In our imagination all roads lead to an ancient town that caters to travelers such as us. Its dusty streets take us to the old section where the buildings blend with each other and the well-worn pavement. There is a narrow alley that you discovered a long time ago, although hardly anyone else seems to know of its existence. The doors are all closed and unmarked, but it is not difficult to pick out the small one made of oak planks that were ancient when the walls were new. You enter the dark space within quietly, reverently closing the door behind you.
After moving to East Hartford in the late '70s, my friends and I stumbled upon a pottery studio. Being a very part-time dabbler in clay and always interested in any kind of craft, we stopped into the shop. Not only was the work awesome, but the studio offered lessons. I vowed that one day I'd take lessons there and set up my own studio sometime. I had taken some ceramics classes and any time I did, I just wanted to do more of it.
I've never given channeling a lot of thought. It seemed like something other people did out of a desire for attention or something. To open yourself up for channeling, and I was not worrying about whether it was a true possibility or a convenient way to make daydreams seem self important, seems risky. In essence, as I understand it, you are allowing some other entity to use your physical connection with this reality to convey a message. In it's most benign form, that is. You have to wonder about the motives of someone wanting to do that. The someone being channeled, that is.