I can't explain what follows - this channeled information. Nothing in my training or upbringing explains what I have learned and experienced. It's not the sort of thing I'm used to writing about for all the world to read. I had traditional training as a psychologist, have always been interested in science, and never felt an affinity with any particular religion. In fact, the negative effect of dogmatic organized religion is one of the things I discussed in my book.
The stories I will tell and the experiences I describe are based on what I know because it happened to me, not based in any belief system. It is simply my story, the things I have seen and felt. I have no explanation for what I describe here, except that I have spent 40 years working to be clear, and to operate in the center of my brain, as I have taught under the title of Visual Centering. I have described the technique in Chapter 7 of the book, and explained why it can create powerful and permanent change. It has opened my mind and my heart to empathy and communication in a new way.
For the last 10 years or so, I have been increasingly aware of my own psychic abilities, which I had abandoned as a teenager out of fear of being “different.” Ideas, images, whole sentences and lines of music come into my mind with no previous thought on my part, as if I have walked into a room and hear a conversation addressed to me. I became used to experiencing this and used it when I was working with therapy clients. I would frequently be given information about family issues, the client’s hopes and dreams, or especially the emotional obstacles that hold them back. All this proved to be astonishingly accurate and helpful. It would often be accompanied by a “whoosh” - an electrical charge that ripples through my body, like a shiver, but without the cold. I learned to interpret it as “Yes!” an affirmation that I was on the right track.
I began exploring psychic phenomena, took part in channeling sessions with a medium who introduced me to conversations with my own spirit guides - the best teachers - and I began a warmly cooperative relationship with Joey the psychic, who also put me in touch with my mother, a remarkably healing adventure I described in the book in chapter called "Awakening." Over the years, the experience of contact with Spirit entities gradually came to feel less weird and more matter-of fact, even commonplace.
About a year and a half ago, as I was spending many hours at my desk editing and re-writing my book, “Who Needs Light,” I experienced a huge shift in the kind of information I was receiving. My computer acted as if it had a mind of its own. I would return from a break to find small circles marking passages that I could see needed to be expanded upon or rewritten. Whole phrases and sentences would pop into my mind as I sat down to write.
Increasingly, I found that when I tried to do the final formatting, lines would move around, titles would be underlined, and editing marks would appear. At first, I struggled to make it stop. I wanted to be done, but wasn’t able to finalize anything. It was alternately amazed and infuriated. What was happening? At first I thought it was my old computer acting up, but when editing marks appeared, and words would disappear the instant after I typed them, I began to suspect some kind of weird other-worldly intervention.
Finally I stopped, pushed back my chair and said, “All right. Who’s messing with my computer?” I heard a voice, as clear as if it was someone in the room with me, say, “Hemingway.” “What? As in Ernest?” “Yes, it’s Ernie.” I sensed other presences in the room. “Are you my editing committee?” “Yes.” “And you can make my computer act like that?” “Yes, I thought you’d never ask.” “Okay, show me how you do that.” I typed a line. The last word vanished. I typed it again. It vanished again, and again. “Okay, I can use your help.” Henceforth, Ernie took charge of shortening my sentences, among other things.
I had read about the White Brotherhood (as in light, not skin color), in the writings of Machaelle Wright, whose work with nature spirits has become a ground-breaking guide for gardeners and natural healers. I knew the White Brotherhood as a group of spirit guides who are there for medical help, but I hadn’t been aware of other groups. I was told that the Hemingway group were assigned to help me, and yes, they were from the White Brotherhood. At that point, I decided to relax and enjoy the ride. I was delighted to find that the group included Frieda and Eric Fromm, Emily Bronte, and later, e.e. cummings, who helped with the poems. What followed was an arduous but frequently hilarious project which became an intimate collaboration. I always kept final editing authority about how things would be written, but there was not a line or a chapter that wasn’t commented upon or guided by my committee.
I was always amazed to find that I could hear, sometimes distinctly, as when they underlined a chapter title and gave me a suggestion for a new one. Other times, the communication seemed vague or garbled, like a bad cell phone connection. Eventually, Amos, my mentor and friend who had developed and taught me the Visual Centering techniques, and who had passed eight years earlier, became my constant companion in the writing process and throughout the days in between. I felt as though I had become a member of a large and loving family - one that challenged me, prodded me, and then comforted me when I was tired or frustrated.
Frequently, our conversations continued long into the night, even as I slept, or during quiet times as I walked my dog. I asked questions about where they were (Gaia), whether they could see in the dark (no), whether they could hear my thoughts (yes), whether they could smell the flowers (yes), if they ever slept (no), if they missed being in a body (no), and what their hopes and dreams were (all positive and loving). As our relationship grew, I began to feel great affection for those beings who were helping me (and frequently giving me a hard time).
Every time I thought I was nearing the end, I would be given another assignment, like “Now you must rewrite all the poems so that they rhyme,” “But Walt Whitman didn’t rhyme his poems!” “You’re not Walt Whitman.” “Okay, okay, I’ll do it, but it will take months...” “It doesn’t matter. It will be a better book.” Or “There is another chapter you need to include,” and the chapter called “The Christ We Never Knew” was dictated to me. It appears verbatim, as I received it.
Although I had accepted this strange and fascinating adventure, I still sometimes had a wave of incredulity, “Am I imagining things? Is this all a dream?” Then I would remember an idea or a line from a poem and accept that those bits definitely didn’t come from my imagination. I was often astonished, confused, or annoyed by their constant interventions, especially when I was awaked from a deep sleep with a new idea or song playing loudly in my head. Sometimes it would leave me laughing out loud, or bring me to tears, as when they began playing, “Yoooou send me, Darlin,‘ yooooou send me, honest you do, honest you do....Whoooawohoooh....” It was a song I hadn’t heard in years, and was definitely not a part of my humming repertoire, but there it was, washing over me like a wave of unconditional love. I had never felt so tickled, or so utterly affirmed.
Eventually, I talked with my spirit guides about the possibility of opening my channels so that I could hear better. I wanted to be able to carry on our conversations without the static or missed communications, and I offered to use the abilities only in the service of others. I was told it was possible, that I could be given clearer reception, that very night. What ensued was an astonishing neurological process which required weeks of healing and hard work on my part, but which resulted in a deep and clear connection with what I think of as “the other side.”
My learning process continues. I am learning how to talk about the things I have seen and heard, without fear of being seen as some sort of freak. There seem to be many others in recent years who are developing psychic powers, and who are willing to talk about their experiences. Wayne Dyer and John Kabat-Zinn, among others, have brought spirituality and science to the world in practical new forms.
Scientists, especially physicists on the forefront, are affirming the presence of what they sometimes call “the God particle,” and people from all persuasions are beginning to be curious about our connections to a Higher Power, and to those loved ones who have left this physical realm but who seem to be still a presence in our lives. Since I was given the gift of insatiable curiosity, I pursue these new forms of knowledge like a dog after a bone, and each time I affirm my wish to be of service, I am given new assignments and surprising information.
During recent weeks, I have been aware that the clamor of voices has gradually dimmed, and my questions are met with silence. At the same time, I feel an increase in what I have always thought of as “intuition” - a sense of just knowing what I need to do, where I need to go, and what to say. I have felt physical symptoms, like a jab in my side, or a sudden muscle cramp, accompanied by a wave of warmth and love that I can only describe as a love-blast.
Last week, I was awakened during the night with a screaming pain in my second right toe. It is a place that has occasionally ached in an irritated-nerve way after driving a long time, or wearing the wrong shoes, but it has never been painful. This night the pain was constant and unavoidable. At the same time, I became aware of a conversation going on in my brain, completely in French. I resisted awakening - I wanted to sleep! - but the pain became excruciating. I dragged myself out of bed and got a pen and paper and began writing down what I heard.
It began, "Je suis que je suis. (I am that I am), and again,
"Je suis que je suis."
And now I will discontinue my story in order to find a friend or a way to write French words on my computer so that I can translate for you what I heard, and why it was given to me in French (not my first language, by any means).
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