Chapter Nine. Page 115.
Each week another layer of neurotic fears and anxieties was stripped away from Catherine. Each week she appeared a bit more serene, a bit softer and more patient. She was more confident, and people were drawn to her. Catherine felt more loving, and others gave love back to her. The inner diamond that was her true personality was shining brilliantly for all to see.
Catherine's regressions spanned millenia. Each time she entered a hypnotic trance, I had no idea where the threads of her life would emerge. From prehistoric caves to ancient Egypt to modern times - she had been there. And all of her lives had been lovingly overseen, somewhere beyond time, by the Masters. In today's session she emerged in the twentieth century, but not as Catherine.
"I see a fuselage and an airstrip, some kind of airstrip," she whispered softly.
"Do you know where it is?"
"I can't see . . . Alsatian?" Then more definitely, "Alsatian."
"In France?"
"I don't know, just Alsatian. . . I see the name Von Marks, Von Marks(phonetic). Some type of brown helmet or a hat . . . a hat with goggles on it. The troop has been destroyed. It appears to be a very remote region. I don't think there's a town nearby."
"What do you see?"
"I see buildings destroyed. I see buildings. . . . The land is torn up from . . . bombings. There's a very well hidden area."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm helping then with the wounded. They're carrying them away."
"Look at yourself. Describe yourself. Look down and see what you're wearing."
"I have some type of jacket on. I have blond hair. I have blue eyes. My jacket is very dirty. There are many wounded people."
"Are you trained to help with the wounded?"
"No."
"Do you live there are were you brought there? Where do you live?
"I don't know."
"About how old are you?"
"Thirty-five." Catherine herself was twenty-nine, and she had hazel eyes, not blue. I continued the questioning.
"Do you have a name? It is on the jacket?"
"There are wings on the jacket. I'm the pilot . . . some type of pilot."
"You fly the airplanes?"
"Yes, I have to."
"Who makes you fly?"
"I'm in service to fly. That's my job."
"Do you drop bombs, too?"
"We have a gunner on the plane. There's a navigator."
"What kind of plane to you fly?"
"Some type of chopper plane. It has four propellers. It's a fixed wing." I was amused, because Catherine knew nothing about airplanes. I wondered what she would think "fixed wing" meant. But, like the making of butter or the embalming of the deceased, under hypnosis she possessed a vast store of knowledge. Only a fraction of this knowledge, however, was available to her everyday, conscious mind. I pressed on.
"Do you have a family?"
"They are not with me."
"Are they safe?"
"I don't know. I'm afraid . . . afraid they will come back. My friends are dying!"
"Who are you afraid will come back?"
"The enemy."
"Who are they?"
"The English . . . the American Armed Forces . . . the English."
"Yes. Do you remember your family?"
"Remember it? There's too much confusion."
"Let's go back in the same lifetime, back to a happier time, before the war, the time with your family back at home. You can see that. I know it's hard, but I want you to relax. Try and remember."
Catherine paused, then whispered, "I hear the name Eric . . . Eric. I see a blond-haired child, a girl."
"Is that your daughter?"
"Yes, it must be . . . Margot."
"Is she close to you?"
"She's with me. We're on a picnic. They day is beautiful."
"Is anyone else there with you? Beides Margot?"
"I see a woman with brown hair sitting on the grass."
"Is she your wife?"
"Yes . . . I don't know her," she added, referring to a recognition of someone in Catherine's lifetime.
"Do you know Margot? Look at Margot closely. Do you know her?"
"Yes, but I'm not sure how . . . I knew her from somewhere."
"It will come to you. Look into her eyes."
"It's Judy," she answered. Judy was presently Catherine's best friend. There had been an instant rapport at their first meeting, and they had become true friends, implicitly trusting each other, knowing the other's thoughts and needs before they were verbalized.
"Judy?" I repeated.
"Yes, Judy. She looks like her . . . she smiles like her."
"Yes, that's good. Are you happy at home, or are there problems?"
"There are no problems." [Long pause] "Yes. Yes, it is a time of unrest. There's a problem deep in the German government, the political structure. Too many people want to move in too many directions. It will eventually tear us apart. . . . But I must fight for my country."
"Do you have strong feelings for your country?"
"I dislike war. I feel it is wrong to kill, but I must do my duty."
"Go back now, back to where you were, to the plane on the ground, and the bombings, and the war. It's later; the war has started. The English and the Americans are dropping bombs near you. Go back. Do you see the planes again?"
"Yes."
"Do you still have the same feeling about duty and killing and war?"
"Yes, we will die for nothing."
"What?"
"We will die for nothing," she repeated in a louder whisper.
"Nothing? Why for nothing? Is there no glory in it? No defense of your land or your loved ones?"
"We will die for defending the ideas of a few people."
"Even though these were the leaders of your country? They can be wrong-" She quickly cut me off.
"They are not leaders. If they were leaders, there would not be so much internal strife . . . in government."
"Some people call them mad. Does this make sense to you? Power-crazy?"
"We must all be mad to be driven by them, to allow them to drive us . . . to kill people. And to kill ourselves. . . ."
"Have you any friends left?"
"Yes, there are still some alive."
"Are there any that are you are particularly close to? In your airplane crew? Are your gunner and navigator still alive?"
"I don't see them, but my plane wasn't destroyed."
"Do you fly again in the plane?"
"Yes, we must hurry to get the remaining aircraft off the strip . . . before they return."
"Go into your plane."
"I don't want to go." It was as if she could negotiate with me.
"But you must get it off the ground."
"It's so senseless. . . ."
"What kind of profession did you have before the war? Do you remember? What did Eric do?"
"I was second in command . . . on a small plane, some plane flying cargo."
"So you were a pilot then, too?"
"Yes."
"That took you away from home a lot?"
She answered very softly, wistfully. "Yes."
"Go ahead in time," I instructed, "to the next flight. Can you do that?"
"There is no next flight."
"Does something happen to you?"
"Yes." Her breathing was accelerating, and she was becoming agitated. She had gone ahead to the day or her death.
"What's happening?"
"I'm running from the fire. My party's being torn apart by the fire."
"Do you survive this?"
"Nobody survives . . . nobody survives a war. I'm dying!" Her breathing was heavy. "Blood! Blood is everywhere! I have a pain in my chest. I've been hit in my chest . . . and my leg . . . and my neck. It's so much pain . . ." She was in agony; but soon her breathing slowed and became more regular; her facial muscles relaxed, and a look of peacefulness came over her. I recognized the calm of the transition state.
"You look more comfortable. Is it over?" She paused, then answered very softly.
"I'm floating . . . away from my body. I have no body. I am in spirit again."
"Good. Rest. You've had a difficult lifetime. You went through a difficult death. You need to rest. Restore yourself. What did you learn from that lifetime?"
"I learned a lot about hate . . . senseless killing . . . misdirected hate . . . people who hate and they don't know why. We are driven to it . . . by the evil, when we are in physical state . . ."
"Is there a higher duty than duty to the country? Something that could have prevented you from killing? Even if you were odered? A duty to yourself?"
"Yes. . . ." But she did not elaborate.
"Are you waiting for something now?"
"Yes . . . I'm waiting to go into a state of renewal. I must wait. They will come for me . . . they will come. . . ."
"Good, I would like to talk to them when they come." We waited for several minutes. Then abruptly her voice was loud and husky, and the original Master Spirit, not the Poet Master, was speaking.
"You were correct in assuming this is the proper treatment for those in the physical state. You must eradicate the fears from their minds. It is a waste of energy when fear is present. It stifles them from fulfilling what they were sent here to fulfill. Take your cues from your surroundings. They must first be put into a level very, very, very deep . . . where they no longer can feel their body. Then you can reach them. It's only on the surface . . . that the troubles lie. Deep within their soul, where the ideas are created, that is where you must reach them."
"Energy . . . everything is energy. So much is wasted. The mountains . . . inside the mountain it is quiet; it is calm at the center. But on the outside is where the trouble lies. Humans can only see the outside, but you can go much deeper. You have to see the volcano. To do it you have to go deep inside.
"To be in physical state is abnormal. When you are in the spiritual state, that is natural to you. When we are sent back, it's like being sent back to something we do not know. It will take us longer. In the spirit world you have to wait, and then you are renewed. There is a state of renewal. It's a dimension like the other dimensions, and you have almost succeeded in reaching that state. . . ."
This caught me by surprise. How could I be approaching the state of renewal? "I have almost reached it?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes. You know so much more than others. You understand so much more. Be patient with them. They don't have the knowledge you have. Spirits will be sent back to help you. But you are correct in what you are doing . . . continue. This energy must not be wasted. You must get rid of the fear. That will be the greatest weapon you have. . . ."
The Master Spirit was silent. I pondered the meaning of this incredible message. I knew I was successfully getting rid of Catherine's fears, but this message had a more global meaning. It was more than just confirmation of the effectiveness of hypnosis as a therapeutic tool. It involved even more than past-life regressions, which would be difficult to apply to the general population, one by one. No, I believed it concerned the fear of death, which is the fear deep inside the volcano. The fear of death, that hidden, constant fear that no amount of money or power can neutralize - this is the core. But if people knew "lifr is endless; so we never die; we were never really born," then this fear would dissolve. If they knew that they had lived countless times before and would live countless times again, how reassured they would feel. If they knew that spirits were around to help them while they were in the physical state and that after death, in spiritual state, they would join these spirits, including their deceased loved ones, how conforted they would be. If they knew that guardian "angels" really did exist, how much safer they would feel. If they knew that acts of violence and injustices against people did not go unnoted, but had to be repaid in kind in other lifetimes, how much less anger and desire for vengaance they would harbor. And, if indded, "by knowledge we approach God," of what use are material possessions, or power, when they are an end in themselves and not a means to that approach? To be greedy or power-hungry has no value whatsoever.
But how to reach people with this knowledge? Most people recite prayers in their churches, synagogues, mosques, or temples, prayers that proclaim the immortality of the soul. Yet after worshipping is over, they go back into their competetive ruts, practicing greed and manipulation and self-centeredness. These traits retard the process of the soul. So, if faith is not enough, perhaps science will help. Perhaps experiences such as Catherine's and mine need to be studied, analyzed, and reported in a detached, scientific manner by people trained in the behavioral and physical sciences. Yet, at this time, writing a scientific paper or a book was the furthest thign from my mind, a remote and most unlikely possibility. I wondered about the spirits who would be sent back to help me. Help me do what?
Catherine stirred an began to whisper. "Someone named Gideon, someone named Gideon . . . Gideon. He's trying to talk to me."
"What does he say?"
"He's all around. He won't stop. He's some type of guardian . . . something. But he's playing with me now."
"Is he one of your guardians?"
"Yes, but he's playing . . . he's just jumping all around. I think he wants me to know he's all around me . . . everywhere."
"Gideon?" I repeated.
"He's there."
"Does it make you feel safer?"
"Yes, he'll be back when I need him."
"Good. Are there spirits around us?"
She answered in a whisper, from the perspective of her superconscious mind. "Oh yes . . . many spirits. They only come when they want to. They come . . . when they want to. We are all spirits. But others . . . sine are in physical state and others are in a period of renewal. And others are guardians. But we all go there. We have been guardians, too."
"Why do we come back to learn? Why can't we learn as spirits?"
"Those are different levels of learning, and we must learn some of them in the flesh. We must feel the pain. When you're a spirit you feel no pain. It is a period of renewal. Your soul is being renewed. When you're in physical statein the flesh, yo ucan feel pain; you can hurt. In spiritual form, you do not feel. There is only happiness, a sense of well-being. But it's a renewal period for . . . us. The interaction between people in the spiritual is different. When you are in physical state . . . you can experience relationships."
"I understand. It will be okay." She had become silent again. Minutes passed.
"I see a carriage," she began, "a blue carriage."
"A baby carriage?"
"No, a carriage that you ride in. . . . Something blue! A blue fringe on the top, blue outside. . . ."
"Do horses pull the carriage?"
"It has big wheels. I don't see anybody in it, but just two horses hitched to it . . . a gray one and a brown one. The horse's name is Apple, the gray one, because he likes apples. The other one's name is Duke. They're very nice. They won't bite you. They have big feet . . . bit feet."
"Is there a mean horse, too? A different horse?"
"No, they're very nice."
"Are you there?"
"Yes. I can see his nose. He's so much bigger than I am."
"Do you ride the carriage?" By the nature of her responses I knew she was a child.
"There are horses. There's a boy there, too."
"How old are you?"
"Very little. I don't know. I don't think I know how to count."
"Do you know the boy? Your friend? Your brother?"
"He's a neighbor. He's there for . . . some party. They're having a . . . wedding or something."
"Do you know who is getting married?"
"No. We were told not to get dirty. I have brown hair . . . shoes that button on the side all the way up."
"Are these your party clothes? Good clothes?"
"It's a white . . . some type of white dress with a . . . something ruffly over it, and it ties in the back."
"Is your house nearby?"
"It's a big house," the child answered.
"Is that where you live?"
"Yes."
"Good. You can look into the house now; it's okay. It's an important day. Other people will be dressed well, too, wearing special clothes."
"They're cooking food, lots of food."
"Can you smell it?"
"Yes. They're making some type of bread. Bread . . . meat. . . . We're told to go back outside again." I was amused at this. I had told her it was all right to go inside, and now she had been ordered out again.
"Do they call your name?"
". . . Mandy . . . Mandy and Edward."
"Is he the boy?"
"Yes."
"They won't let you stay in the house?"
"No, they're too busy."
"How do you feel about that?"
"We don't care, but it's hard to stay clean. We can't do anything."
"Do you get to the wedding? Later that day?"
"Yes . . . I see many people. It's crowded in the room. It's hot, a hot day. There's a parson there; the parson's there . . . with a funny hat, a big hat . . . black. It comes out over his face . . . quite a ways."
"Is this a happy time for your family?"
"Yes."
"Do you know who's getting married?"
"Just my sister."
"Is she much older?"
"Yes."
"Do you see her now? Is she wearing her wedding dress?"
"Yes."
"Is she pretty?"
"Yes. She has lots of flowers around her hair."
"Look at her closely. Do you know her from another time? Look at her eyes, her mouth. . . ."
"Yes. I think she's Becky . . . but smaller, much smaller." Becky was Catherine's friend and coworker. They were close, yet Catherine resented Becky's judgemental attitude and her intrusiveness into Catherine's life and decisions. After all, she was a friend, not family. But perhapsthe distinction was now not so clear. "She . . . she likes me . . . and I can stand near the front because she does."
"Good. Look around you. Are your parents there?"
"Yes."
"That's good. Look at them closely. First your mother. See if you remember her. Look at her face."
"Catherine took several deep breaths. "I don't know her."
"Look at your father. Look at him, closely. Look at his expression, his eyes . . . also his mouth. Do you know him?"
"He's Stuart," she quickly answered. So, Stuart had surfaced once again. This was worth exploring further.
"What's your relationship with him like?"
"I love him very much . . . he's very good to me. But he thinks I am a nuisance. He thinks children are nuisances."
"Is her too serious?"
"No, he likes to play with us. But we ask too many questions. But he's very good to us, except we ask too many questions."
"Does that sometimes annoy him?"
"Yes, we must learn from the teacher, not from him. That's why we go to school . . . to learn."
"That sounds like him talking. Does he say that to you?"
"Yes, he has more important things to do. He must run the farm."
"Is it a big farm?"
"Yes."
"Do you know where it is?"
"No."
"Do they even mention the city or that state? The name of the town?"
She paused, listening carefully. "I don't hear that." She was silent again.
"Okay, do you want to explore more in this lifetime? To go ahead in time or is this - "
She cut me off. "This is enough."
During this entire process with Catherine, I had been reluctant to discuss her revelations with other professionals. Actually, except for Carole and a few others who were "safe," I had not shared this remarkable information with others at all. I knew the knowledge from our sessions was both true and extremely important, yet anxiety about the reactions of my professional and scientific colleagues caused me to keep silent. I was still concerned with my reputation, career, and what others thought of me.
My personal skepticism had been eroded by the proofs that, week after week, fell from her lips. I would often replay the audio tapes and reexperience the sessions, with all their drama and immediacy. But the others would have to rely on my experiences, powerful but nevertheless not their own. I felt compelled to gather even more data.
As I gradually accepted and believed the messages, my life became simpler and more satisfying. There was no need to play games, to pretend, to act out roles, or to be other than what I was. Relationships became more honest and direct. Family life was less confusing and more relaxed. My reluctance to share that had been given to me through Catherine began to diminish. Surprisingly, most people were very interested and wanted to know more. Many told me of their very private experiences of parapsychological events, whether ESP, deja vu, out-of-body experiences, past-life dreams, or others. Many had never even told their spouses about these experiences. People were almost uniformly afraid that, by sharing their experiences, others, even their own families and therapists, would consider themn odd or strange. Yet these parapsychological events are fairly common, much more frequent than people realize. It is only the reluctance to tell others about psychic occurrences that makes them seem rare. And the more highly trained are the most reluctant to share.
The respected chairman of a major clinical department at my hospital is a man who is admired internationally for his experience. He talks to his deceased father, who has several times protected him from serious danger. Another professor has dreams that provide the missing steps or solutions to his complex research experiements. The dreams are invariably correct. Another well-known doctor usually knows who is calling him on the phone before he answers it. The wife of the Chairman of Psychiatry at a midwestern university has a Ph.D. in pyschology. Her research projects are always carefully planned and executed. She had never told anyone that when she first visited Rome, she moved through the city as if she had a road map imprinted in her memory. She unerringly knew what was around the next corner. Although she had never been to Italy previously and did not know the language, Italians repeatedely approached her in Italian, continually mistaking her for a native. Her mind struggled to integrate her experiences in Rome.
I understood why these highly trained professionals remained in the closet. I was one of them. We could not deny our own experiences and senses. Yet our training was in many ways diametrically opposite to the information, experiences, and beliefs we had accumulated. So we remained quiet.
No comments:
Post a Comment