Angels in My Hair: The True Story of a Modern-Day Irish Mystic by Lorna Byrne (E

Description: Angels in My Hair by Lorna Byrne In this uplifting autobiography, a modern-day Irish mystic shares her vivid encounters and conversations with the angels and spirits she has known her entire life.For anyone who has ever wondered about the mysteries that lie beyond everyday experience, or doubted the reality of the afterlife, "Angels in My Hair " is a moving and deeply inspirational journey into the unseen world.For as long as she can remember, Lorna Byrne has seen angels. As a young child, she assumed everyone could see the otherworldly beings who always accompanied her. Yet in the eyes of adults, her abnormal behavior was a symptom of mental deficiency. Today, sick and troubled people from around the world are drawn to her for comfort and healing, and even theologians of different faiths seek her guidance. Lorna is trusted for her ability to communicate with spirits and angels—and by sharing her intimate knowledge of the spiritual world she offers a message of hope and love to us all."Angels in My Hair "is an engrossing chronicle of Lornas incredible life story. Invoking a wonderful sense of place, she describes growing up poor in Ireland, finding work in Dublin, and marrying the man of her dreams—only to have the marriage cut short by tragedy. Already a bestseller in Ireland, her story gives readers a unique insight into the angelic help that is around us and available to us all the time. As Lorna says, "All you have to do is ask." FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography Lorna Byrne has been seeing and talking to angels since she was a baby. Now, having raised her family, she talks openly for the first time about what she has seen and learned. She lives quietly in rural Ireland. Discussion Question for Reading Group Guide 1. Which episode in the book sticks most clearly in your mind after reading it? 2. What do you think about the difference in descriptions between the ordinary and the extraordinary - how well does this work? 3. One reader has said Either this is true or Lorna Byrne has one of the most extraordinary imaginations Ive ever come across. What do you think? 4. The author speaks of the difficulty she has in describing angels, do you think she succeeds? 5. People could see that I was different and just couldnt understand it. Why is it that difference from the norm is marginalised in our society? Why do you think people are frightened of things that they dont understand? 6. What do you think of the following statement: Sometimes, things only seem like tragedies... Sometimes tough things have to happen in order for people to change, and for things to change in their lives. Can you think of a time when this may have happened to you or someone you know? 7. How has reading the book changed your view of life after death? 8. Lorna describes the passing away of people she has known and the people in her life in great detail. How does her experience of it make you feel about death? 9. The author has said that this book has a unique message for each person who reads it - what message does it hold for you? Excerpt from Book Chapter 1 Through different eyes When I was two years old the doctor told my mother I was "retarded." When I was a baby, my mother noticed that I always seemed to be in a world of my own. I can even remember lying in a cot--a big basket--and seeing my mother bending over me. Surrounding my mother I saw wonderful bright, shiny beings in all the colors of the rainbow; they were much bigger than I was, but smaller than her--about the size of a three-year-old child. These beings floated in the air like feathers; and I remember reaching out to touch them, but I never succeeded. I was fascinated by these creatures with their beautiful lights. At that time I didnt understand that I was seeing anything different from what other people saw; it would be much later that I learned from them that they were called angels. As the months passed, my mother noticed that Id always be looking or staring somewhere else, no matter what shed do to try to get my attention. In truth, I was somewhere else: I was away with the angels, watching what they were doing and talking and playing with them. I was enthralled. I was a late talker, but I had been conversing with angels from very early on. Sometimes we used words as you and I understand them, but sometimes no words were needed--we would know each others thoughts. I believed that everyone else could see what I saw, but then the angels told me that I was not to say anything to anyone about seeing them, that I should keep it a secret between us. In fact, for many years I listened to the angels and I didnt tell people what I saw. It is only now in writing this book that I am for the first time telling much of what I have seen. The doctors comment when I was just two was to have a profound effect on my life: I realized that people can be very cruel. At the time I was born, in 1953, my parents lived in Old Kilmainham, near the center of Dublin. My father rented a little bicycle repair shop there, which had a cottage attached. If you walked through the shop and around to the left you would come to a tiny and fairly dilapidated house. It was part of a row of old cottages and shops, but most of them were empty or abandoned because they were in such bad condition. For much of the time we lived in the one little room downstairs: here we cooked, ate, talked, played, and even washed in a big metal basin in front of the fire. Although the house had no bathroom, outside in the back garden, down a little path, was a shed with a loo. Upstairs there were two small bedrooms; at first I shared one of the bedrooms, and a bed, with my older sister Emer. It wasnt just angels I was seeing (and I saw them constantly--from the moment I woke up until I went to sleep), but also the spirits of people who had died. My brother, Christopher, had been born a year before me but he had died when he was only about ten weeks old. Although I never saw him while he was alive, I could visualize him--he was dark haired, while my sister and I were fair--and I could also play with him in spirit. At the time I thought there was nothing strange about this; it felt as if he was just another child, although he seemed a little brighter in appearance. One of the first things that made me realize that he was different, though, was that his age could change. Sometimes he appeared as a baby, but other times he looked about the same age as me, toddling across the floor. He wasnt there constantly, either, but seemed to come and go. Late one cold winter afternoon, just as it was getting dark, I was alone in the little living room of the house in Old Kilmainham. There was fire in the open fireplace, which was the only light in the room. The firelight flickered across the floor where I was sitting playing with little wooden building blocks that my father had made. Christopher came to play with me. He sat nearer the fire--he said that it was too hot for me where he was, but it was okay for him as he didnt feel the heat. Together we built a tower. I would put one brick down and he would put another on top of it. The tower was getting very tall and then, suddenly, our hands touched. I was amazed--he felt so different from other people I touched. When I touched him he sparked; it was as if there were little stars flying. At that moment I went into him (or perhaps he went into me); it was as if we merged and became one. In my shock I knocked over our tower of blocks! I burst out laughing, then I touched him again. I think that was the first time I fully realized that he wasnt flesh and blood. I never confused Christopher with an angel; the angels I saw did sometimes have a human appearance, but when they did, most of them had wings and their feet did not touch the ground and they had a sort of bright light shining inside them. Some of the time the angels I saw would have no human aspect at all, but appeared as a sharp glowing light. Christopher appeared around my mum a lot. Sometimes Mum would be sitting in the chair by the fire and would doze off, and Id see him cradled in her arms. I didnt know whether my mother was aware of Christophers presence so I asked him, "Will I tell Mum that youre here?" "No, you cant tell her," he replied. "She wont understand. But sometimes she feels me." One winter morning the angels came to my bed as the sun was coming up. I was curled up under the blankets; my sister Emer, with whom I shared the bed, was up and about and instead Christopher was curled up beside me. He tickled me and said, "Look, look, Lorna--over at the window." As I have said, angels can appear in different forms and sizes; this morning they looked like snowflakes! The glass in the window seemed to become a vapor, and as each snowflake hit the window it was transformed into an angel about the size of a baby. The angels were then carried on a beam of sunlight through the window, and each one seemed to be covered in white and shiny snowflakes. As the angels touched me the snowflakes fell from them onto me; they tickled as they landed and, surprisingly, they felt warm, not cold. "Wouldnt it be wonderful," Christopher said, "if everybody knew that they could fill their pockets with angels; that they could fit thousands of angels into one pocket, just like with snowflakes, and could carry them around with them and never be alone." I turned and asked, "What if they melted in their pockets?" Christopher giggled and said, "No! Angels never melt!" I rather sadly replied, "Christopher, I wish that you could fit in my mums pocket like a snowflake, and be there for her all the time." He turned and looked at me, as we were cuddled up in bed, and said, "You know Im there already." When I was an adult my mother told me she had had a baby son called Christopher who had been born a year before me but had only lived ten weeks. I just smiled in response. I remember asking her where Christopher was buried, and she told me that it was in an unmarked grave (as was the custom in those days) in a babys graveyard in Dublin. Its sad that there is no grave with his name on it that I can go and visit, but hes not forgotten. Sometimes even now, all these years later, I feel Christophers hand in my pocket pretending to make snowflakes, reminding me I am never alone. I learned more about Christopher and my mother one day when I was about four or five years old. I was sitting at the table swinging my legs and eating breakfast when I caught a glimpse of Christopher looking as if he were about twelve years old, running across the room to the shop door just as my mother walked in with some toast. She had a big smile on her face as she said, "Lorna, there is a surprise for you in the back workroom under Das workbench!" I jumped up from the table, all excited, and followed Christopher. He went straight through the shop and into the dark workshop; I had to stop at the door because it was so dark in there that I couldnt see anything and I needed my eyes to adjust to the darkness. However, Christopher was just like a light, a soft shimmering glow that lit up a path for me through the cluttered workshop. He called out, "The cat has had kittens!" And there, thanks to Christophers light, I could see four tiny little kittens--three were _jet-_black, and one was black and white. They were so beautiful, so soft and glossy. The mother cat, Blackie, got out of the box, stretched herself, then jumped out of the little window into the garden. I ran after her and called to Christopher to come too, but he would not come into the garden. I walked back in and asked Christopher, "Why wouldnt you come outside?" He took my hand, as if to comfort me--I loved the touch of his hand--and our hands merged again. It felt magical; it made me feel safe and happy. "Lorna, when babies die their spirits stay with their mothers for as long as they are needed, so I stay here with Mum. If I went outside it would be like breaking those memories--and that I wont do!" Even at that young age, I knew what he meant. My mother had poured so much love into him: all the memories she had of being pregnant and carrying him inside her, the birth, the joy and the happiness she had holding him in her arms and bringing him home--when even then she had a feeling that something was wrong, despite what the doctors told her. Mum had a precious few weeks at home with Christopher before he died, and Christopher told me of all the love that she had poured on him, and he now poured that love on her. So my spirit brother would remain in the house, never going out, until the day came when it seemed that Details ISBN0385528973 Author Lorna Byrne Short Title ANGELS IN MY HAIR Language English ISBN-10 0385528973 ISBN-13 9780385528979 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY B Publisher Three Rivers Press (CA) Pages 319 Imprint Bantam Doubleday Dell Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States Year 2011 Publication Date 2011-11-01 Subtitle The True Story of a Modern-Day Irish Mystic AU Release Date 2011-11-01 NZ Release Date 2011-11-01 US Release Date 2011-11-01 UK Release Date 2011-11-01 Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:37460774;

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