About the Author

Gary's wife, Heather Elizabeth Osborn, is a writer, researcher, priestess, and English professor, and has been a guest on the TV series Forbidden History and "What on Earth!" She has vast international teaching experience in the US and in the UK. While living in London, she pursued Ph.D. research on Goddess Mythology in Literature and trained in Glastonbury as a Priestess of Avalon with noted author, Kathy Jones.
She is the president and founder of The Swan Centre, an organization dedicated to spiritual courses, priest/ess trainings, events, and pilgrimages to global sacred destinations. She has first-hand experiential knowledge of sacred sites, in addition to both her academic and spiritual training in ancient mysteries and mythology in British, Celtic, Egyptian, Native American, and Greco-Roman traditions.
Heather is also a contributing writer to The Heretic Magazine and has a column on The Heretic website. She is completing a book entitled, In the Eyes of Isis, which focuses on her spiritual experiences in the landscapes of the UK and Ireland.

Heather and Gary are also currently writing a book together, focusing on aspects of their research into ancient mysteries.
Heather's daily joys and inspirations are fueled by the love of her son Sean and her husband Gary, the greatest truth in her understanding of life's mysteries.

Ecolodge at Highlands

30 Jan1936 -10 Nov 2011

My father died of stomach cancer and was diagnosed in February. At my parent's house, the lounge downstairs had been turned into a living-room-bedroom for my father who was unable to walk up and down the stairs. My brother and I was staying with my parents at this time. My brother slept upstairs in our father's room, while I slept in the spare bedroom.

During the night, and in the room where my brother slept (our father's room) a picture falls off the wall; the string or twine holding the picture to the wall fixture had simply snapped in the middle, right where it hung on the wall fixture. All of us were puzzled by the fact that the twine is strong and doesn't look as if it had worn away or had become frayed where it broke. All the other pictures which were put up at the same time in the same room and have been hanging for years, show no signs of the strings holding them having become worn at all, and all are still strong.
The picture - a print of an old water colour painting - is the only one in the room that features a horse-drawn carriage having just passed through an archway (portal) under a bridge. The theme of the picture or print is one of 'departure' - i.e., of the York Mail leaving the Temple Bar in London and is dated 1830.

The following day, Friday 4th November, our father's condition had worsened to the point where it was decided that he be taken to the Hospice again; however we are told that there isn't a spare bed available at the hospice this time around. It is then suggested that he should be taken to the only spare bed available in North Devon which is at a Nursing Care Home in Ilfracombe - some 25 miles away. Our father is then taken away by ambulance that Friday evening, and it will be the last time he will leave the house - never to return again . . . "departure".
My mother and I were with him throughout his last week, which began at the Nursing Care Home in Ilfracombe, Devon. However, because of complications, and because it would be nearer to us in case of an emergency, on Monday night my father was moved to Bideford Hospital, some two miles from my parent's home.

The next day we spent all day and night with him.
That afternoon he pointed at the area in the room in front of him and mumbled something like, "They're coming for me".
My mother asked me if that was what she had just heard him say, and I confirmed it, although the sentence wasn't clear. However, he would occasionally say something afterwards that wasn't at all related to this incident - like asking for a drink, or mumbling that he was in pain.
6:50 AM. Thursday, November 10 2011, my father passes away in Bideford Hospital, North Devon.

I later heard from my daughter Li, that Apple boss, Steve Job's last words were: "Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow" as he was looking past his wife, daughter and sister at a vacant space in the room.

See here

. . . Just goes to show that passing over doesn't always happen without incident.
By the way, if you do a web-search on 'pictures falling off the wall', you will receive many pages that will tell you that its a bad omen that usually precedes the death of someone close or someone in the house.

Gary Osborn 15th November 2011

“Superstition of one sort or another, was also rife in working class London. People might attend church, as a one-off event, not because they were Christian but to “change their luck”. Lucky horseshoes were widespread, along with elephant charms (still sold by hawkers door to door in the 1960s and perhaps later). Spilling salt was unlucky, along with the colour green, crossing on the stairs, crossed knives and forks, scissors or penknives as gifts, and passing a cross-eyed person – or a black cat – in the street.
A picture falling from the wall foretold a death in the household.” (My emphasis.)

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