The seminar gave me immediate empathy for Brian and the emotions that he must have felt while keeping the regression information quiet in the early years. Like him, I did not tell many people about any of my experiences, particularly of the net—until now, of course. Interestingly, those I have told about it have often responded with an awareness of something beyond the limits of Western organized religion, and I have been grateful for their position. I wish to say that the seminar and this experience rocked my safe little boat, and I know now that it needed to be rocked, for which I am beyond grateful. I have a long way to go, but at least I have no fear of the path anymore.

  Raymond Wilson

  As Raymond progresses rapidly on his spiritual path, he is simultaneously sharing the details of his experiences and thus helping many others on their own paths.

  On that day in Texas, when Carole and I were taking a break on the back porch, Raymond came looking for some coffee. He then proceeded to accurately describe the image and concept of Indra’s Net, about which he had never heard or read anything. In his earnest manner, a portion of his mind thinking that he must be weird, he described a twenty-five-hundred-year-old concept about the holographic interpenetration and the interconnectedness of all things and all beings. Although Raymond is an incredibly down-to-earth person, what he relayed was as far from Earth as possible. He had no idea that these ancient Hindu and Buddhist concepts and images were being validated by the findings of modern particle physics.

  The “weird” part was Raymond’s ability to tap into the ancient images so clearly, just as he had been able to see and draw the millennia-old Shaivite symbol of Nikhil’s regression to his princely coronation. The truly weird part was probably the shocked look on my face as I realized what he was so accurately describing.

  At the conclusion of that Texas training, I had dictated some of my recollections. I found a snippet about one of Raymond’s regressions, a cosmic conscious memory. I remembered that he had been part of a “quilt consciousness” overlooking the earth of the distant past or future. He was not alone in this quilt; he knew he was with other spiritual beings, and that they were all somehow interconnected. Raymond was neutral about this planet’s capabilities for nurturing the growth of souls. Earth was black and icy, yet when he was sent down to determine the texture and nature of its covering, he discovered that it was not solid ice but something softer, more flexible. And knowing that it did have the potential to sustain spiritual life, he and the entire consciousness were happy.

  He then, basically, went through the life cycle of evolution. First, he was a kind of one-celled being; as he became a tiny organism in the ocean, like a sea snail but smaller, he grew very excited. This organism extended its flagella, or protuberance, above the water level. This was an extremely important evolutionary step, which thrilled him and the overlying consciousness. It’s not clear if this experience was the beginnings of evolution on Earth, or if it was in the distant future as a regeneration of this planet was occurring.

  Raymond sent in his own account of the experience, clarifying my initial impressions:

  As the regression began, I began flipping through eons of time and through great quantities of lives. This moved at a lightning-fast pace. It was most similar to the films that used to be shown in high school, with frames that flashed by as the end of the film strip went click, click, click at rapid speed. The other comparison would be to a television back in the day, one on which you could adjust the vertical control and the screen would roll quickly with a bar in between each scene. This is how my regression occurred.

  In my mind, I knew that each frame was a life and that I was going backward. The film slowed and came to a stop in a primordial ocean with darkness and kelplike vegetation that was rooted deep into the sea floor. I was a single-cell-type creature with a single hairlike appendage, and I was on the stalk of one of these kelp. I could note light above and was working my way toward it. Upon reaching the surface of the water, I raised my flagella into the air, and in that moment I knew quite distinctly that what I had just done was new and very important for the future. I did not know specifically of what importance; however, it seemed to be tied to evolution, and there was a clear feeling of new life and development. I felt safe and quite independent, and I was unaware of any other life forms around me.

  Upon the end of the regression, I had no question that I had been in the oceanic soup before human life. I still do not know how to interpret this, but I knew that it was important at the time, and I hold it so now.

  Our bodies may be constrained by this physical dimension, but our minds and souls are not. In both his dream and his regression, Raymond allowed himself to venture beyond and above the earth; doing so literally afforded him a universal perspective onto existence. The same was true for Marcia, the client featured in the following story. To heal her human life, she needed to uncover its decidedly nonhuman origins.

  Our souls are as vast and limitless as the stars.

  . THE MISSING PIECE .

  Marcia, an elegant and attractive South American woman in her late forties, came into my office for her first session one dreary winter afternoon. Although she enjoyed children, Marcia had never wanted any of her own and wondered if this had anything to do with a past life. She also often experienced indigestion; it didn’t seem to impact her life in any major way and she was already under a physician’s care, but she was mildly curious whether this too could be traced back to earlier times. All seemed relatively well, and I felt confident that, with hypnosis, we could explore the straightforward issues with which she’d come to the session.

  We were ready to start when Marcia off-handedly mentioned a recurring dream she had had. In it, she was an otherworldly being from a beautiful planet with three suns. There was always someone she was leaving behind, someone who could not follow her; she could never see who it was, and she awoke each time with overwhelming sorrow. As Marcia spoke, she sat on the couch, looking not at me but outside the window, far off into the distance. She was not depressed, not at all, but as she described the dream an ancient, ineffable sadness seemed to be slowly unfolding within her, a paper-thin flower opening its leaves. There was a longing, a homesickness that was all the more confusing and poignant because she had no idea where this home even was. Marcia was successful, she enjoyed her life, and she had a very happy marriage with a husband whom she loved. Yet she felt that there was some kind of missing piece—some kind of missing peace. Was it a soul-mate relationship that she was beginning to recognize? Its presence was starting to be revealed to her in dreamy fragments, but these were, as is often the case with dreamy fragments, so hazy and vague that they only left her feeling unfulfilled. I can’t remember now if she spoke about not feeling exactly like she belonged here or if that was just what was so obvious from her eyes, from the way she looked out the window at something so far beyond this office, this world.

  I regressed Marcia and she easily went back into a lifetime that addressed her lack of desire to have children. It seemed to provide her with the answers she was seeking and she was content enough, so we moved on. Immediately and without any prompting, Marcia moved ahead into another lifetime. In it, she was an otherworldly being from a beautiful planet with three suns. I asked her to look down at her body, but she quickly corrected me: “Bodies are not important.” Her people were visited by a group of tremendously wise, ancient beings from another land, one that was completely devoted to healing and whose origins they could project with their eyes. Marcia clung to them, absorbing their wisdom and knowledge as they taught her how to heal others using metals. “They are so much higher than us. We’re peasants compared to them,” she explained, referring to the visitors’ depth of intelligence as well as love. They were, as she put it, “working on what is going to become the human body.” Marcia, drowning in the profound love and spirituality in these beings’ eyes, thought about leaving her planet and becoming human. “My people are the last of a long, long line, and we are the only group of beings that can transition into humans,” she said. “The others are creators.” Marcia trusted them so fully, and she was always up for an adventure, but she loved her home very much and she knew, without being aware of any details, that the missing piece from her dream was a part of her life there. She was thrilled to feel its presence around her again and to realize that they were, at that moment, not yet separated. This was something she could never leave behind.

  At once, Marcia became dejected. A warlike people had invaded her planet, imprisoning people’s essences inside statues and idols and causing terrible destruction as they seized control. With resignation and because she now possessed knowledge of healing, she said, “Now I have to go to Earth. I need to help.” She mourned how Earth, the project of those exquisite healers with eyes full of bottomless love, had not turned out the way it was supposed to. “It wasn’t going to be like this. It is very, very different than what I had expected it to be,” she said.

  I asked Marcia again about the entity that was visiting her in her dreams. This time, there was no hesitation. “We are two of one. You can choose either to be a whole one or to be two of one. This is chosen just for the experience—not in the human sense, but more like a mirror, something so that you can see the face of you. It is part of me, yet it is separate from me.” She sighed. “It was the stronger part. I was more like the dreamer.” Interesting, I thought. Throughout light-years and lifetimes, ever the dreamer.

  Marcia’s voice was thick with regret. “I came to Earth on an impulse decision! Just to help. And now I’m stuck. And I’m forever separated from this piece. My piece.” It could not follow her to Earth; she could not return to it. The grief over any separation is intense, but an eternal one seemed unbearable. I was used to working with clients who had lost loved ones to illness or death, divorce or distance. As difficult as those events were, we could work with them. But I was at a loss for what Marcia was experiencing: the endless separation from one’s self. I pictured her sitting in my office only an hour earlier, staring out the window; now it was painfully clear what she had been searching for. I pressed her for details about the piece: Was there anything she could do in this life that could help her to reconnect with it, or to cope with the separation? “Just keep the memories,” she said dully, clearly not believing this herself. Even though Marcia desperately wanted a better sense of what this other part was, it eluded her. Not only was she unable to see it, without it, according to her description, Marcia would never be able to see herself—the very face of her.

  I hated to end the session on such a palpably sad note. So I led Marcia into one of my father’s healing visualizations, in which she visited a temple with crystals. I thought that it could help clear up the emotions generated by her regression, as well as give her insight into her indigestion issue, which she had requested. This meditation doesn’t require the client to speak, so I instructed Marcia to take a few deep breaths and listen to my voice. Her face and body visibly relaxed. There is a point in that meditation in which a wise teacher or guide joins the client, who then visualizes a large movie screen appearing that can help illuminate some of the sources of her physical condition. I paused here for a few minutes so that Marcia could spend time watching the screen, and although she was silent, she was clearly in a deep state, engaging in the visualization. I sat back in my chair, finally taking a few deep breaths myself. It had been a long, exhausting day.

  Then, suddenly and without warning, Marcia’s entire being exploded into joy. Tears were streaming down her face but she was laughing. I bolted upright in the chair. What had happened? Reluctant to interrupt such an obviously emotional experience, I waited for her feelings to die down, but they seemed only to intensify. “What are you experiencing?” I finally asked. It felt as though I weren’t speaking to a client but to a glowing ball of energy.

  It took a moment before Marcia could translate whatever she was feeling into ordinary, earthbound words. “My guide,” she said, “he’s going to show me! On the movie screen!”

  “Show you—the origins of your indigestion symptoms?” I asked, not understanding why this would spark such a strong reaction in her but more than happy to go along with whatever was happening.

  “No, no.” Marcia was almost literally jumping for joy as she sat up in the recliner. It was as if a completely different person were sitting there in front of me. She had come into my office somewhat quiet yet content; she had plumbed the depths of existential grief and sorrow as she explored what it meant to become human; but now she was radiating waves of bliss, her arms spontaneously lifting themselves up in front of her, giving the impression that she was floating. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before: happiness, transcendent and pure, bursting inside and through her. She looked like a child with her excitement for what she knew was about to happen next, but at the same time she seemed beyond physical form, neither adult nor child but simply soul, lovely and huge and dreamed up in delight by the beautiful-eyed beings she cared for so dearly. Marcia held her hands up to her heart, as if it were too big, too deep, too boundless in this moment to be contained inside a mere human body, this tiny, temporary shell. “He’s going to let me see, just this one time, my entire self. He’s going to show me,” she whispered, “the missing piece.”

  I did not say another word. It was difficult not to ask Marcia questions about what she was discovering, but I recognized that doing so would have only satisfied my intellectual curiosity while interrupting her blissful reunion. For healing to occur, she did not need to describe to me what was happening; she only needed to be there, to experience it. Many years ago on another planet, Marcia had lost her piece. That very day on this planet, she had found her peace. And that was all that mattered.

  Amy Weiss

  Existence is so much more amazing and miraculous than we can begin to know. New universes are bubbling up into creation all the time. Energies and forces exist far beyond our comprehension. It is as if we are trying to hear a dog whistle but the sound vibrations speed away silently, outside our aural range. And then there are the nonphysical realms too, beyond number, stretching to infinity.

  Our souls can plumb these realms. We have lived on the world of three suns, and we have been the wise ones, also. But we have forgotten our origins. How to fathom timelessness, eternity? Our souls know. We all have a missing piece. It is waiting for us at the end of our spiritual journey. It is at home.

  Death is often described as passing through a doorway into another dimension—a higher one, with many levels—that is brighter, greater, and much more vibrant. Consciousness becomes expanded and multisensory. It is akin to graduating from the limitations of the old black-and-white televisions to the three-dimensional, high-definition colors of modern ones.

  But reincarnation is not limited to the earth. Souls attend schools throughout all the universes. It appears that souls in every universe and every dimension are the same. Souls are souls. Physical bodies, however, vary tremendously despite the similarity of the souls within. After death, when all souls enter those higher, multilevel state(s), they are drawn to the plane or vibration of most comfort to them. It is there where we come together once again. Advanced learning takes place. Reincarnational planning is begun.

  It is also there where Marcia could possibly meet once more with the entity from her dream. Even if karmic gravity pulls them once again to different worlds when it is time for them to reincarnate, this separation will only be temporary. When liberated eventually from the cycle of rebirths, they will never again be separated, never pulled apart by the forces of incarnation.

  Of course, since fundamentally all is one and everything is connected, separation is only an illusion. All souls come from the one indescribable source. But our illusion is very ancient and very strong, so if our reunion with our closest soul mate, our other half, is temporarily delayed, it is good to know that it will be inevitable—and eternal.

  Can those beings in the higher states appear to us while we are in physical form? The next two stories suggest that they can—and do.

  . ROADSIDE ASSISTANCE .

  The discoveries that you have made, which I have read about in your books and learned about in your Chicago workshop one recent summer, are helping to alleviate my fear of driving in cars. I’m a terrible passenger. I’m a better driver because then I’m in control and can take precautions that some people think are excessive.

  In fairness to myself, I once was hit by a semitruck on the expressway going eighty miles an hour. Miraculously, I was not hurt. My car was totaled; I didn’t get a scratch. I’m quite certain that “something” held me in my seat. I remember, a fraction of a second after I put my head down and said aloud, “This is bad,” seeing my body shake back and forth, and wondering how I was staying in my seat. And then it was over and I was fine.

  I was on the other side of the expressway in oncoming traffic when my car finally stopped spinning and came to a halt. A man ran up to my window and said, “Put it in neutral,” which I did. He pushed me to the emergency lane, and a moment later cars came rushing by me on the expressway. And then he disappeared. No car drove away; no one was walking anywhere near me. He was just gone.

  Reading your books has allowed me to view that incident differently—with less fear, absolutely. Knowing that I have a lesson to fulfill in this lifetime has helped me to accept more of the “why” in my life.

  Robin

  Robin’s story reminds me of many others, including the one by Asia that directly follows it, where in conditions of extreme danger an angel or divine figure appears and moves the person to a place of safety. I’m not sure if Robin’s “angel” was a heaven-sent being or simply an ordinary person coming forth to aid another in distress. Is there really any difference between the two?