Angel's Eye. Jean CDN Galliano

      I sit in the stillness recalling certain metaphysical occurrences that I experienced as a child. They frightened me. I was glad I outgrew them, but there is one memory of my grandfather which has never left me. At the time of his death, I dreamed that he was giving me a message for my grandmother. This was particularly unusual because my grandfather only spoke Italian. I never knew what he was saying, but in this dream I understood him with utmost clarity. He gave me a message for my grandmother! He said that he had to go now, but he would wait for her. Then he disappeared through the wall. I realized he was dying.

      I yell, "Mom, answer the phone! Answer the phone!" Catatonically, I repeat that phrase; although, I do not recall dreaming anything about the telephone. These are the words I am saying, "Answer the phone! Answer the phone!”

      My parents could not have known what I trying to express. I woke everyone up.

      "It isn't ringing,” my father answers. My father often consoled me through sleepless, monster-filled, childhood nights. But I was twelve now and over all that. My mother assures me that the phone is not ringing.

      I say, "Pop's dead. He told me he has to go now. He said to tell Mom."

      They look at me then at each other in surprise. "Pop's not dead,” my father says. But I know how Dad will say anything, and even lie to spare me pain. The phone did not ring… at least not until we all calmed down and went back to bed. Then the phone rang. No one could sleep after hearing the news that Pop had died "20 minutes ago."

      ...What holy my thoughts?

      What miracle my feelings?

      "Between these temples"

      I said holding my head,

      "house the Temple of the Lord."

      The Veil is Lifted cont.

      I attempt to sleep once again, but for the third time the mesmeric sound takes me. I am somehow unafraid this time. This does not feel like a dream. My body is asleep, but my mind is somehow still awake. I realize myself like a puff of air, like water moving through stone. I think, “This must be how it feels to die, yet I am conscious.” I hear the words, "You always wanted to know if there was more. This is your chance." Then, making one of the most important choices of my life, I decide to listen to the sound.

      Instantly, my body grows heavy. I am falling fast, at the speed of this sound. I am synchronized with it. I am falling as fast as the sound is growing loud. It is too late for fear. I cannot pull myself out now. I fall for a long time through seemingly endless darkness. In sheer desperation, I abandon myself completely. When I become aware again the air is moving through me. I am descending a mountain. I am a valley mist. My body is a mask, a shield, an illusion, a boundary that my consciousness calls Self. I am as light as light itself. I find myself settling softly on my bed, blissful, rested, and peaceful. The sound fades into a wonderful music. I am soaked by it, borne on each note. The ecstasy of the song dims like a foreign language into forgetfulness. It is only meant for now. I cannot remember even the last note. Once it passes it is gone forever...

      Suddenly, I am aware that someone is standing in the room not far from me. I am not alarmed. I do not want to think for fear of upsetting this delicate union. Yet, I must acknowledge that there is a presence. My eyes are closed, so I am not seeing him. But I can feel, and I know where he is standing. As he is walking towards me, I sense his every position and his every movement. I am only concerned with staying in the euphoria. If the Being is part of this wonder, then he is welcome.

      He sits down beside me and slides something silken across my face. My arms are crossed over my chest. I feel the being touching me, and caressing me like my own mother would. Then, taking hold of my arms, he wraps his fingers around my wrists. I feel firmness and sureness in his action, and I am surprised by his strength. His fingers are warm and alive. I know how a caterpillar feels coming out of a cocoon as he pulls me to a sitting position outside of my body! I do not think or breathe. There is no time. He continues to pull until I am completely free of my flesh. He spins me through the air. It reminds me of a parent at play, spinning a child around and around. When he does this I feel no boundaries or barriers. I pass through doors and walls. The ceiling is as transparent as the sky. I know where I am in this newfound darkness. I pass two tiny blue lights, they are guardian angels. Then, I am promptly thrashed into the chest of my sleeping self. It hurt like someone hit me. I awake with a gasp to the early morning bird song.

      In the months to come, the direction and focus of my life would completely alter. How can I deny the reality of this experience? To do so would be denying my sanity. Innocent and full of wonder, I talk with as many people as will listen. I receive a spectrum of reaction. Some people encourage me with titles of books, names of Divas, rites to perform, or which color candles to burn. Some dismiss me as they do their own dreams. Some search between the words for the hidden meanings and have meetings to discuss their philosophical findings.

      In my conversations, I hear all kinds of superstitious and stupendous stories about ghosts, gods, and goblins. There is much speculation. Ultimately, I feel alone. I write poetry and keep diaries to purge myself… confess my dreams.

      to take time wanting

      spend time dreaming

      time time conversing

      to weave time needing

      searching time weeding

      ‘way the no goods

      leaves you little

      time to be and

      actually breathe

      your loneliness

      ...or what there…

      The Priest

      One day while sitting in a diner waiting for a train, I notice a young priest. The diner is small and crowded. The man sitting on the stool next to me gets up and gives his place to the priest. Desperate for understanding, I am compelled to talk with him.

      I confront the priest. I ask him which types of occurrences are considered religious experience. I relate my story, giving as much detail as I can fit into three cups of tea and a bagel.

      I recall how the mental impressions of my dreaming create physical sensations. These sensations include my body growing more and more huge or dense, and the feeling of my spirit splitting through my skin.

      I spoke of the Presence. Not of the sight or sound of it, but of the new perception acquired, like a new sense, to distinguish it. I also spoke of how the being or spirit depended on the acceptance of my will and curiosity to continue. I have to choose to accept communication, the communion.

      I say to him, "I have found myself awake inside of dreams. I hear voices speaking profound verse. I am visited by beings. And, of course, there is the sound, the call..."

      I thought i heard Jesus

      i thought i heard.

      but