Safe Escape with Master Saint Germain

Safe Escape with Master Saint Germain: avoided killing someone, Thanks to Saint Germain.


I’m in India. Without my spirit guides, I would be dead. If it wasn’t Halloween….

I will still have nightmares all night.

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Near Rewalsar/Tso Pema Up the Hill By the Padmasambhava Caves.
Padmasambhava Cave Rewalsar (Tso Pema) Himachal-Pradesh of India, © Nora Hoffmann. No reproduction without written permission. It was October 31.

After spending some time up on the mountain around the caves of Padmasambhava (see previous story), I return to Rewalsar/Tso Pema. I am not precisely clear about my steps to reach the village below. The landscape is haunting me. By now it is getting dark.

The landscape soon will be dark. Soon, it will be fully dark.

© Nora Hoffmann. No reproduction without written permission. It took much longer than I expected to reach the caves. I will head down straight toward the rooftops of the monasteries.

Soon it will be entirely dark. © Nora Hoffmann. No reproduction without written permission.I encounter three boys — skinny unmarried Indian men — while it is still light and clarify directions to Rewalsar/Tso Pema with them. Pretending to offer help, the three Indian boys chattingly follow me.

“Where are you from?”

Evoking the powerful protective presence of my inner husband Master Saint Germain, I respond:

“Saint Germain.”

To answer this way when someone asks, my being so very innocent, Saint Germain and I agreed since I arrived in Chandigarh four days ago.

Only one of the boys follows me at first. I let him pass.
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As he passes to go in front of me, I see a thought of him strangling me, and my kundalini rushes upward. Shoot. How to get out of the situation. The other two boys join their friend.
Carefully, I walk on. The path is steep and rocky, slippery from dust and loose rocks. It is not clear how to get quickly to Rewalsar/Tso Pema, as several paths split into multiple options.
“Sit down.” one of the boys orders me.
I am reluctant, and fearful. He speaks with authority, as if having a right to command me. It will not help to delay my journey back to Rewalsar in the increasing darkness. I am still uncertain about my way.
The male sits down. I sit with him briefly, thinking I better run with clear directions down to Rewalsar and as fast as I can. But now the two other men sit down on the stair step behind us. The alpha says a few things in Hindi, then pulls out his phone for translating Hindi to English. I think about taking out the dictionaries on my telephone, but Saint Germain says:
Do not give him anything of your heart.
I listen.
Let him show you the translation, then go.
I wait and read the Hindi words in Latin characters. I don’t remember the English translation.
Now excuse yourself and go.
I get up. I’m feeling disturbed by seeing that the boys as well get up to pursue me.
If you don’t have any rape fantasies by now….My beloved horse spirit guide Leor whispers into my right ear.
That makes too much sense. I recognize that all three of them are short and skinny, unlike the tall African or Caucasian hunks of men we deal with in the US. I am not aware of fear the way I feel in the United States. There I have picked up and run more than once.
If you let them walk with you, you will not return to your room tonight.
This sounds more than scary. I hear it as a clear rape-murder warning. I step away from the path to let them pass. It is one of the many terraced fields in this area. It is dark, but there is no place to cower to hide myself. I wonder whether it is safer to be prepared to fight rather than demonstrate fear by trying to hide: As feared, the three young Indian men don’t go very far before turning around and walking back toward me.
Where are your weapons? Asks Saint Germain.
I think about what I have in my backpack.
The water bottle is the best one I have.
Use it.
I pull it out. It is not very heavy anymore, not much water is left inside it. I let it dangle from its carabiner hook, but wonder whether I should hold it more demonstratively.
This will be enough, says Saint Germain. It is inconspicuous enough that it could be unintentional. But it also demonstrates that it may be a weapon.
The three young men return.
“Rewalsar?”
I don’t respond.
“Come, eat dinner with us.”
Do not go with them.
“Rewalsar?”
I make a gesture by bringing the edge of my palm down from my face to my belly button:
“I am going alone.”
One of them steps in front of me, shining the flashlight of his phone into my eyes.
“What? What is this?” Aggressively, he repeats my gesture.
Feeling scared, I am especially furious at his shining the light into my eyes. Despite never considering myself aware enough, my inner awareness training by Saint Germain is paying off, nonetheless: I am aware of each of the young men’s locations despite being blinded by this one’s flashlight.
“I will go alone.”
He wants to take my hand pretending it is to say goodbye, and I decline. The boy leaves the terraced area and joins his friends on the way. They walk upward a few meters.
Master Saint Germain explains, He was preparing to rape you. Go now.
Feeling fearful, I want to wait them out, but Saint Germain says:
They will bother you ten more minutes if you don’t continue your way down to Rewalsar now.
So I do. Uneasy, I step onto the path from where the males are only a few meters behind me to move quickly down the steps, slowing down my heart as instructed by Master Saint Germain, which he has repeatedly asked as I was walking with the three followers.
Once I am safely on my way, Saint Germain and Tweng again turn my victimhood around the same way they did recently when a man groped me. I was just finishing coming up a set of stairs in Simla, one of the steep kind between the middle bazaar and top level mall road. The man groped my boobs in climbing down. Furious, I turned and was about to severely push him down that stair case I had just arrived from climbing up. Most Indian men are lightweight and dumb compared to American hunks of male dominance. There are some exceptions, which are terrifying. My guides interfered preventing me from doing more serious harm than he.
You have to see it that you protected them from receiving harm. Tomorrow, there would have been three dead young Indian men.
The thought makes me giggle.
It would delay your arrival by three more days, and we already wasted too many.
Wondering why three days, my guides explain.
Indian police would have kept you in prison for three days until they sorted the story.
I safely find my way all the way back down into the little town called Rewalsar/Tso Pema.

© Nora Hoffmann. No reproduction without written permission.I am exhausted from all the stairs.

© Nora Hoffmann. No reproduction without written permission.The photo shop from where I ordered photos in the morning is closed. Thankfully, I have the man’s phone number. I call him, and he is right there, upstairs, in an apartment above the shop. He comes down and gives me the prints. He suggests that there is a bus at 8:20 in the morning leaving directly from here to Simla. “Maybe I will come to the bus stand in the morning to tell the bus driver what you need.” I will have to change buses in Sand…?… .
Most of the time, Indian natives are very kind.

© Nora Hoffmann. No reproduction without written permission.But as Tenzin Dolma, who runs the eating corner next to the Nyingma monastery, said to me last night:
“Be careful, please. Many Indians are very bad. Very bad.”
Happy Halloween.
I have serious nightmares all night.
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