EPILOGUE – A Testimony to the power of positive thinking on healing by Professor Paul Bura

Two years after the staff ceremony, we moved to Anglesey, North Wales to be near my family. Just before that, I had been having trouble with my right hand. In fact, I couldn’t even write my name properly. I was giving a talk at the 1997 Glastonbury Crop Circle Symposium in Somerset and it was there that I started speaking gobbledegook (there are those amongst you who still feel that, I’m talking, or writing gobbledegook!). It came out right in the end, but fellow lecturers, amongst them Michael Green, Andy Thomas and Michael Glickman – known to his friends as ‘Glickers’ – must surely have thought Bura had ‘lost it’ (how true that turned out to be). I thought at first that the old post-polio syndrome was again stalking me, trying to take yet another piece. I knew what I wanted to say but it just came out wrong. I also knew that the words I was using to describe something were totally inadequate! Then I had a ‘fit’ in my bed, and then, another. The doctor was called and he in turn called the hospital in Bangor. I saw a neurologist by the name of Fletcher. My sister Josie went with me to see him. She had taken a few books that I had written (bless her) just to prove that I wasn’t an idiot or going barmy! He didn’t need to look at them because he suspected (by my symptoms) what it was. I was ‘CD scanned’, and Mr Fletcher’s’ suspicions were confirmed. I had a brain tumour the size of an orange (as opposed to a brain the size of an orange?). The size of a Jaffa orange or the smaller Spanish variety, they didn’t say. They removed it at The Walton Centre for Neurology and Neurosurgery, Liverpool. Being a meningioma-type tumour, it was considered benign, but I had to wait for 10 days for the lab to confirm it. It was benign.

I suffered a number of post-op infections. It was during the second infection when I was about to leave Bangor Hospital for my third journey to the Walton Centre to undergo yet more surgery to wash out” the infected flap in my skull that a certain gentleman phoned: ‘Hullo. This Uri Geller and I wish to speak to Paul Bura.” It was a gentle but firm demand. Uri was a friend of my brother Kevin and his wife Maureen and directly he heard of my plight he phoned the hospital. The nurse, the familiarity of his name beginning to percolate in her mind, explained that I was very sick. “Why do you think I’m calling him?” Uri explained, as if it were obvious. “Please, I wish to speak to him.” The nurse was taken off guard. Could this really be THE Uri Geller?

The last time I had any dealings with Uri Geller had been through the medium of television in the late ’70s. I and thousands of others were hooked on his ability to apparently bend metal just by stroking it and sending out the thought: BEND! BEND! He conducted an experiment through our television screens. Of course, I sat with my forks and spoons in front of the screen whilst Uri conducted us with the words: BEND! BEND! He also claimed to mend broken watches: -MEND! MEND! when it was all over and my spoons and forks liadn’t responded to the prompting of this slim, good looking young Jewish man, I happened to look up to a shelf on which stood a clock which had long since lost the will to live. I’m sure that it had two hands last time I looked at it. Now it had only one! I got up to examine the clock more closely and found that the large hand had fallen down in-between the glass front and the clock face. For some reason I turned the clock round to examine the back. The back was gradually being forced off! At my touch it suddenly sprang off, spewing cogs and wheels all over the floor!

Now Uri Geller was trying to talk to me and my nurse was perplexed. Perhaps she thought that all the surgical equipment in the hospital would either bend or malfunction? She gathered her thoughts and then said: “Well, he is in bed! Perhaps if you were to call back in 5 minutes?’

“5 minutes? Okay, but do tell him Uri Geller wishes to speak to him.” And he hung up. The nurse came to me and said: “There is a man on the phone and it sounds like Uri Geller – Do you want to speak to him? If so I’ll push your bed to the phone?” I said, or rather stammered, as I was having trouble speaking, that I w-w-w-would l-l-like t-t-to sp-sp-speak to U-Uri Geller. The nurse wheeled me to the phone. Almost immediately the phone rang. It was Uri. The nurse handed the phone to me. “Uri?” I said. “Your brother Kevin explained your predicament and I wish to say to you that all will be well. You have to say to yourself ‘all will he well’ and MEAN it. Think positively and I will help you all I can.” At that moment I filled with tears and instantly had a great love for this man who had simply picked up the phone, not knowing me from a hole-in-the-road. “You are filling with tears,” he said prophetically, “no need to speak.” I spluttered out a “Th-th-thank you.” And he hung up.

They found the cause of my continued infection. The source was found to have come from the bone-flap itself. .. and they removed it.

I’m now into my seventh seven-year cycle. I said at the beginning of this book that the number 7 is my number, the number of change. Numerology, using my name and date of birth, confirms this. The tumour happened completely out of sequence! Now what does that say to you ? It says to me, and I’m talking personally here, that the Earth is changing its frequency by the mere fact that the courier lines are no longer stuck- on the number seven. Not because of what has happened to me (what arrogance, I hear you cry), that is a karmic symptom. What has happened in Kosovo and Yugoslavia; the shooting of school children in America; the mail bombings in London, are also a symptom, a karmic symptom. But the forces of negativity CANNOT WIN. Their backs are to the wall. When the changes that have been foretold will come, I’ve no idea and I don’t pretend that I do. Time, in the cosmic sense, is difficult to predict, even though Joeb has told me that they will occur in and around 2012-2014. Perhaps, as has been said, they will come as a ‘thief in the night’.

We live in a time-zone: we, all of us, want to do things more quickly, as if ‘time’ is the culprit, as if time is the enemy. Time is not the enemy, we are! The ‘wake-up’ call is echoing around the world (via the Courier lines that are hooked into our chakric system), the ‘wake-up’ call tells you who you really are.

Listen in silence for that cosmic alarm-clock for it will blow your mind!

Meanwhile, I shall continue to ‘step to the drummer no matter how measured or far away.’ My dream is one day to merge with the drummer and achieve Freedom itself. At the moment, I cannot even hold the sticks! Truth, Freedom, Love (the drummer), never changes. It’s only our perception that changes.

What did I say at the beginning, of this book? Oh yes,- COME IN NUMBER SEVEN, YOUR TIME IS UP!


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