Geoff Dalglish seeks to expand his communication to other realms.

Interspecies communication brings about mutual understanding and respect along with the possibility of co-creating solutions for even the trickiest situations where wildlife and humans come into conflict. 

Anna Breytenbach, Interspecies communicator

The wheel seems to be turning full circle when it comes to acceptance of the idea of communicating with angels, nature spirits, animals, plants, trees, the waters and the overriding intelligence of other realms.

Flick through the pages of Odyssey and this is evident. More and more of us talk openly of non-human contacts and many think nothing of turning to divination decks of cards for guidance, inspiration and support.

A few days ago, on the second anniversary of my brother Donald’s death, I decided to select a card from the angel originals developed within the Findhorn community 40 years ago. My fingers intuitively found Risk, the message resonating strongly.

“Step out of your comfort zone and into the unknown,” was the encouragement. “Be bold, visible, and mindfully daring. Dance with uncertainty and live your life to the fullest.”

So here I am opening myself to the ridicule of some of my more cynical acquaintances and exploring communication with other beings. And not just with the easy to see species like animals, domestic and wild.

Of course, the First People of the planet, among them the San Bushmen, Aborigines, and Native Americans, routinely understood and embraced this connection as part of their everyday reality. And now, thanks in part to Hollywood and widescreen blockbuster movies like Avatar, the idea of inter-species communication is finding mainstream acceptance.

Perhaps more than any other film it was The Horse Whisperer of 1998 that lent credibility to the concept as our celluloid hero Tom Booker, played by Robert Redford, helped heal a seriously injured young girl and her psychologically scarred horse.

Was it fact or fancy? Can some of us really communicate with animals?

I remember being shocked and disappointed when our family vet of many years declared communication across the species to be utter nonsense!

I wanted to believe otherwise, having grown up with my mother’s imaginative bedtime storytelling. I’d also been enthralled by her collection of animal stories for children contained in a book entitled Tales from the Baobab Tree.

I never questioned the immense wisdom of that elephantine tree, then or now. Why would the mighty African baobab not enrich us with stories of the amazing happenings beneath its vast spreading branches over the centuries? And if a tree could speak, why not other creatures, great and small? Why not all of nature?

I became obsessed with the possibility, finally deciding to put it to the test during my regular hike up Lion’s Head, one of Cape Town’s most iconic walks with panoramic views of the city and Table Mountain looming large alongside. I vowed that today I’d communicate directly with nature.

But how? And what creature would be the target of my first experiment? Reaching the summit, I was delighted to see I had all this magnificence to myself, with not another human in sight. Scanning the rocky landscape, I spotted a lizard innocently sunning itself on a rock some distance away. Right. Game on. I quieted my mind and tried to beam good vibes in its direction. How do you introduce yourself to a reptile? Do you say: ‘Hello Lizard, my name is Geoff.’

No, that wouldn’t work.

Instead, I attempted to silently convey my deep love of the natural world and all creatures (conveniently overlooking an aversion to flies, fleas, mosquitoes, midges and ticks). I tried to convey immense gratitude to lizard for its existence and interconnectedness in the web of life.

Lizard was suddenly galvanised into action. Darting forward, it hopped onto and over rocks, sometimes momentarily disappearing as it raced towards me in a series of agile reptilian spurts. I was barefoot, so imagine my surprise when it began nibbling my toes.

I was astonished. This had never happened before. Were we somehow communicating?

I felt elated, returning the next day to the same spot. It happened again, this time with a different species of lizard. Today’s representative of the animal kingdom was bigger and I felt a twinge of anxiety when it came scurrying over and bit my big toe rather harder than I would have liked.

Something was happening between me and the world of nature. Yay!

Many other contacts have followed since, my encounters also involving bats, eagles, baboons, whales and elephants.

I increasingly felt a kinship with the wild creatures I was meeting but I can’t say I understood what was going on, or what, if anything, was being said.

I needed an interpreter.

Meeting celebrated South African training facilitator Anna Breytenbach was synchronistic and I signed up for several of her workshops.

“I’m often asked who is capable of communicating with other species and I always stress that animal communication is not a gift,” she says. “It is a natural ability that everybody has and is simply a matter of getting in touch with our intuition and accessing something that isn’t part of our everyday five-sensory reality.

“I’m not teaching people anything new. I’m merely helping people remember what’s already within them and I feel it’s important to experience a deep connectedness with nature. When we experience a direct empathetic connection with another being we’re much more inclined to understand the perspective of that animal and the challenges it faces, particularly at the hands of humans and what we are doing to this planet.”

Anna opened a door to another world for me.

At dawn one perfect morning I’m meditating on a mountaintop and in a state of bliss as I sit with eyes closed, the rising sun gently warming me. Suddenly I feel a great wave of loneliness and longing engulf me. I’m yearning for the love and touch of family members. Hey, what’s going on? This isn’t me.

Opening my eyes, I discover a large male baboon is sitting nearby, staring out over the ocean and occasionally sneaking glances my way. He has blood and fresh wounds on his face and I receive an instant download. My unexpected early morning companion is a former alpha male who has been driven out of his troop by a younger and now dominant male. He’s become a loner and is longing for the touch and grooming that is part of everyday baboon society.

I feel his pain. I’m communicating heart-to-heart with another species.

Some while later I’m engaged in a source to sea water walk in California from the snowmelt in the High Sierra Mountains to where the polluted Los Angeles River finally spills into the ocean.

I’m with other water protectors and we’re following the waterways, natural and man-made, as I increasingly feel that the river we’re shadowing has been robbed of its vitality and life-force.

What can we do to help, I silently ask and am surprised to receive an immediate answer? ‘You can help us to flow again,’ I’m told. Rounding a bend I see the waters have been dammed with an algae plume turning them a sickly green. Another answer pops into my mind: ‘You can love us back to life.’

I recall the work of Japanese researcher Masaru Emoto that demonstrates that water has consciousness and is impacted by the thoughts, intentions and prayers of humans.

That night I write a blog and my singer-songwriter friend Sarah Nutting creates a song. Although we’ve not spoken at all during the day, we discover our sentiments are the same and we’ve both named our creation ‘Trail of Tears!’ Wow, such synchronicity.

I vow to remain open to all possibilities and to be a loving bridge between humans and other realms. It’s early days and a work in progress. But I do feel I’m being gently nudged in the right direction.

Visit Anna Breytenbach’s YouTube channel for more information: https://www.youtube.com/c/AnimalSpirit