August 1, 1975, was a good day for my entrance. I was the second-born child of parents Cindy and Phil Maude; my sister Julie had been born three years earlier. In every sense, I had picked a family that would provide me with solid boundaries and a comfortable upbringing. My first name was nearly Louise, but with the family dog named Louie, Louise got relegated to a middle name, and Andrea it was to be. As a child, I was described as unknowingly funny yet publicly shy. It's amazing for me now to think back and review some of the spiritual signs that occurred when I was so young. These insights have undoubtedly led me to keep searching and sharing the possibilities of being fully connected to the all that is.

My mum, Cindy, an attractive lady, has always been a planner. She is always looking five years ahead, and she thrives on being the in-control caretaker. Mum grew up in a pink house on Auckland's North Shore. The house colour was chosen by her father, who had a fondness for the local sugar refinery, which was painted pink. Being the youngest in her family, she became very close to her mum, my nana Oli. I have only recently found out that my grandfather Bill, who passed away when I was a toddler, was a spiritualist who helped perform healings and regularly assisted in negative-energy-clearing sessions. Mum had not been interested in these things while growing up; however, we are now both curious to know what Granddad really knew about life and the hereafter.

Phil, my dad, who is no longer with us, was a rebel in an Australian Catholic family in his youth. As a family man, he was generally happy to come along for the ride. Living with three strong-willed women, he was definitely outnumbered. This may be why we always had a token male pet; unfortunately for Dad, this was often a neutered poodle. We tried to offset the breed's feminine stereotype with the last dog we acquired by giving him a masculine name: Jake. Dad had a passion for listening to music; he could completely tune out the world around him when he popped his headphones on and relaxed with his selected sounds. In more spiritual discussions with Mum, she advised he did have a connection with his spirit guide. I have an inkling Dad and I shared previous life experiences, as we felt comfortable in our silence together.

Julie, my sister and a great friend, has assisted my learning process in this lifetime. She has come to my rescue on so many occasions from childhood dramas and travelling mishaps to failed relationships and life-changing moments. Back when we were going through puberty, she was a great sense-check when I needed to make sure things were "normal" with my physical body. This was obviously prior to the Internet. Over the years, we explored many places of the world together. One of Julie's gifts is a heavenly singing voice. On our worldly travels, I fondly remember the angelic sound of her voice when she broke into song whilst sitting in an acoustic marble-and-stone Turkish steam room, prior to us receiving our scrub-down.

Growing up, I recall some memorable family tales. One that is imprinted firmly in my mind is a visit from some of our Australian relatives. Dad was one of the six children in his Catholic-raised family, so I have cousins galore, as most of his brothers and sisters had reproduced well. Some of these relatives were heavily involved with the entertainment industry. It wasn't the cool musician kind with concerts and fame. No, it was more like the off-the-wall, creative, circus kind: trampolining, water-stunt events, and fire blowing were all part of the act. One year, they tried to teach us some of their tricks of the trade. However, Julie and I never could quite master the unicycle, and Dad tried his hand at fire blowing with disastrous results. Simple instructions were given for him to hold a fire accelerant in his mouth while dipping his arm in a protective liquid. Then he was to blow some flames up his drenched limb, all to create the illusion that he was a fire-breathing hero. Events often go quite pear-shaped when one has consumed a few too many beers before attempting feats like this. With a dramatic change in wind, his dragon breath got out of control and singed off his silver comb-over that he had cultivated over many years. Our trampolining lessons also went into a shock situation when our two-metre-square yellow trampoline was being used for stunts. When everyone was trying to do tricks simultaneously, I decided it was way too intense, so I took action to get off. Unfortunately, I was bounced headfirst straight into the unprotected springs. Blood started gushing from my highly vascular head. Julie rushed me to Mum, who took me into the bathroom to assess the damage. Looking at myself in the full-size wall mirror, all I could focus on was my favourite dress with beautiful yellow flowers, which was now covered in blood. The pain was put on hold while I assessed the damage to the dress. As Mum couldn't stop the bleeding, I was taken to accident and emergency, while Christmas dinner turned to mush. As much as these little episodes make life what it is, these tales are not really what I want to describe in detail. The accounts I wish to impart are my acquired experiences with energetic entities that are closer to us in this physical reality than we may choose to believe.

Our family home on Carlisle Road in Auckland's North Shore was a red-and-white, brick two-storey house with a pottery business in the basement. It was perched at the top of a generous sloping quarter-acre section. The kitchen was at the back of the house. It was a functional space with a door that had the standard etchings of children's growth rates—ours and local friends'. The cream-and-green linoleum flooring was a fashion statement for the times, and I used to sit on the U-shaped bench top and watch Mum peel, chop, and cook. On the baking days, I would sit waiting patiently for the sugar-and-egg-white-laden beater heads to be handed to me so I could lick them clean of the meringue mixture. The kitchen was semi-open to a large dining room that had varnished wooden floors and a dark, wood, oval table. This room was also home to a day couch, a dog bed, and the family piano. I can't neglect the radio-cassette player that sat on top of the piano surrounded by various music tapes. This room was north facing, so it was bright and lively, and the orange net curtains just added to the seventies charm. It was a great situation, having both parents at home to spend time to nurture and teach two girls the ins and outs of growing up. Most of the daytime, while Dad was downstairs glazing various dishes and painting shapely cups with gold rims, the girls hung out, often with Nana Oli.

Nana Oli was a retired seamstress, and with her passion for sewing, Julie and I were lucky enough to have wardrobes full of the most gorgeous handmade dresses. Nana's life was full of amazing events that encompassed the developing times. Being born on 12/12/1912, she lived through periods of scarcity and struggle. This must have given her immense emotional strength, as the Nana I knew and loved so much had an amazing calm and giving approach to life. It was fantastic that she was always close at hand while I was growing up.

My childhood days seemed so long, like time could just be put on hold while my imagination seemed to pave the way ahead. The biggest decision of the day was choosing a location for the sheeted fort to be built. It was under the dining room table, in the jungle...