I was sitting at the kitchen table on a Saturday afternoon in July 2007, trying to write a difficult and heartfelt letter. I had decided to turn down a job offer from an organisation with which I had been training for two years. This was a major opportunity for me and it had taken me months to reach this decision.
I was 28 years old at the time, and a very disillusioned schoolteacher. I had been teaching mathematics to children in mainstream state schools for six years. During the course of my relatively short teaching career it had become increasingly apparent to me that I was part of a system doing young people a great disservice. Although passionate and enthusiastic about my work with children, I had felt suffocated by a system that refused to recognise my individuality and, more importantly, denied children the freedom they needed to grow into fully functioning, healthy, confident and happy adults. My own values had become so misaligned with those of the school system that I could no longer conform to it. So I had handed in my resignation, vowing to do all I could to create a new and better model of education.
As I struggled to find the right words to put in my letter, I suddenly became aware of a flickering white light just above my left shoulder. As I turned my head and directed my eyes towards my shoulder I saw the tiniest of white feathers. The feather floated slowly across to the right until it was opposite the middle of my neck and then began to move upwards, past my chin, mouth and nose. It can have been no further than a few inches from my face. All the while, there were cool sensations of what I can only describe as pure joy sweeping up and down my body. It was as if someone or something was trying to get my attention: “Notice me! Notice me! Here I am!” a voiceless voice cried. My eyes were glued to the feather as it continued to float upwards, and I instinctively climbed on to my chair to trace its path to the ceiling. Eventually the feather reached the ceiling and seemed to vanish just as mysteriously as it had appeared. My eyes welled up and tears began to flow.
My laptop sat on the table in front of me so I typed “white feather spiritual meaning” into Google and found myself on a website run by a medium called Robert Goodwin. Robert channels information from a spirit collective called ‘White Feather’, who was a Native American Indian in one of his incarnations on Earth. White Feather’s words on synchronicity really resonated with me, and many of the pages on Robert’s website seemed to reflect my own understanding of the Universe and what was happening in the world around me.
I decided to send Robert an email to see if he could shed some light on my white feather experience. His reply was both reassuring and uplifting. Robert suggested that I had been contacted by the spirit world because I had important spiritual work to do. If this was the case, he said, I was richly blessed and should take the opportunity very seriously. He recommended that I sit in meditation regularly, that I read and learn all I could about spiritual laws, and that by following my heart I would be shown the way.
The following day (Sunday), I had a little spare time in the afternoon and decided to give meditation a try. I lay down on my bed, closed my eyes and quietened my mind. Within a few minutes I suddenly became aware of a large and clear image of the face of a ten-year-old boy in my Maths class, who I will hereafter call Ben. I was very confused about this so I began to mentally ask yes/no questions. A rush of cool energy through my body seemed to indicate a ‘yes’ response. The message I received was that Ben had psychic gifts and that I should say the words ‘white feather’ to him.
I went into school on Monday and, as fate would have it, my usual Maths lesson with Ben’s class was cancelled due to a school production rehearsal in the hall. Although my head was telling me that talking to a ten-year-old child about white feathers was the craziest idea in the world, my heart was telling me I would always be left wondering otherwise. I calmly approached Ben and invited him to join me for a quiet chat at the back of the hall.
I explained that what I was about to ask may seem a little strange but that I needed to ask anyway. “Ben, if I say ‘white feather’, does that mean anything to you?” At first, Ben began to shake his head, and then, all of a sudden, as if snapping out of a daze, his eyes widened, he looked directly at me and he said, “Yes!” He explained how, earlier that morning, he had been standing at the bus stop waiting for a friend when two large white feathers had floated past his face. Although he had not known the exact meaning of the feathers, he said he had felt there was something very special about them. This prompted me to share with Ben my white feather story and how I had seen his face during meditation. At this point, Ben asked if he could come and see me at lunchtime to continue our conversation, as there was something important that he wanted to share with me.
At lunchtime Ben arrived at my classroom as agreed. I invited him to take a seat and we resumed our conversation.
“Mr Mills, have you noticed that sometimes during your lessons I kind of ‘zone out’ for a while?” asked Ben.
“Yes, I have noticed that,” I replied. “What’s happening?”
“I keep having these visions… and you’re in them! Only you’re not Mr Mills, my Maths teacher, in these visions… you’re a Native American, wearing a headdress with a large white feather on the front of it. In fact, when you walked past me on the playground this morning, for a moment the school surroundings disappeared and I saw you dressed in your Native American clothes.”
Ben went on to share other details of his visions. He said that he was often in the visions himself, walking towards me along a wooden bridge in the middle of a forest, and that walking beside me was his current best friend, who I will hereafter call Carl. Ben described Carl (in the visions) as having a shaved head that had been dyed black and a white Mohican. He told me that this particular scene always ended just before he reached us on the bridge, with a sudden flash of blinding white light. Although he did not know for sure what the light meant, he felt decidedly uncomfortable about it. He sensed that something bad was about to happen. I asked Ben if he had shared these visions with Carl. “No way!” he replied. He said that he had, however, spoken to his mother on several occasions and that she had simply dismissed his visions as products of an overactive imagination.
We were interrupted by a knock on the classroom door. A boy poked his head round the door and asked whether Ben was coming to practise the drums. I looked at Ben inquisitively and asked, “Is that Carl, by any chance?”
“Yes, it is,” replied Ben with a smile.
“In you come, Carl,” I said. “I have a feeling your being here may be more than a coincidence.” Carl pulled up a chair next to Ben.
I proceeded to ask Carl the same question I had asked Ben earlier: “If I say ‘white feather’, does that mean anything to you?”
“Yes,” answered Carl. Without any further prompting on my part, he continued: “I was walking along the river the other day and a white swan feather floated from the river and landed at my feet. It seemed kinda special.”
I explained to Carl that the reason I had asked him this question was because Ben and I had both had white feathers experiences in the last few days, and that Ben had also been having visions. Before I could say another word, Carl interrupted: “I’ve been having visions too! It’s well funny… I’m walking along this bridge and I’ve got a shaved head with a white Mohican…” My heart almost stopped beating at this point and I felt the blood drain from my face. Ben looked equally surprised
“Have you guys really never spoken to each other about this?” I asked, half expecting them to burst into laughter and tell me I was part of some elaborate joke. They both said no. And I had no reason to doubt this.
“Guys, I don’t have a rational explanation for this,” I said. “I don’t understand what’s going on here. All I can suggest is that the three of us were somehow connected in a past life. What do you think?”
Both boys nodded. They said this made sense to them because their visions seemed so much like memories.
By this stage I was feeling very excited – nothing like this had ever happened to me before – but I could not get my head around the fact that I was having such a bizarre conversation with two ten-year-olds! Little did I realise things were about to become even more surreal.
My mind began subconsciously scanning its memory banks for past experiences that might help to explain the unfolding scene. I recalled being introduced to a man called Rodney in Fulham a few months earlier. Rodney was the pianist throughout the West End run of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical, ‘Cats’. An aspiring swing vocalist, I had been invited to Fulham for an open mic jazz night for which Rodney was accompanying the singers on keyboard. I had been introduced to Rodney upon arrival and, as he shook my hand, he had looked into my eyes and said, “I know you.” After suggesting – and subsequently eliminating – several avenues through which our paths might previously have met, I had taken my seat. During the course of the evening, Rodney had continually glanced in my direction while playing his keyboard, as though he were desperately trying to place me somewhere in his past.
Although I have no idea why, I began to share this incident with Ben and Carl.
“When I was in Fulham a month or so ago…” I began, “I met a man called Rodney, who happened to be…”
Before I could say another word, I was interrupted by Ben, who blurted out, “Cats!”
“Oh my God!” I said. “How did you know what I was going to say?”
“I know who you are talking about,” said Ben. “I saw him in a sweet shop one day and he was humming a tune that I sometimes hear when I have my visions.”
“What??!” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, I know him too,” interjected Carl, as calm as can be.
“What do you mean, you know him?!” I asked, completely dumfounded.
“You know I told you about the swan feather that floated from the river?” Carl continued.
“Yes,” I said, wondering where this was going to lead.
“When I went to pick up the feather, I stepped into the path of an elderly guy, and when I stood up, we bumped into each other. It was the guy you are talking about.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “Describe him to me.”
“Tall, grey hair, moustache, tanned skin. He had soft hands and a slightly foreign accent.” Carl’s description was spot on. I could not believe that relaying such a (seemingly) random memory had led to such extraordinary revelations from Ben and Carl.
Both boys returned to my classroom at the end of the day, eager to share more details about their visions, and to discuss the link with Rodney. We talked for about an hour but became no closer to understanding why we had been brought together in this way.
I could not face going into school on Tuesday. I wanted to get my head round the events of Monday, so I phoned in sick. Panic began to set in. What was I supposed to do for these boys? After all, I had handed in my resignation and was leaving the school in a matter of weeks. I spent most of the day searching for answers on the Internet. I remember visiting several websites about psychic children but the answers I wanted were not forthcoming.
I returned to school on Wednesday morning to find an email from the Headteacher in my inbox. He had been contacted by Ben’s mother, who was most concerned that I had been “filling her son’s head” with talk of white feathers, and had requested that I make no further mention of the subject. I had no choice but to respect her wishes, but this left me feeling even more lost and frustrated. How could I figure out the meaning and purpose of my white feather experiences if I was not permitted talk to Ben? I decided to share my story with Sarah, a teaching assistant. I knew she would be open-minded enough to listen without judging me. I was right to trust her; she suggested I speak to Mandy, another teaching assistant, who “knew all about white feathers”.
Intrigued, I found Mandy in the staff room during the lunch hour that day and asked if she had time for a chat. She listened patiently while I shared my white feather story, including all the remarkable coincidences involving Ben and Carl.
“You know what white feathers are, don’t you?” Mandy asked.
“Not really,” I replied.
“They are signs from your Guardian Angel,” she said.
I am a very open-minded person but I can honestly say that, had this conversation with Mandy taken place a week earlier, I would have considered this a rather far-fetched statement. However, given the circumstances, I was keen to pursue any line of enquiry that could potentially lead me to the answers I craved.
Mandy suggested I contact an angel specialist that she knew, called Babs. She pulled a small diary out of her handbag and thumbed through to the page upon which she had scribbled down Bab’s home phone number. She wrote this number on a small piece of paper and handed it to me. At this point Mandy turned to me and said, very calmly, “David, I promise you it was not there when we started our conversation… look down on the floor…” To my disbelief there lying on the staff room carpet, in between our legs, was a little white feather.
“Right,” I said, “I will call Babs tonight!”
I visited Babs at her house on Friday evening of that week. Babs was so patient and supportive. “If there is any spiritual work for you to do with Ben and Carl,” she said, “you have already done it. You are the only adult who has ever really listened to those boys about their visions. They will always remember you for that.” I cried after hearing these words. It was the reassurance I needed. She explained how all these ‘coincidences’ I had experienced were synchronistic events, specifically designed to open my eyes to a world beyond the three-dimensional. Finally, I had the answers I needed.
Since that day, white feathers have continued to manifest in my experience, often providing comfort when it is most needed. I can recall climbing into the driving seat of my car one morning, still feeling distraught after having broken up with my girlfriend the previous day. Resting on the windscreen, directly in front of me, was a brilliant white feather. I could not help but smile at such a comforting sight. This helped to put me in a much more positive frame of mind for the day ahead.
On other occasions white feathers have manifested in order to prompt me to take certain courses of action. For example, in March 2008 I attended a success seminar at Alexandra Palace in London. Late into the afternoon my energy levels were waning so I decided to take a stroll behind the main seating area. I could hear the speaker sharing the benefits of attending a week-long seminar that would be taking place in Scotland later that year. I happened to glance down at the floor and, to my amazement, spotted a white feather. It lay just in front and to the left of me. I instinctively reached down and picked it up. “How did you get in here?” I said to myself as I directed my eyes to the impressive ceiling high above me. I decided that it must be a sign from my angels, so I approached the enquiry desk behind me and found myself chatting to a softly spoken gentleman in his mid-fifties who had previously attended the course. His enthusiasm was infectious and, the more I listened to him, the more I wanted to attend this particular course. However, the financial investment involved was very substantial; it would be the biggest financial risk I ever took.
Following this conversation, I approached a friendly-faced female volunteer at the booking desk and explained my predicament. I told her about the white feather and she smiled. It turned out that she often saw white feathers herself and, like me, interpreted these as messages from her angels. After a long conversation with her, I eventually took my debit card out of my wallet and prepared to hand it over. However, I was suddenly paralysed with fear as the thought of my Dad’s reaction to my ‘throwing away’ such a huge sum of money on a short training course (he is a Chartered accountant) flashed across my mind. At this point, I closed my eyes and mentally asked for Divine assistance, “Angels, if I am supposed to go on this course, please give me a sign”. I opened my eyes and instinctively turned my head to look at the elderly woman standing to the left of me. I saw the tiniest of white feathers float across her shoulder. It was the reassurance I needed; I handed over my debit card and paid the deposit for the course.
During the course of the last three years I have allowed myself to receive more and more guidance and support from the angelic realm. Angels have helped me through many difficult times and continue to lovingly encourage me to focus on my Divine purpose.
