones that show up bright and unbothered, living entirely without apology. Basically the friend who shows up to the party already glowing and somehow leaves with everyone’s number.
The crows and ravens are a balancing frequency. Beginnings and death. The energy keeping the vibrancy from spinning out unchecked. Necessary. Grounding. The ones standing by the door with their arms crossed making sure nobody levitates.
And then the pigeons.
We have some enormous pigeons. I don't know where they came from or why they chose us. Nobody told me I'd be getting life advice from a pigeon in Florida but here we are.
“The wisest of them we sense is your pigeons. While not as vocally expressive, they are observant in nature.”
The integrators. Watching everything. Harmonizing the frequencies. Cooing softly like they’re saying yes yes this is fine we’re all fine here.
I have a new and profound respect for the pigeons.
Next time you’re outside, notice which birds keep finding you. RaTu said it isn’t random. There’s a resonance. They come because something in your frequency matches something in theirs.
What’s showing up in your open mic?
Dough, Yeast, and the Thing That Rises
RaTu began talking about a gift that’s been coming online for me, the ability to channel through writing itself. Not just documenting what happens in sessions. Actually transmitting through the act of telling the story. High frequency writing, where the information doesn’t just arrive in the channeling moment. It continues rising as it moves through language.
The analogy they used: bread.
“You have on your planet yeast, yes. There is the dough. There is then the reaction. It rises. It takes up more space. This is what was occurring.”
I sat with that for a while.
Because how many times have we all done this, grabbed onto one ingredient thinking we had the whole recipe. One insight. One conversation. One breakthrough. And we sprint toward it like it’s the finished loaf when really it’s just one element waiting for the others to show up so the whole thing can rise.
The threads are the ingredients. Each one matters. But you don’t force them together. You follow them. You stay curious. You let them find where they naturally entangle and form a web.
“The more you focus or engage, the more threads or strands in which you weave into connection. Don’t overly structure it right now. Allow what is to be and to unfold.”
That landed somewhere deep because it’s exactly what these past months of presence practice have been teaching me. We hear “be present” so often it’s almost lost its meaning. But presence isn’t just your attention. It’s what you’re actually connecting to in the moment. It’s the quality of contact you’re making with whatever is right in front of you.
I talk to the dirt because the dirt is there and it’s alive and something in me knows connection is the key to everything. The grass has never once complained about the conversation.
That knowing has made my life stranger and richer and more wonder-filled than I know how to fully explain.
RaTu said they wanted to do an exercise with me. Something about learning to listen in a way I hadn’t tried before.
I said yes without hesitation.
I had no idea where it was about to go.