A Fall to Grace Read online

  "Now what? How are you likely to behave under the influence of this new awareness? Well, if you love yourself, then you will treat the tree and the beings of nature with love and respect. If you hold on to fear or anger, these will be the feelings reflected in your interactions, leading ultimately to a path of disharmony and destruction."

  I let the words of my wise friend sink in before responding. Finally I explain, "Sometimes I become depressed by the lack of humanity in the land I come from. The people there show no caring for other life forms, including human beings. The focus is strictly on 'me, me, me.' Surrounded by so little respect for life, I sometimes feel like I don't want to continue living. But what choice do I have?"

  "The choice you have is to learn, change, and evolve. You can't save the world, but you can save yourself. The land from which you come is like a school. It has a collective lesson plan as well as individual soul lesson plans. Remember that if you are connected to all that is, your learning and growing will influence the rest of human consciousness."

  "Who created this school?" I ask with a twinge of anger. "I want to speak with the person in charge."

  "It's easy to fall into an existential crisis, isn't it?" the tree man replies, ignoring my little temper tantrum. "It's easy to slip into hopelessness when you forget who you are. The big picture is not for you to know at this time; when you let go of your body in death, more may be revealed to you.

  For now it is important to know what you want and need from the earth experience."

  "I want to be able to experience a place as exquisite as this—not one with pine trees dying from diseases caused by toxic chemicals. I want to be able to swim in water that is healing and pure, and not filled with sewage or nuclear waste."

  The little man looks at me with great compassion. He is aware of my pain but does not take it on.

  "I've read books about different dimensions. Have I shifted to a different dimension? Can I shift to one when I am home?"

  "Yes, there are different dimensions. Actually, if you look with nonordinary eyes, you will see another side to those trees you perceive as ill. You will also see a different aspect of your body that you regard as ill. The sickness you are seeing all about you comes through eyes that have not experienced life in a harmonious way. Thus, what you see is mirrored back to you as disharmony. No, I don't think you need to travel to another dimension to see beauty and harmony. What you need to do is alter your perception of yourself as weak, helpless, and ill. You need to remember who you truly are. The states of disease mirrored back to you will then change."

  "How can this be? The bottom line is that trees are dying, animals are becoming extinct, the water is so contaminated I'm afraid to drink it. What are you saying—that if I believe we are all healthy, pure, and perfect, everything will magically change? Do you think I live in la-la land?"

  "I ask you not to judge what I am telling you. Simply try to understand that you are responsible for your life and your health. No doctor is going to cure you of your physical ills. No government official is going to improve your economic situation. No religious leader is going to set your mind at peace. No guru is going to save your soul. It is no longer appropriate to see yourself as a child, for there is no one to take care of you anymore. The capacity to create a good life for yourself is within you.

  "So, step number one: See the problem. Step number two: See yourself as the solution. You singlehandedly made your way out of the darkness of the cave. Not even your mind assisted you. In fact, your mind tried to block your passage with sabotaging thoughts. What were the words you chanted—'The strength of my spirit will carry me through the void? That is a big knowing! You should be very proud of yourself. Rest now, for we will soon be setting forth on a new adventure."

  As I lean against the tree, my eyelids grow heavy and I drift into a dream. About me is tropical forest. The air is wet, and the limbs of the trees are heavy with deep green leaves. This place, too, feels nurturing.

  My frenetic thoughts have come to a standstill. As I walk along enjoying the silence of my unusually quiet mind, I hear voices in the distance. Feeling no danger in this place, I head off in their direction.

  I come to a circle of women. Sitting in the center of the circle is a young Japanese woman who appears to be in her early twenties. She is crying, and surrounding her are about fifteen women of all ages and races. They make room for me to join them. Then the Japanese woman proceeds to share her sadness.

  She comes from my time in history. Apparently, I have stumbled into her dream. How interesting this is, I think to myself.

  She is despondent about the wearing of makeup among older women in Western cultures. And she is horrified that elders are expected to shop and to find ways of surviving on their own. "In my culture," she says, "this season of life is a time for rejoicing, not hiding. An older woman would never wear cosmetics to hide her age; she would be proud that her face showed the wrinkles of time and experience. Nor would she be seen burdened with bags of groceries. Indeed, she would be honored and supported by her community."

  The women in the circle look confused and start to chat among themselves. They speak of women "hiding their age" and "not owning their beauty."

  At this point I join in the discussion. "Women where I come from not only wear makeup but have surgery to reshape portions of their bodies." No one in the circle understands this concept, so I resort to pantomime. I pull my shirt several inches from my breasts, lift my butt, tighten the skin of my face, and make snipping motions at the sides of my thighs.

  The women burst into hysterical laughter.

  "I myself have considered cosmetic surgery," I tell them.

  The comment is met by dead silence. The oldest woman in the group stands up. Set into the aging, wrinkled skin of her face are eyes so joyful my heart wants to burst. She radiates a beauty that women of my time would sell their souls for.

  She walks up to me and asks, "Do you think I am beautiful?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "I think I am beautiful, too," she says. "Do you think you are beautiful?"

  "I'm not sure," I reply. "Sometimes I do, and other times I think I am ugly."

  "Beauty is a state of being," she explains. "If you truly love and respect yourself, you will see that you are perfect as you are. You wouldn't step into a field of flowers and judge which ones are more beautiful than the others. All flowers are unique and beautiful. All animals are unique and beautiful. And all humans are unique and beautiful."

  She continues, more animated now. "But humans have conscious awareness. This has brought them great trouble, because with such a trait comes the ability to think. Oh yes, thinking can be a great gift; but it can be a terrible curse as well, especially when one tries to define beauty.

  "True beauty lives within us. Outer appearances mask this splendor and distract others from our reality. If you love and respect yourself, you will unleash your inner beauty. You will also become cognizant of the beauty of others.

  "The culture you describe is spiritually bankrupt. What you see in the mirror is not real. People who judge you by outer appearances are not being real either."

  She places her hands on my face, holding my chin in her palms. She looks deeply into my eyes as if reading my soul. Then she breaks into a wide smile, baring all her teeth. I get the message from the inside out.

  The women resume their conversation, but their voices and faces fade, for my dream is transporting me to another tropical environment. I am in a one-person canoe paddling down a large river. The sun is high, and the sky strikingly clear. With no clouds blocking the intensity of the heat, I feel the sun filling me, burning brightly in my solar plexus. I am starting to understand that my outer landscape mirrors my inner one.

  The river is carrying me smoothly downstream. Enjoying the journey, I begin to reflect on the notion of magic. I have learned so much recently that I wish I had the power to instantly fulfill my desires, I tell myself. I wish I had more power in my life. The word p
ower catches my attention, reminding me that my little tree man friend would not approve of this line of thinking.

  What does that little guy mean by "illusion"? I ask myself. Is he correct? Could I use the theory of illusion to manipulate my environment? Aha, my mind is up to its old tricks again!

  All of a sudden, the water starts to swirl around me. I concentrate on paddling, for I am caught in rapids and must work hard to keep the canoe afloat. But the rapids overtake my strokes and the boat starts to curve downhill. Here we go, I tell myself.

  What is that up ahead? I wonder. Surely, it's the biggest log I have ever seen. It must be at least fifty feet in diameter. The log, however, springs to life and I see it is a huge snake—an anaconda. She has three heads, all of which are looking threateningly at me. I must have disturbed her sleep, I reason, feeling nervous, as I have never been a fan of snakes.

  The heads start to sway in my direction. A part of me feels revolted, yet another part is fascinated by the beauty and power of this creature. Then the anaconda swings one of her heads close to mine, baring her teeth at me.

  "What do you want?" she hisses. "We are not sure what your intention is."

  "I just want to paddle downriver and find my way back to my friends."

  "That's not what we mean. What do you want? What are the powers you are calling in? You have not been clear in your intention."

  "That's not true! I am a good person," I state, resenting her accusatory tone. "I haven't done anything wrong." My heart is visibly pounding outside my chest.

  She repeats, "You have not been clear in your intention. You have been unaware of the powers you are calling in. Be careful about what you are calling in."

  With this, she turns her head and begins to float gracefully away. As she leaves, she takes the rapids with her, returning the water around me to a state of peace.

  I can't believe that any entity would question my intention and the powers I am calling in, I argue silently. My intention is clear: I want to live a good life and help others if I can. And I am not calling in any powers! I am outraged by the charges flung at me by this being, whoever she may be.

  While I am defending myself to myself, something awakens within me. Its voice is so tiny I can barely hear it. Its counsel, however, is clear: It is advising me to look deeper into the truth of the anaconda's words.

  "I will not!" I shout into the silence.

  I paddle to shore. There I tie up the canoe and, spotting a real log along the riverbank, plunk down on it and begin throwing pebbles into the water. I follow the ripples as they travel outward in ever widening circles. Looking into the river, I see a reflection of clouds starting to form in the sky above. The rippling current passing over these reflections sends me into a trance.

  I see a face taking shape in the water before me. It is the face of a man—a Chinese man. He has an unusually high forehead and his hair is long and white, as is his beard. Having long loved Chinese philosophy, I am excited by the idea of conversing with a Chinese teacher.

  As his features become more clearly defined, the man begins to look familiar to me. Deep in my bones I feel as if I know him. Then his identity becomes evident: This man is Lao-tzu, the celebrated sixth-century b.c. Chinese philosopher.

  His intense eyes stare at me through the water. He says flatly, "You have forgotten everything I taught you." A moment later he disappears.

  I am shocked by this statement. How, I wonder, could I have forgotten anything he taught me? I know him only as an ancient teacher and have never studied his works. I am not having a very good day, I think to myself. I am certainly not responding well to criticism.

  Out of the sky plunges a great golden eagle. In a flash I am caught in his huge claws. Lifting me off the ground, he says, "It is time to detach from all you are involved in. Let's go into the sky for a different perspective."

  He takes me through the clouds and out into the universe, circling several planets. In the distance I see the moon and hear her calling to me. But the eagle continues his ascent.

  Before long we come to another layer of clouds. Soaring through these, we arrive at a place filled with radiant buildings. It looks like a city made of crystal. As we circle the area, I am dazzled by its pastel lighting.

  At last, the eagle begins his descent. He sets me down on soil composed of tiny crystal granules and stands beside me. Facing us is a large temple. This, too, is made of crystal, and bright colors are streaming from its walls. The eagle spreads his wings, and although he departs without saying good-bye, I feel his kindness and love. I'm starting to learn the art of unspoken communication, I tell myself.

  Two figures dressed in white emerge from the temple. They are shaped like humans—one of each gender— though they look more like beams of light. They walk over and introduce themselves.

  "I am Jonathan," says the man.

  "I am Leah," says the woman.

  They each take one of my hands and they say, in unison, "Come, we want to show you something."

  As they lead me off, they seem to float over the terrain. I am so much denser than my two guides that I feel as if I do not belong here. At last we come to a pool fed by waterfalls of light—pastel blues, pinks, yellows, and greens—an exquisite spectacle I would associate with a palace ball. The lights spill over into the pool, which is made of clear quartz crystal dotted with amethysts all the way around.

  I notice that one waterfall is larger than the others and that tucked into it is a slide. "A water slide. How amazing!" I giggle with giddiness. "Joy, joy, joy—that's what is here. Light and joy." How trite, I think, suddenly embarrassed by my emotions.

  "Do you know where we are?" Leah asks, using the same gentle singsong tones as my attendant in the hospital. The voices of Jonathan and Leah are rich with love. Indeed, harmony is integrated into every part of their being.

  "No," I reply. "And to be really truthful, I don't care. I rather enjoy it here."

  Jonathan and Leah both laugh.

  "This is where souls come to be born into bodies," says Jonathan. "Watch. Keep your eyes on the big waterfall."

  I do as I am told and can hardly believe what I see. From above, crystal baskets begin cascading down the slide. Each one is filled to the brim with bouncing balls of light.

  This is all too much for me. I am so lightheaded that I feel drugged.

  "Pure light," Jonathan sings. "These beings are pure light."

  "They are going to be born into human bodies," Leah adds. "That's why you are so elated. You are feeling the vibration of these beings of light preparing to be born into the world below."

  "Boy, are they in for a shock!" The words roll out of my mouth. "Don't they know what they are headed for? Don't they know they are going to be born into a life of suffering and pain?"

  Jonathan looks at me gently and says, "No. They have not forgotten who they are. They are pure light. When one remembers this, there is no suffering or pain. Light does not suffer or know pain. Light knows only light."

  Leah chimes in, "In your time, your parents have forgotten their light. Your parents' parents forgot theirs too. Political upheaval in the country they came from made life very hard. Emigrating to another country and living in the throes of economic depression did not allow time for spiritual pursuits. Hence they have no memory of their origins. Bereft of easy access to these memories, they know only a sense of separation, aloneness. This feeling of isolation can manifest as fear, or often anger. The sad truth is that when you have forgotten who you are, it is hard to care for other bundles of light who come into the world.

  "The earth experience," she adds, "is for remembering who you really are."

  I stare at the beings of light sliding down toward the cloud tunnel leading to the world below. My throat constricts, my heart grows heavy with sadness, and my eyes fill with tears.

  "Good luck!" I call out to them.

  I awake with a jerk. Opening my eyes, I see that I am back at the tree, within yards of the little tree man and the doe.
The forest is asleep, as are my friends. I stretch out on the ground and gaze at the sky, now glistening with billions of stars. I wonder if I've just returned from one of them. Where, I muse, did we go wrong? How did we get so messed up?

  My attention is caught by the first sliver of the new moon. I feel her calling me. But I don't know how to answer.

  In the morning the little tree man spreads out a blanket for us to sit on. Across the center of it he arranges a feast of fruits and berries. He must have gone foraging after I fell back to sleep, I tell myself.

  I watch my two friends with curiosity. They seem to exhibit the same loving energy as Jonathan, Leah, and the first teacher I encountered in the ethereal worlds. Yet, like the elder in the circle of women I met in my dream, this man and doe have a light that is earthed in them.

  Over a delicious breakfast I tell my friends of my nighttime adventures. Their eyes open wide as I describe my confrontation with the three-headed anaconda, my encounter with Lao-tzu, my meeting with Jonathan and Leah, and my grandstand view of new souls sliding into the world.

  "I am somewhat disheartened by my experience in the crystal city," I confess to the tree man. "Although I have had fleeting feelings of pure love in my life, mostly I am caught up in feelings of separation, like those you have described to me. I am prone to fits of jealousy and bouts of anger. Usually it is a silent anger in which I refrain from yelling at the people I'm upset with—but boy, if they only knew what I was thinking. And most days I live in fear of 'what is going to get me next?' How can I remember my light while all these emotions are bubbling up inside me? How can I exhibit compassion and patience if I'm continually on the verge of agitation?

  "I think the anaconda was right—I haven't been clear in my intention. My desires don't always harmonize with my thoughts. I know you are right as well, when you say it is not time for me to get fully in touch with my power. What would I do with it when I forget myself, which happens so easily?"