The Goat, the Notebook, and the Day I Almost Walked Away

It happened because of a goat.

I was in a Level 2 animal communication course at CWALU (Communication With All Life University). The class had beginners like me mixed with people who'd clearly been doing this a while. Our teacher asked us to each do an intuitive scan on one of her goats. For anyone new to this, a scan just means that with the animal's permission, we connect meditatively and scan the body like an X-ray machine and see what impressions surface into our awareness. Sometimes it's a feeling, like the tummy feels heavy. Sometimes it's a picture.

One by one, my classmates started reading out things with spectacular precision. Someone described a white growth on the left side of the goat's chest, between the second and third rib. I wanted to believe that they were showing off, but they weren't. This was normal in the life of an animal communicator, except I wasn't there.

I looked down at my own notebook. It said: "Something going on in the chest."

Riveting stuff. Truly.

In Which I Solve My Entire Future in Four Seconds

That was all the evidence my brain needed. It didn't even ask for a recess. Verdict delivered on the spot: You're never going to be good at this. Everyone else clearly has the gift. You do not.

I'd like to say I laughed this off. I did not. I sat there rehearsing my exit speech, because I had decided that I was done with animal communication. Looking back, it's almost impressive how fast I convicted myself using one goat and one notebook as the entire jury.

I stayed anyway, mostly because leaving felt more embarrassing than staying, and partly because I really did love being around animals, even ones judging me telepathically.

The Dog And Yet Another Busted Ego

Years later, after the goat, after a lot of practice, I was doing a homework reading with a classmate for her dog. I got a clear image: the dog rushing to the front door as it opened, there were guests on the other side.

"Oh," I said, feeling pleased with myself, "you have such a friendly, social dog."

My homework partner paused. "Erm. Actually, no. He's quite the opposite of friendly."

There went my confidence, freshly rebuilt over several years, busted in one sentence.

Then she explained: the image was completely accurate. That's exactly what he does every time the doorbell rings. He just isn't rushing over to make friends. He's rushing over to scare them away.

I had received the picture perfectly and turned it into a movie that played only inside my head.

Never Ever Have I Interpreted Images Again

I don't do that anymore. Not that I am any wiser, but a very unfriendly dog and a very patient homework partner made sure I'd never forget the difference between what I receive and what I assume.

My teacher, Joan Ranquet, says that the secret sauce is the practice. Reading more books and attending more webinars to hear experts talk can be enlightening, but doesn't help with building the muscles needed for animal communication.

Unlike studying to be a lawyer or an accountant, you cannot read your way into trusting your own observations. You have to get it wrong, in front of someone, on a dog you've never met, and live to tell about it. The books can teach you the mechanics. Only the practice teaches you the language.

Why I'm Telling You Any of This

Not long after the goat and the dog fiascoes, a couple came to me about their cat. She'd stopped eating. Every test had come back clean, and the doctor was steering them towards that final call.

As I connected with her, I kept seeing dark patches low in her belly. By then, I'd seen that pattern often enough to recognize what it usually meant. In my experience, dark patches often point towards infection. I asked them to get a second medical opinion before deciding anything.

They did. The second vet found a kidney infection the first round of tests had missed entirely. The cat went home with a prescription of antibiotics and went on to have a normal healthy feline life.

I think about that a lot, next to the goat and the dog. It's the reminder that all that stumbling, the bad notebook, the misread dog, none of that got wasted. It was the unglamorous cost of being trusted with something that mattered, later, when it counted.

So, About That Notebook

I still have it, somewhere. "Something going on in the chest." Not exactly a proud headline.

The goat and the dog were preparing me for the cat that was to come.

Nobody warns you that the doubt shows up fully formed and very convincing, usually before the skill's had a fair chance to prove itself. Mine just happened to arrive courtesy of a goat with better circulation notes than mine, and, later, a dog with worse people skills than advertised.

This Is Exactly Why I Am Opening the Practice Classes

We meet for six weeks and practice communicating with animals together.

It doesn't matter if you have never done this before, because I will guide you through the practice before you start communicating. Six weeks of live practice, in a small, dedicated circle.

Each week, we gather live to practice reading animals together, with real time feedback and space for your questions. This is not a lecture. It is a practice ground, where you build genuine skill through doing, alongside others walking the same path.

What's included:

• 6 live practice calls with Q&A
• Bonus: full access to my digital course on Telepathic Animal Communication, normally only available as an add-on to my 12-week live classes

If this calls to you, I would love to have you.

​Share your interest here​

From Sir Lancelot's Desk 🐾​
​(on the subject of shameless persistence)

Dearest Readers,

I would like to talk about kittens, specifically the smaller, louder variety that wake up households at 3 am with one singular purpose.

Food.

There is no being polite here. It's a campaign, conducted at full volume, directly beside a sleeping human's ear, repeated at precise intervals until results are achieved.

There is no shame in this. There is no hesitation. There is no small voice inside the kitten wondering whether it is perhaps too much, whether the human might find it annoying, whether it should simply wait quietly until morning and hope for the best. The kitten wants food, and the kitten has decided, with total conviction, that the food is coming, tonight, regardless of what the clock says.

I find this instructive.

Somewhere along the way, humans developed this peculiar habit of giving up on things the moment they became difficult, embarrassing, or slow to yield results. One notebook that says something vague about a chest, one dog that turns out to be considerably less friendly than advertised, and suddenly the whole enterprise is declared a failure and abandoned before breakfast.

The kitten does not operate this way.

The kitten fails, cries louder, and tries again. The kitten does not keep a notebook of past disappointments to consult before deciding whether tonight is worth the effort. The kitten simply continues, unbothered by dignity, unmoved by past failures, until the food arrives.

And it always arrives. Eventually. Usually because the human simply cannot take it anymore, which, I suspect, is its own kind of wisdom.

So here is what I propose. Whatever it is you have been circling, the practice you have been meaning to start, the skill you decided you were bad at after a single disappointing attempt, consider the kitten. Consider the complete absence of embarrassment. Consider the refusal to let one bad night convince that food, or communication, or mastery of any kind, was simply not meant to be.

Be relentless. Be a little undignified about it if you must.

The food always comes.

(And just in case you are wondering, I no longer need to jump around like a jellyfish when I want food. Ever since I trained Idee in telepathy, life has been easier. Now, I just send her thought waves till she wakes up...)

Yours in psi,​
​Sir Lancelot​
​Senior Household Energetic Consultant

With love and a little wild magic,​
​Indrani