Poland, the Polesie region, near Podlasie. M. and E. are walking along a path in a forested area, filled with magical details created by the agritourism owners. One of them is a sign describing the place where the house of Whisperer (a witch = the one who knows) once stood, of which there is no trace today. Something catches my eye among the trees; I notice shapes that don't fit the surroundings. I enter the thicket, approaching a column of dozens of branches or trunks growing and seemingly intertwined. I immediately sense an incredible energy filling the place. I touch the tree, and my senses narrow, focusing only on it and a single singing bird. I see an old woman, short, hunched, with a scarf around her head. It is she: the Whisperer. Her physical body is frail, but the surrounding power is powerful. At first, she defends this place, so I introduce myself, send her light and heart energy, express my respect for her and her home, and explain what I do. She calms down and accepts my presence, but I sense she's distrustful of men; she seems to have been wronged. She speaks to me through this chirping bird. I survey the surroundings physically and non-physically, and I see a long ditch nearby; her hut must have stood somewhere near it. I ask her to support my work and research, as we work in similar spiritual (or soul) realms.
I leave this place to bring M. and E. here. They are surprised and curious. When we touch the tree together, a powerful sense of euphoria overwhelms us. I hear that singing bird again. A name starting with the letter "G" comes to me, an Eastern one, like Gennadija. And M. hears the name Nadya and also sees a little old woman in a scarf! M. asks the her for help and support, but she also does something that surprises me, but flows completely naturally from her: she asks the shepherd what she can do for her. She receives the answer that she would need flowers and a lit candle. We go to the meadow, pick wildflowers and herbs for her, and light the candle when we return home.
We return to the tree and offer the gift of these flowers. We feel grateful and moved, even shedding a few tears. The Whisperer says to M., "Hello, Sister!" I see the old woman's smile, almost toothless, but full of warmth and joy. M. and E. inherit their grandmother's and great-grandmother's witching abilities, perhaps still hidden and undisclosed.
We emerge from this astonishing place, charged with incredible magical energy. Our fatigue has vanished, and we feel the power to act, to transform our lives and move on to the next stage.
A whole year has passed since our first visit, and we are returning to the same place.
I enter the grounds, first walking around, trying to sense what's going on there, for example: where did that house stand? I sense it's beyond the ditch, not on the side where the hazel tree is. I return to the tree, M begins playing a crystal harp especially for the whisperer, and one word comes to mind: "farewell." I see a woman in the distance, rather young and cheerful, not old-fashioned. When I turn my attention to her, she approaches but doesn't linger there, as if that stage had already ended. All the previous energy of hatred for men or resentment is released. After a while, a bird begins to sing, just like a year ago, and M hears it too. I think there are bones folded near the hazel tree on the left. I'm not sure if it's her, because I have the impression it's a woman in a fetal position. The bones are very shallow, so I start digging, maybe I'll find something to confirm the vision. I find a tiny purple flower; I don't see any other flowers anywhere else, it's autumn after all. The whisperbird flies away, the harp releases and locks away a certain energy; nothing holds it there anymore.
I have a vision of the future of this place; it's like a travel in time. The trees are disappearing, the land is empty, and a housing estate of small single-family homes is being built. The trees never return, and the houses crumble like sand in the wind, and ultimately, nothing remains. I can reach decades, even hundreds, of years into the future. This place is liberated; there's no energy left, no memory of what once was. Someone's riding a dirt bike along the road, disturbing us. I see this as evidence of the erasure of the past. The motorcyclist lives his own life, and people are preoccupied with their own affairs, oblivious to history.
Others who visit this place also see a young woman and something resembling a change or time travel. This can be interpreted as an element of synchronism.
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I wonder if this ditch was perhaps a trench from World War I in 1915, or a little later, in 1920? Its considerable depth (about 1.5 meters) would suggest this, as would its course, with fractures at right angles. In such a case, finding a skeleton would be much more likely, as would feeling the energy of the harm inflicted on the woman by the soldiers.