cyrus kirkpatrick, oscar wilde
Historical Characters,  Spiritualism,  Telepathic Sessions

Channeling Oscar Wilde About His Life, Death, And Journeys Beyond the Astral

The following is a message from Oscar Wilde, who spent much time in a soul collective communicating to Leslie Flint. Eventually, he moved beyond the soul collective into a greater reality.

In the early days of my foray into these areas, with books like Understanding Life After Death (2015) I was heavily inspired by the communications by Wilde to audiences everywhere through Flint’s direct voice mediumship.

In fact, some of my original interest in the very subject of life beyond this world started with Flint addressing sitters by discussing his reality; where it’s very much reminiscent of our own, but in contrast to typical ‘New Age’ teachings he insisted people have the opportunity to actually be themselves and express themselves versus a linear existence and merging into the Light.

I found this rebellious approach to the spirituality / mediumship communications to be refreshing.

I started syncing / communicating to him one year ago, last September. I learned, as with many of my early communications, that not everything was always as it seemed; in particular in ‘soul collective’ spirit reality states… And, since those 1950s communications with Flint, Wilde had ‘moved on’ into another type of reality entirely.

In regard to his life and controversy, here is what he has to say:

Directly transcribed telepathic communications begin below:

“Bollocks. All of it. I’d never touch a young boy. The very thought is an absurdity; and when these charges were levied against me i thought it was a funny joke. Oscar likes to fiddle with boys. I thought it was young Aleister Crowley or someone coming after me to play some terrifying joke. Uh oh, now the chambermaids and servants say I’m a real gal-sneaker for the boys in the neighborhood. Now am I homosexual? Off and on a bit, surely. A rampant paed-phile? What is this? This mark hangs over me to this day, even upon my world, that damn 6th density everyone talks about, out here with Marilyn and Poe and Valentino and all your other favourite dead friends. Oh, and Flint shows up sometimes, too. His wife sure had it on him, though.

Anyways, I’m quite well, but even now, I’m also not well. To be accused of such things ruined me and sent me into a desperate spiral of self-loathing where I actually began to IDENTIFY with the fake charges and seek redemption, sometimes in a series of letters I’d send to my nag.

Oh, I’d lost it alright, but how did this happen? Because great enemies do these types of things, I’m trying to convey this message out to those who suffer for it. Let’s put it this way: This happened to me due to gambling debts, pissing people off with a work called A Woman of No Importance. Why? You know, just getting into trouble a lot.

The best thing to do if you’re an an aristocrat is to mock it. I was also mocking a great many people who do not take mocking very well. Let’s keep it simple. How to pull off a scam where Oscar is fond of l*ttle boys? Well, it’s easy really: money. Get people aside, even people close to you, offer small fortunes. One must also find a weakness. Oscar already had a reputation for being fond of men sometimes, and that’s not very socially popular, although everyone, I assure you, was doing it back then. But that’s a perfect weakness. So let’s blow it up, and let’s see him try to say “Well I’m not fond of ch*ldren, just a bit of sodomy on the side.”

Now, on a political level, how well do you think THAT defense goes over? It’s like saying, “Well, I don’t get bl–jobs from my white house Interns, but I do enjoy a little handsy action with the secretary now and then.” I don’t think so. This is the key to the political assassination.

Back then, the laws were the rich write them, and the powerful destroy you if they feel up to it. Period. Destroy me they did. I found great peace in the realms of spirit. Yes, sitting around in a lovely cottage made out of my thoughts. Sometimes, I’d appear at a seance. I’d think, “Well, I’m a child d*ddler, aren’t I? Let’s see if they want to hear from a pa*dophile. Hmm.” Well, my friends up there assured me, I was clear in the eyes of the Lord. That’s all that matters. Well, what of my future? The cottage, so pastoral. What of my neighbour so into swatting flies? Oh, anyone who heard that recording [a Leslie Flint tape] should know it was an anecdote I made up at that time. But there was satire in it, I suppose. I was trying to make fun of the worlds of spirit. If there is ever any type of realm to make fun of, my friends, it should be the untenable worlds of spirit. In fact, these are the best worlds to make fun about, because people just think their strange desires, and there they become. But surely the Duke of Edinburgh would not be in a castle enjoying women in strange bear costumes. Oh, well, he was. Don’t tell him I said that, he may still be there.

Well, there is the problem with those worlds of spirit sometimes. We need to be mindful about it. What are we really getting ourselves into sometimes? But anyway, I was hanging on by threads, really. The lower realities, the dark astral they may call it, were sometimes calling out to me in my sleep.

But you don’t really sleep in the world of spirit, for your body is less biology and more representation. It’s like a dream that is both physical and ethereal. To sleep is simply to be your consciousness in an ever-changing prism, of sorts. Hard to describe, really. But what of that strange calling? That haunting wind of the lower, darkened realms. That was where my shame went. Shame for what? I never brought 12 boys to my bedchambers. But the narcissists used this against me to destroy me, and they did. They knew the elements of truly hurting a soul, even beyond death.

They were occultists. And no, I mentioned Crowley earlier in jest, much of his life was satire, as well, and I know him well up here. I speak of the true occultists. The demon worshipers. All too true in your world, and terrifyingly apparent in London in the 19th century.

I’ve been out of that soul collective for only a year now. That’s all. I live now where all the cool people hang out. Call them the neo-Bohemians, fond of the way things used to be on your world; noir over color, mystery over special effects and big reveals, And what about those flapper hats the girls wear? Why stop wearing them? Because times change? Well, that was before my time, damn it. I’m just trying to catch up with things.

That’s the thing about life BEYOND the astral reality, there is a new sense of purpose and continuity again. Rebirth. I will write a new play. And yes, it will be about the absurdities of a century and a quarter in the astral world. But that’s just for fun. I have my targets set on many other endeavors; not to mention the very politics up here.

Sometimes, there’s a great mirror effect, from reality to reality, but it’s a delightful one. You may see me some day, in a world like mine, in the shadows at the back of the cabaret, that’s where I prefer. Opium is not so good for you, truly, I may be enjoying a stick of it, anyway. But that’s also just me, Oscar, my essence, my magic. Who was I originally? You’d never guess. I’m a past life boy. From a world that’s as magical as a unicorn’s second horn down-under, if you know what I mean.

And what of you? Oh, take a step back about the terrors of your world. Come up to my planet when the time is right. I’ll show you around. I’ll give it a whole tour. Ditch on the astral lands, become your true self, embolden yourself. Out here, you can lose weight easily, just manifest some magic. Rediscover your magic. That’s what it was always all about.

And to move beyond my charges. Have I yet? Not fully. The angels help me with that. For there are angels here, you should know. With radiant wings. They will come, and they will seek to heal you. And I don’t just mean my mother; for she is here, also.

With love, Oscar Wilde, speaking through the young author Cyrus Kirkpatrick, who recognized my work with the mediums at an early age. Thank you for that. And thank you everyone. If Cyrus has it in him to write as me, I’ll take questions in comments. No guarantees.

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