CHAPTER 1

My First Steps

* * *

Spring 2001

I have my first Reiki treatment in early April, and experience my firstvision of colors. During each subsequent treatment, I have these samespontaneous experiences, and soon begin to meditate on my own athome and while hiking. I am introduced to settings, a guide, and themesthat weave themselves throughout my ongoing visions. I become witnessto my first miracles when aspects of my visions materialize in theoutside world.

I see each of the colors of the rainbow alternating acrossthe screen of my vision. Then I am in a bathtub and seeand feel all the colors as they float down and envelopme. When I am bathed in red, I stand up, look in themirror, and see the red of my blood flowing throughmy arteries.

* * *

I am in a monastery made mostly of marble. It is whiteand open-aired, and it has huge colonial pillars bothinside and out. I am in the middle of a large group ofmonks. I dare to open my eyes and look around. Closeby, a female monk looks directly at me and is extremelysad. When I look around the large room, a male monkamong the pillars is wildly waving his arms, smiling, andwelcoming me.

* * *

I am in the monastery again, and one of the monkscomes to me. He is my guide. I cannot see his face, buthe is rather short and wearing white. We walk from themonastery on to the surrounding grounds. The gardensaround the monastery are beautiful, with very low-lyinggroundcover of primarily small white flowers. We walkto an ornately carved stone bench at the edge of a cliff. Itis a breathtaking view with a mountain range across thevalley. Then I am following my guide along the narrowtrail back to the monastery.

"Why is the path only wide enough for one?" I ask.

"You need to be led. You are not ready to go besideme yet," he replies.

Back at the monastery, I hear the monks chanting.I try to relax by focusing on my left eye, and then tellmyself to relax the eye. I then hear my monk, and hestarts to lead me. He tells me to do the same with my leftear, and I am easily able to do it. I have trouble isolatingmy right eye and right ear but finally can feel them. Hetells me when I am starting to focus sufficiently. Wego through isolating my lips, cheeks, tongue, hands,shoulders, elbows, and feet. I suggest I try to isolatemy heart, but I cannot feel it. Then my guide suggestsI hold my heart. I take it out and hold it in my hands asit beats loudly.

"See what a good heart you have," he says.

I cry.

* * *

I am with my monk guide on a long staircase in themiddle of my brain. It is quite noisy—almost like thehold of a ship. My body feels tingly.

"Where are the lesions from my seizure?" I ask.

We go up to the spot and see just a small lesionremaining.

"Where did one of my relatives have his stroke?"

We go over and see a gaping wound.

"Where was the source of another relative'saneurysm?"

We walk down the stairs to the "basement" and seethe leak.

We come back up to where we were. I can see awindow overhead, but the ladder does not reach highenough to get to it.

"How do I get out?" I ask.

"Over time, the gap between the ladder and thewindow closes. You've already walked a few steps," mymonk answers as a warm bright light shines throughthe window.

* * *

I see a beautiful flower, yellow in the center and pinkishred on the outside with long stamens, but I can onlysee it on exhalation. The flower image starts in the centerof my vision, and then moves up and around in aclockwise circle to the bottom.

On my way home from hiking Nokomis, I borrow plant books to tryto find the flower, but nothing resembles it. Two weeks later, I am hikingPeat Mountain, and shortly after starting out, my eye is drawn to aflower. It is the exact flower from my meditation! There are hundredsand hundreds of these flowers the entire length of the trail. I am awestruck.I pick one to bring home and identify from a reference book. Buteven with the flower in hand, nothing resembles it in any of the booksI borrow. Finally, I decide to call a botanist. He immediately identifiesit as the trout lily or alder tongue.

* * *

I cross over a bridge into a meadow. Children in longdresses and hats are playing. There is a farmhouse inthe distance. When I walk through the fields, the grasssprings up behind me so that my trail disappears.

Three days later, I am looking through a magazine and see a pictureof this exact meadow with the children playing and a farmhouse in thedistance. I am filled with awe.

My Interpretation

I have opened the door to the world of my Self and taken my first stepsinside. My first vision is with the colors of the seven chakras. At thistime, I am not even aware of chakras. I bask in each color, but when I amenveloped in red, I stand up and observe my body. Red is the color ofthe root chakra—the chakra energy that resonates with our will to liveand our connection to the group beliefs of family and community.

The monastery becomes my spiritual "home," that place I returnto time and again to be grounded by its serenity. The meadow with thechildren and the farmhouse also will continue to be the backdrop formany of my meditations and the location for great healing to come.

What I already know of my inner turmoil and my outward presentationappears as the sad girl and the exuberant male. I was leading whatseemed like a charmed life—I had success, fame, wealth, health, andfour wonderful children. I was married to a good man and good father.People always said that I was born under a lucky star—and they wereright. My life flowed easily. I always was in the right place at the righttime, and I succeeded at pretty much anything I did. Perfect opportunitiesand jobs always just appeared. But as time marched on, my outsideworld became increasingly divergent from my inside world. Externally,all was going well, but I felt completely empty inside. Feeling goodbecame more fleeting. I did not really know what I was feeling, and Icould not verbalize my anger.

I learn to focus on isolating and then letting go of various body parts.Feeling my ears, lips, eyes, feet, and so on becomes relatively easy as themeditation continues, but when I take over and try to feel my heart, Icannot. I still need to be led; I am not ready. Only when my guide leadsme can I feel my heart. This theme of having a good heart—of holdingmy wonderful heart in my hands—will come up many times. But it isso difficult for me to hear this. Even in the meditation, tears flow. I donot believe I have a good heart; I am not good. My monk tells me thatI am good, but this is beyond me. I will continue to be told this: I needto love myself and know that I am good.

For years, I would cry as I related my visions to two of my friends.The tears were never tears of sadness; they were tears of being overwhelmedby my experiences. Even now, when I get that sense of weepiness,I know that it means I am close to the Divine within.

In February 1993, I had a nocturnal grand mal seizure, followed by asecond one two months later on Good Friday (the symbolic date of thedeath of the ego). I thought that my life had come to an end. I saw theseizures as a weakness and was embarrassed about them. I remember afamily relation telling me I needed to listen to my body. Inwardly, I wasso annoyed that they would suggest that I had anything to do with myseizures, this weakness! It took me years to realize the truth of what Ihad been told. Our bodies are a mirror of our emotional, mental, andspiritual well-being. I had imploded. I had completely shut down tothe world. I was denying my life. My emotions needed to be released,noticed, given love to heal.

I am shown the physical signs of my seizures and the brain traumain two relatives. But then I see a bright, warm light beyond this placeof the body, this place of noise, confinement, and disease. I cannot yetreach it because the gap is too great. This gap closes when we take steps,when we walk with the guidance of our Higher Self.

I experience two manifestations early in my journey. With the synchronicityof seeing my flower on my hike and the exact picture of mymeadow visualization, I am given evidence that I am not making thisall up. I never doubt when I experience a vision or write about it afterwards,yet after the fact, I continually question whether this is all justmy imagination, a fabrication. It will be many years before I truly let goof any doubt that I am receiving guidance from God.

How Do We Bring This into Our Lives?

We all have different experiences in meditation. I was fortunate to havehad spontaneous visions during my first Reiki treatments, which I wasable to repeat during my own meditations. More often, however, theprocess of reaching that place of focused attention seems more daunting.Endless lists, concerns, and distractions keep our minds busy andunfocused. There are numerous ways of maintaining focus—concentratingon breathing, gazing softly at a candle or light, chanting, focusingon individual parts of the body—while being in an environmentconducive to relaxation, be that a designated area in our house or outin nature.

Wherever and however we meditate, we need to be gentle withourselves. The harder we try to see colors and auras, experience innerpeace and serenity, or hear messages, the more likely we will endup feeling disappointed, self-judgmental, and frustrated, and believingthat these experiences are just not ours to have because we not spiritualenough or good enough. We need to let go of our ego expectations ofwhat is supposed to happen. Nothing is supposed to happen. What willhappen is exactly what we need at the time. Judging ourselves as readyenough or well-read enough or knowledgeable enough only leads toself-criticism and doubt. We need to relax and let be. If our minds racearound with a million thoughts, we need to acknowledge that and say,"Not now, thank you. I am staying open and relaxed with no expectations."Experiencing a clear, thoughtless mind is indeed a gift.

We need to explore the "unusual" things that happen so frequently.We need to go beyond just noticing the "coincidences" to exploringtheir meaning. The reasons behind them may not always be apparentat the time, but at some point, they will. Experiencing these signshelps deepen the belief that we are more than just a body.

CHAPTER 2

Crossing My Bridges

* * *

June 14, 2001

Yesterday, I was hiking toward an old fort on the banks of theMichipicoten River. I heard voices that sounded like boys and girlspartying. I wondered why they were out of school. My dog, Nicky, didnot seem to react at all. After a while, I wondered if those children werehappy or in trouble. When I got to the fort, there was no one there.

About a month ago, I talked to a friend about issues I was having inmy marriage. This was the first time I had ever verbalized my feelings.While it was a relief to finally give my emotions a concrete voice, itbrought up the reality of how my marriage problems would affect thechildren. This plays a role during my Reiki treatment this morning.

I am going down a black passage. My guide tells meI don't need to hang on to the side, just walk. I startto walk.

"Now try to run," I hear.

"How can I run in the pitch black?" I ask. I try, and itgradually gets brighter until I am in the bright sunlight."Does it ever get cloudy?" I ask.

"Yes, but total sun or clouds," he responds.

We are then in a crowded outdoor flea market withcobblestone roads. People are jostling all around us.Since I want to be somewhere quieter, we get to a fieldby ourselves. I see my children walking toward us overa small grassy hill. I introduce them, and one asks myguide, "Are you helping my mom?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"I'm getting better at it," they reply.

Then my children say good-bye and walk back towhere they came from. I am very emotional.

I start to cry in the meditation and on the table.

My guide tells me the children will all be all right.He takes my hand.

"Why did you do that?" I ask. He has never touchedme before.

"Because you need to be touched, to feel my energy."

I can feel the energy through my hand, elbow, andup to my shoulder, but I cannot feel it in the rest of mybody. I calm down.

We start climbing and arrive at the pinnacle of amountain, just big enough for the both of us to standon. There is a beautiful view in the distance, but thereis a big cavern directly in front of us. He tells me notto look down. Across the way, I notice that there arecolors. My guide says for me to imagine them. I tell himthat I now know the colors and what they mean.

"So spin around and see what you see."

I see blue first. I lie down, and blue "snowflakes"fall from the sky and envelop me. Then yellow, orange,and finally, red. When I am completely covered in red,I raise my hand. As before, I stand up and look in a mirror.I see all of my arteries and my heart, and I am totallyred with blood inside. Then I am enveloped in purpleand finally, white, where it is particularly calm. I don'twant to leave. When I stand up, I am wearing a whiterobe—just as my guide is. I take his hand, and this time,I have no trouble feeling his energy move through myentire torso and then into my head.

I ask, "How do we get down?" I then suggest slidingdown, as it would be fun.

"You don't want to go down. Why don't we take abridge?"

I look around and can't see any bridge, just the valleybelow.

He steps from our pinnacle to a golden bridge,which is visible for about a meter ahead and behindhim—just enough distance for me to follow. As we walkalong the bridge, only a short distance ahead and behindus is visible.

We are headed toward the monastery when he asksif I want to go somewhere else.

"How?" I ask.

"Take another bridge."

We turn left, and another bridge becomes visiblewherever we step. We arrive at a community. Childrenare laughing and playing, throwing a ball.

"Can they see me or know I'm here?" I ask.

"Yes."

We walk through town filled with horse-drawn carriages.One man tips his hat and smiles.

"Why did he do that?"

"Because he wanted you to know," he says, but hedoesn't explain further.

"Who are they?"

"They are all dead and have chosen to come back atthis time, place, and age," he explains.

We go back to the bridge.

"How did you know where the bridge was?"

"There are many bridges."

When we return to the intersection where we'dchanged bridges, I see numerous bridges going in differentdirections, like spokes on a wheel. I had not seenthis initially because my back was to the intersection.

We arrive at the monastery and see the sunset.

"Take a sunbeam and feel its warmth," he says.

A sunbeam goes through my head and down mybody. It circles my organs, my heart in particular.

"Take out your heart and massage it and kiss it. Yourheart is good."

I do, touching it tenderly, and then I put it back,attaching the arteries and veins with snaps like aknapsack.

Then the music gets very loud, calling us to themonastery. Again I am in the middle among many. Isee the girl, and she smiles. The man at the edge wavesand smiles.

My Interpretation

This is the first appearance of dark tunnels as the starting point in mymeditations. They play a large role in many of my future meditations.Making my way through a tunnel is a metaphor for moving from thefear-based ego to the love-based True Self. I do not need to hold on or befearful—I can simply walk or run once I understand that I will be safe.

I am told that what we look at is either totally light (the Divine) orcovered with clouds (the ego). Belief in the ego, the belief in separation,only obscures the Divine. The Divine does not go away or change. It justwaits for the clouds to pass. Belief in Oneness is complete: you cannotbelieve in both the ego (that you are your body) and your Divine Self.There cannot be partial clouds.