| |
The room is simply decorated, the walls lined
with plain shelves topped with a plant or statue and neatly
filled to capacity with books. Music is softly playing in the
background. The only light comes from a few candles placed about
here and there. Aside from two desks and computers, the only
other furnishings are the two recliners, arranged side by side.
Fifty-five year old Al Miner is outstretched in the larger of
these. Susan, his love and constant companion, is bending over
him, tucking in a light blanket. Strands of her hair catch the
light from the flickering candles.
Moving to her own recliner, she leans back and watches for signs
from him that would indicate to her that he is ready. After he
makes a few final adjustments, a tug at the blanket in an area
that is a bit too binding, slight movements of the head and neck
to find the most comfortable position, another subtle shift here
or there, he opens his eyes and looks over at her.
They offer their silent greeting of love to one
another—each one bringing a hand to heart, to lips, and
then a simple gesture to the other—and Al looks forward and
his eyes close again.
Next to Susan, a set of shelves contains the recording
equipment. She reaches over to start the recording, and lowers
the volume of the gentle background music. With his eyes
remaining closed, Al begins in his usual way—with a
prayer.
“This is January 31, 1990. Lord God, we are asking that we
be guided to the very highest and best information possible that
would contribute to our knowledge in rediscovering our true
nature, giving our profound thanks as we do. Amen.”
As Al finishes this opening prayer, Susan reaches over to the
equipment again and increases the volume. She leans back and
waits. The moments pass. Glancing over, she watches until she can
see his breathing change. It is a subtle shift, one that could be
missed by someone not as connected to this gentle man, but for
her, the signs are unmistakable. One or two deep breaths from
him, his lips part, and she quickly takes her cue to turn off the
music.
As many times as she has heard this deep, rich voice entering
the room, she still experiences a swirling in the pit of her
stomach. For as the words begin, she knows the man who is her one
true love is no longer present. In his place, having borrowed his
body through mutual agreement, is the one now speaking, who has
come to be called Lama Sing. Yet, along with apprehension, is the
excitement she can barely contain at being in contact with this
one from “beyond” who comes, each time bearing a gift
of profound wisdom and love. With anticipation of the insights
and knowledge that will be offered, she leans back once again,
closes her eyes, and prepares to hear the familiar words with
which Lama Sing always begins:
“Yes, we have the Channel then, and as well, the intents
and purposes as requested just above.”
With those words, and the prayer that always follows, Susan
knows that Al has begun his journey into the non-finite. As her
own state of consciousness changes, she can begin to make out
some of the details of the journey Al has just begun, while his
body remains behind in service to the work that is about to be
given.
As Al leaves his physical body, he moves into a gently
undulating cloud of shimmering pastels, and the barely visible
images of five or six individuals, begin to take form before him.
Against the brilliance of the light coming from the opening of a
great luminous tunnel, is Lama Sing, seated, looking down into
the tunnel. As if some hole through time and space has opened up,
Lama Sing can see the form of Al Miner, the Channel, whose lips
are moving to the words being spoken.
“As we commence with this work, let us first join together
in this joyful affirmation. In the spirit of Thy presence, Lord
God, do we claim that which is ours, given to us through Thy
grace as Thy children. So then do we offer these works as a light
to others, as that path of light which is called the Return to
Oneness. And so too do we offer this to all those in all realms
who are presently in some need, and for whom there are none in
joyful prayer. Unto them, let this be a lamp to guide their
footsteps out of the illusion of darkness. We have asked this of
Thee in the knowledge that so as we do, Thou hast heard and
answered. So let it be written.”
Far below the cloud-like mist that sits suspended, as a floating
oasis in the starry sky, the tunnel stretches down to Earth,
enveloping the Channel. Towards a distant light that has begun to
grow, he begins his movement, picking up speed, racing faster and
faster, until suddenly the light bursts wide open.
What the Channel experiences from this point forward, is
different from anything he has experienced in a quarter of a
century, and more than eight-thousand such channeled journeys.
For this time, instead of going some place now familiar to him,
to be with any number of luminous beings, the Channel finds
himself on a new course.
He is inside the brilliant light for a moment, and then there is
another burst of light that begins to dissolve into a swirling
mist. The mist parts to reveal a large, old but well-maintained,
red-bricked three-story building surrounded by an expansive,
manicured lawn. Suddenly, he realizes that, rather than his usual
journey, he has returned to Earth, though he is still in his
altered state.
He allows his movement to continue up to the building, passing
easily through its walls directly onto the third floor. Starting
down the hall and around a corner, he passes a small waiting room
to the right. Around another corner and he passes a nurses’
station. Continuing on, he comes to a stop directly in front of a
glass room. Another nurse is holding the door to this room open,
as a woman emerges from the room and files past her. He can
easily see beyond her, into the dim dreariness, to the single bed
within.
Beneath the covers of the bed, connected to the monitoring
equipment of an intensive care unit, is the form of a man. His
head is slightly propped up. Seated at the bedside is another man
appearing to be in his late fifties, wearing baggy pants, and a
heavy-knit, large-collared cardigan with oversized buttons. Over
the sweater is his prayer shawl, and atop his head sits his
yarmulke.
The Channel once again moves easily through the walls, and now
stands within the hospital room, witnessing the events as they
unfold.
Barely able to make his words heard, the man in the bed speaks.
“We’ve had such good times, haven’t we,
Abe.”
“We really have, Pete.” Swallowing hard, Abe looks
down, unable to contain his grief, “We really
have.”
The door opens, and an attractive, well-groomed middle-aged
woman enters.
“Could I join you?” Moving to the side of the bed
Stephanie looks deep into Abe’s eyes, for just a moment,
and squeezes his hand, whispering, “I’m so glad
you’re here for him, Abe.”
Peter becomes radiant as he looks at his wife. The love in the
room can suddenly be felt by all three, and catches Stephanie
off-guard. She sucks in a deep breath, her hand coming to her
stomach, as if doing so can steady the impact of what she has
just felt.
So profound is this display of love between his dear friend and
wife, that Abe feels awkward at being present. Stepping away from
the chair, and motioning to Stephanie for her to take his seat,
he stammers, “I—I need to leave you two
alone.”
Peter weakly reaches out, trying to grasp Abe’s arm.
“No, please, Abe. Stay.” And looking at his wife, he
asks, “You don’t mind, do you, dear? I have some
things to say that I want you both to hear.”
Her smile is all Peter, or Abe, needs for an answer, so Abe
slowly pulls a second chair up to Peter’s bedside, as
Stephanie takes Peter’s hand.
“Stephanie,” begins Peter, “Abe has things
that I know he will try to explain to you in the days ahead. They
are important to me, so I am asking you to hear him out
and…”
Before Peter can continue, Stephanie leans over and places her
fingertips gently against his lips, then turns to Abe.
“Abe, next to my love for Peter and our children, comes my
love for you and your family. You know I’ll listen to
anything you have to share with me.”
Abe looks down, deeply touched by this expression of trust and
friendship. Stephanie turns back to Peter, who is obviously
struggling with his pain, and takes his hand again. “You
look tired. Do you think you should get a bit of rest?”
“I feel okay right now, and I need to say these things.
Stephanie,” and Peter pauses as tears begin to stream down
his cheeks, “you know I’ll always love you. I want
you to know that what I feel for you has grown over the years,
way beyond the things we’ve shared materially and
physically and all the rest. It’s like it glows in me, like
a sort of light that I know will never go out. Am I making sense
to you?”
Choking back her tears, she smiles and nods.
“What I’m trying to say is, as crazy as it may
sound, I just know it’ll last beyond all this. And, I
don’t understand how it works, but I know we’ll meet
again, somehow, in another time. Whenever you feel ready, if
it’s something you would like to do, Abe will explain some
of the thoughts he and I have discussed about this life and the
next. But I guess what I want to say most of all here, is that I
love you so very much—enough to want you to be free.”
Looking into her eyes for reassurance and understanding, “I
hope you can love me in that same way.”
Stephanie does not speak. She is simply looking at Peter in a
way that suddenly seems familiar to him, but the familiarity is
not just from this life. It seems to reach far beyond. In that
moment, there is a collage of scenes that Peter sees
superimposing again and again and again over her loving, gentle
smile and the radiance beaming from her eyes, which Peter knows
is directly connected to her heart.
“I’ve seen that smile and that light
before,” Peter thinks, and begins to move in and out of
consciousness as he explores, through time and space, the bond he
has shared with his wonderful wife sitting now at his side.
Returning to consciousness, Peter slowly turns his gaze to Abe,
who is looking at him with a loving warmth similar to
Stephanie’s. In a moment, the same feeling washes over him
that he had just experienced with Stephanie. His thoughts
continue, “I have known this friendship before, too.
Somewhere, I have known this man as a brother, or as a friend, or
perhaps other ways,” and again Peter becomes lost in the
vastness of these thoughts.
Through all of this, Stephanie has been gazing lovingly at
Peter. Then she rises and leans over him, placing her cheek
against his, and embraces him as best she can, with all of her
being.
Her lips next to Peter’s ear, she whispers slowly,
lovingly, “Oh Peter, my love. I have lived a lifetime with
you greater than I ever hoped or dreamed. Because of the wonder
we’ve shared, I know that to love, to truly love, is to be
able to release it. Not to capture it and hold it within, but to
let it fly free, knowing that as it soars, that love is born
again.
“I set you free, Peter,” she cannot see that Peter
is fading in and out of consciousness, as she continues,
“because I know that your freedom is my freedom, your joy
is my joy. I know our love connects us, and that we can share
these things not only in this moment called life, but throughout
eternity.”
Peter’s eyes are closed, but a tiny smile stirs across his
face, as her final words to him are, “I love you,
Peter.”
Kissing him gently, she lifts herself up to look at her husband
and speaks softly to Abe, “He is in a wonderful state of
peace right now, and he has asked me to not be here when the time
comes. So, I’ll give these last moments with him to you,
Abe, because Peter and I know we will never truly be
apart.”
She kisses Peter one more time, and as he regains consciousness
somewhat, looks into his eyes, as though to connect with
something she sees deep within them. Squeezing his hand, she then
rises, as Abe stands too, in respect. She turns and moves slowly
towards the door, not looking back, but continuing to walk until
she is out of Peter’s sight.
There is silence in the room except for Peter’s deep
breathing, the irregular breathing of one whose body is giving
way. Abe fidgets uncomfortably, looking down at his hands, and
then slides into the other chair closest to Peter, re-grasping
Peter’s hand.
As Peter’s pain becomes so great that he retreats into the
blackness, Al Miner, the Channel, follows, and Peter begins his
journey beyond the portal called death.
*
The words you are about to read were given by one who is called
Lama Sing, through Al Miner, the Channel. It is the story of
Peter’s incredible journey after he died.
Copyright 2001 Al Miner and Lama
Sing
|
|
