“Sure,” said Chris, “you can’t go on if you don’t feel it. So how are your mother and father?”
I leaned back in her chair with the tragicomedy of their relationship scampering through my head.
“They’re so wonderful they’re like a soap opera,” I said, laughing. “They are so tied together at every level. I understand myself so much better by watching them interrelate. But sometimes it becomes too much. They must have some incredible karma going with each other.”
Chris giggled, holding her stomach.
“Oh, yes,” she said, “that’s quite clear. The intensity of their commitment is spilling all over the place. I can feel it through you.”
I reflected on how the process of karma worked. It wasn’t chronological and linear. In other words, they might have spent a perfectly placid lifetime in association with each other while they worked out a more intense karma relating to someone else. It was clear, though, that this time around they were concentrated on each other. They were living a cocoon existence, completely wrapped up in each other, and had done so since I could remember.
“You know,” I said to Chris, “sometimes I get the feeling that I’ve worked out most of my stuff with them except for witnessing what they do to each other. It gets me upset.”
“Sure,” said Chris, “your role this time is probably to point out what they’ve got to learn from each other, rather than how it relates to you.”
Chris got up and led me outside. “Let’s go do some work,” she said.
We walked through a patio area in between her house and her clinic. A tricycle (her youngest daughter’s) rested overturned on its side under an ancient maple tree. Two goats nuzzled each other in their stalls behind a fence and chickens clucked when they heard Chris coming.
Chris’s clinic was behind a glass-enclosed greenhouse where she raised fruit trees and herbal plants. The clinic was one simple room built of stone. Inside the temperature was several degrees cooler than anywhere else. There was a bathroom with an old-style pull-chain flush toilet and a tiled Spanish sunken tub just adjacent to the clinic room.
A wide massage table covered with clean sheets and a blanket stood in the center of the room. There were two windows with rustling trees outside.
I dug out my tape recorder and batteries and tapes. Using an extension cord, I hung the recorder from a hook on the rafter above the table just over where my face would be, so that I could record every nuance of what would occur.
A small table by the door had alcohol, herbal medicines, and Chris’s gold and silver acupuncture needles on top of it.
I undressed and climbed onto the table. I could hear birds chirping from the trees outside. Flies buzzed around the room from the open door. Chris stretched out her arms and directed the flies toward the open door. Whether it was the arms or the direction, they left. Gently she closed the door and instructed me to relax.
She pulled the needles from their alcohol container and brought them to the table and wiped them dry with clean gauze.
“My guides will help direct me with the needles today,” she said. “They have a chronological plan of working with you during these sessions.”
Chris had her spiritual guides just as I had mine. We both knew they worked together. Her guides were proficient in body meridians and energy points of the body. The primary guide was an ancient Chinese doctor who was always present when she worked.
As soon as I relaxed, I could feel the presence of the other entities in the room. Let me explain. When one works with the help of spiritual dimensional guides, it’s necessary to tune in to their presence. We live and operate in what I would call the visible dimension of life, measured by height, width, breadth, mass, and time. I was learning to recognize the invisible dimension where there are no measurements possible. In fact, it is the dimension of no-height, no-width, no-breadth, and no-mass, and as a matter of further fact, no-time. It is the dimension of the spirit. It cannot be confined or defined and by many people it is not even recognized as reality. But I was learning that the invisible dimensions were, indeed, very real.
Chris went into a moment of meditation as she tuned into her guides. I felt a breath of cold air pass over my body, which always accompanies the presence of a spiritual guide in a room. I began to tune in to the presence of her guides too. I have not yet been able to “see” the energy of the invisible dimension, but she can. She sees their presence in light colors which have form. She also “sees” the auric field of every human being. In other words, she is what we have come to call a “sensitive.” Her consciousness is specifically aware of energies which most of the rest of us can only assume are there. For example, I “feel” when Ramtha and McPherson are around, but I can’t see any evidence of it. I just “know” it and go from there.
“Okay,” she said, “I know what they want me to do. This is going to be a kind of crash course today. Your body is holding certain memories that you need to release. I will place the needles at meridian points that will facilitate the release.”
“You mean,” I said, “that they can see the memory patterns my body is holding?”
“Sure,” said Chris. “They see from the dimension of pure energy. Every ceil in your body is holding the energy of experience, not only from this lifetime, but every lifetime. We always have to keep in mind that our concept of linear time is too limited. Holographic time is the actual reality.”
Chris put three very fine, thin gold needles into the Third Eye point in the center of my forehead. She gently twirled them to stimulate the utmost effect. There was some pain.
“I’m using the gold needles today because they stimulate a higher frequency than the silver. You have scar tissue in here,” she said. “Your Third Eye area is holding some traumatic pain. Never mind, you’ll get to it when you’re ready.”
I grunted, but was not too happy about the prospect. I remembered what had happened when I visited the Inca museum in Lima, Peru. I had walked by a glass case that housed several skulls. Each skull had a hole in the center of the forehead. As I gazed at the skulls in horror, I had a strange memory of what it was. The museum keeper had not even needed to tell me that the Inca high priests had chiseled holes in the center of the forehead to open up the psychic energy of the Third Eye. The Third Eye is an especially sensitized area for spiritual awareness. Clairvoyant capacity, perceptive levels of discernment, the eye of Goa are supposed to center in the Third Eye. It is the eye that “sees” beyond the earth-plane dimension.
Again, Chris twirled the needles. The pain came again. “This is dense scar tissue,” she said.
“Well,” I said, “I had a small cancerous growth removed to the side of that area about twelve years ago. Could that have something to do with it?”
“No,” she said, “it’s something more. As a matter of fact, the growth probably came as a reaction to a memory the body was still holding in that area. The body remembers everything. The soul imprint is on every single cell in the body. We carry the memory into each incarnation and those memories need to be resolved and cleared if we are to go on to a higher enlightenment. Total acceptance of experience is what we’re after. That’s what we’re all struggling for. When we totally accept experience without judgment, we are operating on a higher level of understanding and thus a higher frequency. The body, mind, and spirit are then in an aligned enlightenment.”
“So what are these needles doing then?” I asked.
“They are stimulating the body to remember experiences so you can release the trauma. Each energy meridian point is stimulated when I twirl the needles. They then activate the cellular memory in the area. The Chinese were very advanced in this. They knew the body was a messenger system. The body is how we know we’re here in this dimension—the dimension of mass, the dimension of experience. The body never lies. It tells us when we’re sick, when we’re anxious, when we’re in pain. The body knows everything. We don’t listen to it enough. The pain from the needles focuses on what the body remembe
rs and needs to clear. Don’t force anything though. Just let it happen.”
Chris put more gold needles into my upper shoulders and behind my ears. She gently twirled them.
“Now breathe light into the needles. That helps ease the memory pain while stimulating the actual memory.”
Breathe light into the needles? I visualized the location of each needle and projected light into them with my mind. I breathed deeply.
“Now relax,” said Chris. “Let your mind go. Don’t evaluate and don’t let the left brain judge what you are thinking. Give your right brain more space. As a matter of fact, don’t think. Just let the pictures come.”
I breathed more light into the needles as she had instructed. Then I did some deeper breathing. The breath of life, as the Indians called it. Prana energy. I lay there wishing there were words in the English language which could more aptly describe the experience. We were so linear-minded, so proof-minded, so suspicious of our own soul power. How could I prove I had a soul? Why should I? It was a dumb expectation. The whole process of measurement and evaluation was an exercise in futility unconsciously designed to keep us in the muck and mire of our own limited thinking. Maybe we were addicted to helplessness because, intellectually, it was the only thing we could prove.
Thank God I was lying on this table with needles quivering from my forehead, my shoulders, and my ears, believing that I could get in touch with lives I had lived before so that I could clear up some confusions I had in this lifetime. Yet if, fifteen years ago, anyone had told me I would be into this, I would have thought they weren’t playing with a full deck of cards.
Chris slid the sheet away from my torso and put two more needles into the center of my chest.
“Now breathe more light into these,” she said.
She twirled them gently. There was no pain. I waited.
“If I don’t have any pain there, does it mean I don’t have anything to clear?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “perhaps you have cleared a great deal of it, or perhaps it’s not relevant to what you’re looking for now. The body carries memories from every incarnation you’ve ever experienced, but there are many of those memories that you haven’t chosen to work on this time around.”
“And my soul remembers everything and knows what I’ve chosen to work on now?”
“Right,” she said. “To make it clearer, though, your higher, unlimited self is what knows and remembers everything. What we want to do is try to get in touch with that. That intuitive perception comes through the right brain. When you touch that, you are then working with your God self and will understand that you already know everything there is to know. Therefore, you are your own best teacher and your own guru, so to speak.”
Chris replaced the sheet gently over the chest needles so I wouldn’t get chilled. The cool wafts of air were coming more intensely around the table.
“All my guides are here now,” she said. “So are yours. Let’s turn on the recorder and begin.”
“Okay,” I said, “so I just lie here and relax?”
“That’s right,” she answered. “And allow the pictures in your mind to unfold.”
That was not easy for me because I liked to be in control of my own creative process. I always analyzed why I was thinking something. It served as a clue to my subconscious. But what she was talking about was the superconscious.
“Where will the pictures come from?” I asked, interrupting the flow immediately.
“They will come from your own higher self, your higher consciousness, your unlimited soul—whatever you want to call it,” she said. “All of your previous lifetimes of experience reside in your God self. That is what serves as your counselor, your guide, your teacher. You know what I’m talking about. Try to listen to it.”
I lay back and closed my eyes. I could hear the hum of the tape recorder dangling above my head. I heard a fly buzz against the screen of the open window. A dog barked in the distance. The branches of the trees creaked in the breeze outside.
I felt my mind begin to drift away from its own consciousness. I tried to relax it into blankness, for I had learned some time ago that you don’t force anything when your goal is to be peaceful in your center.
Suddenly and with rapid speed, I realized I was seeing quick montages of pictures. It came so easily that I thought I was simply free associating. It didn’t even occur to me to say anything aloud.
“What are you getting?” said Chris. “I know you’re getting incarnational pictures because I’m getting them too.”
She startled me. I thought I was just drifting around in my own brain, but she was saying it was significant.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “I’m just seeing lots of flashes of pictures. It’s nothing. I’m just free associating. Let’s wait until something happens.”
“No,” said Chris. “Wait a minute. Something is happening. Stop judging and evaluating what you’re getting. Leave your mind out of this. Just get out of your intellectual way. Tell me what you’re seeing.”
“Well,” I said, “it’s sort of disjointed. Almost outrageously so. I don’t know if I can talk as fast as I’m seeing the pictures. I feel like I’d rather just look at the pictures I’m making up.”
“First of all,” she said, “you may feel that you’re making up what you see because that is the only way you have of explaining it. But you are making the pictures for yourself based on experience. Just trust that. Where do you think fantasy and imagination come from?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I do. I understand what you’re saying. I just can’t believe I’m not making this stuff up. I mean, it’s crazy.”
“Tell me what you’re seeing,” she commanded again. “It is not crazy. Your higher self is communicating to you. Listen to it.”
Okay, I thought. I’ll just express what’s happening out loud and deal with it later. I was completely aware of my surroundings as I lay on the table. It wasn’t at all like a hypnotic trance. Yet I felt I was the participant and observer at the same time. It was as though I were experiencing two levels of consciousness simultaneously.
This is what happened. I voiced all of it so I would have it recorded.
The pictures came in the front of my mind as though I were watching a film inside of my own head. They had texture, sometimes smell. There were experienced tactile sensations and definitely what I would call a recalled emotional reaction.
For example, I saw myself buried in sand up to my neck, feeling intense pressure on my body. I wasn’t frightened. I was hot and unable to move my arms. Just as I asked myself what it meant, the picture shifted. I saw myself as a pirate with a peg leg, limping along a waterfront with a knapsack over my shoulder. I laughed at that image. I knew it was me, yet the image was that of a man. I remembered McPherson telling me that each of us had shared an incarnation as pirates. I wondered if that was it. And was I seeing that picture as a reminder that McPherson might be participating in this session as one of my guides? Up to that moment, I hadn’t thought of him. Immediately the pirate image disappeared.
A tall, lean Egyptian-looking woman dressed in a purple and gold robe glided toward me. I couldn’t see myself. I only saw the woman. It was my mother in this lifetime! She had a long aquiline nose and inky black hair. She was a queen of some kind, with subjects flanking her as she glided toward me. Then, as though I should associate the queen identity with those that followed, I saw an African native woman sobbing with an infant in her arms. The baby was hungry, but the mother, who was nude from the waist up, had no milk to feed the child. Her breasts hung limp and dry. Again, it was my mother. But I wasn’t the infant. As I was attempting to zero in on who I might have been the picture changed again. A Roman or Greek athlete was running in the sun—a tall and powerful blond man—running as though in a race with his head held high and free in an exalted state of physical power. The athlete was also my mother! Suddenly I realized I was getting a rundown on some of my mother’s incarnations. They were necessary fo
r me to see for some reason.
Another image … high priestess of some kind with an archery set on her shoulder. Her robe was orange and fell from the other shoulder. Again—my mother. So she had had several incarnations of power, if I was properly integrating what I was seeing.
The picture shifted again. The montage of images was coming faster now. I felt the cool wafts of spiritual energy intensify around the table I lay on.
I saw a crystal pyramid off the east coast of what is now the United States, only it was on land. It gleamed in the sun, but there was much more moisture in the air than there is now. The drops of moisture glistened in the atmosphere around the pyramid like a shimmering curtain. I could see the air because of the particles of moisture. I couldn’t see me, but I could feel myself breathe in the moist air which served to filter my system with each breath. Could I have been seeing the authentic atmosphere of Atlantis before it sank? Again, I felt ridiculous with my speculation. I was comfortable with believing that Atlantis had existed intellectually, but to pictorially confront what it might have been like to fee there in personal terms was difficult, even for me, to accept. Again, the doubt changed the picture in my mind’s eye.
Dark clouds and lightning clashed over the pyramid. The sound was deafening in my head. Somewhere in here I stopped talking and the needles behind my ears began to ache.
“What are you getting?” asked Chris. “Are you getting bad weather? That’s what I’m seeing.”
I opened my eyes. She was seeing the same pictures I was?
“Don’t let it go,” commanded Chris. “This is important. They’re telling me it has to do with abuse of power in that lifetime. Keep the image going. Trace it down.”
I shut my eyes again. The crashing storm persisted. Why was I seeing this?
“Ask your higher self why it’s showing you this image,” commanded Chris.
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