

All and Nothing

A Memoir of Self-Realization

by

Oday Kingsavanh

In search to understand the world, I found myself.

Published by Oday Kingsavanh at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Oday Kingsavanh

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents

Dedication

Introduction

Part One: Inquiry

Chapter 1: The Question

Chapter 2: Self-Reflection

Chapter 3: Going Crazy

Chapter 4: Spiritual Events

Chapter 5: Observation

Chapter 6: First Mindfulness Experience

Chapter 7: Metaphysical

Part Two: Healing

Chapter 8: Vishnu

Chapter 9: Unknown Pain

Chapter 10: Shiva

Chapter 11: Excruciating Pain

Chapter 12: Who I Had Been

Chapter 13: White Horses

Chapter 14: My Grandfather

Part Three: Transformation

Chapter 15: Jesus

Chapter 16: I Am the Author

Chapter 17: From One to Many

Chapter 18: Being Buddha

Chapter 19: Letting Go

Chapter 20: Acceptance

Chapter 21: All is an Illusion

Chapter 22: I Never Left

Chapter 23: The Return
Part Four: Enlightenment

Chapter 24: Giant

Chapter 25: There is No Other

Chapter 26: Nothingness

Chapter 27: The Awakening

Acknowledgements

Dedication

To readers,

I sincerely thank you, for reading this book. I hope that you'll find deeper understanding of yourself and existence beyond what has been taught to you by your teachers, parents, churches, temples, and so on. After I endured such transformation, and attained total self-realization, all that I deeply desire was to share the experiences through which I had gone, with everyone.

Following three months of fully realizing who I was, I wasn't able to sleep well. I tossed and turned writing in my head day and night, for almost a month until I put it into writing. After 4 years of writing, re-writing, editing, re-editing, I am finally done with the book.

This gift is from my heart, the breath of my soul, so you too could come to realize and understand yourself much deeper, if you choose. I'd like to share this enlightenment, this perfection with you all.

With my all,

Oday Kingsavanh

Introduction

Is it possible to become enlightened? Can ordinary, everyday people like you and I become like Buddha, Jesus, or the Dalai Lama?

According to Buddhist traditions, enlightenment means to awaken or attain ultimate self-realization. This book invites you to join me on my journey toward wisdom, awareness, healing, and most difficult of all, facing myself.

My journey to grasp absolute reality commenced when I questioned the meaning and mystery of life at an early age, but it would become a quest in my adult years after my life took an unexpected turn. It was at the end of a tumultuous relationship that I began practicing meditation to deepen my understanding of my own subconscious. As I delved deeply into my inner world and healed suppressed emotions from a painful childhood, I discovered that more surprises about life, death, and creation were in store. As I journeyed on, I became fearful and I hesitated to step further into the unknown after guides from beyond showed me heartbreaking scenes where my mother hurt me, causing unbearable psychological pain. I discovered that I had done this before, in previous lifetimes, wherein I was to explore realms beyond the physical. I needed the courage to be one with my fears and to embrace the changes that were taking place before my life transformed in ways that I could never have imagined. Often, the answers to life's mysteries unraveled in a manner that my human mind could not grasp. I had no idea that such an inquiry would haunt an ordinary woman like me, born in a "civilized" country such as Laos and growing up in a low-income neighborhood of America. Yet, my heart was deeply impelled to search for answers.
Part One: Inquiry

Chapter 1: The question

It was winter of 2012, a few weeks into the New Year, and I was eager to write. I wanted to share the experiences of reaching total self-realization that began past fall. Due to this consuming desire, I slept fitfully for many nights. Once I had composed in my head what I wanted to offer to the reader, I was compelled to put it in writing. During a cold winter month, I sat in a warm, comfortable seat, in front of a fireplace, at a small coffee shop, eager to start writing. I asked the coffee shop staff to warm up my muffin again so I could spread butter on it for a taste that melts in the mouth. Silently, I hoped that the staff didn't mind a pregnant woman with many strange cravings requesting a simple favor. The staff kindly accommodated my request. And so, I began writing.

I was born in Savannakhet, Laos in 1972. When I was approximately seven or eight years old, my sister took me across the border to Thailand to reunite with my father and mother in a refugee camp. There were so many awful stories about crossing the border that I almost wet my pants when it was our turn to cross. Despite the end of the Vietnam War, travel between neighboring countries like Laos was still unsafe. Instead of getting on the boat right away, we had to be interviewed by a soldier to ensure that we didn't cross without consent. There were rumors that the punishment for crossing without permission was death, and that, many times, women trying to cross without permission were raped and killed. I had also heard that people would sometimes fall off the boat to be eaten by alligators, or drown in the Mekong River while attempting to swim across to the other side. Before it was our turn to obtain an approval, my sister had prepped me to cough and shake so that I would appear to be physically ill in order to have an easier time getting over to Thailand to seek medical attention. Fortunately, we didn't encounter any difficulties, and the soldier even urged my sister to take me promptly to the hospital once we arrived in Thailand.

Living in a refugee camp in Thailand was refreshing, especially because we were not hearing about the Vietnam War from the adult villagers and family members who went through it. In school, I found it challenging trying to catch up due to my brief attendance at school in Laos. As a consequence of not being able to write or count in Thai, those of us who were not able to perform the lessons had to stand on one leg in front of the other students. My parents, like most refugees, didn't have much money, so we made do with whatever was available. We lived in one large room in an old, dusty building with three or four other families. The room had no barrier to separate us from the others living in the same building, or even the people living directly across from us in a separate building, so there was no privacy. Our family lived there for quite a while, waiting to be interviewed, so we could come to America.

With much relief, after a lengthy wait to go to the land of the free, we settled in a poor part of Rockford, Illinois in 1983. We didn't speak English and had hardly any money, so my parents took factory jobs to make ends meet. My parents wanted my sister and I to study hard in order to find professions that would provide us with good lives. They were just like many Asian parents who put too much pressure on their children to succeed in school. So, I studied regularly to excel. Unlike many obedient Laotian teenagers, however, I was not so good at following rules, which created much tension between my mother and I, and my teenage years were full of conflicts and problems because of this. My mother passed away in 1996.

During high school, my dedication to being a good student paid off. I achieved honor roll for many semesters, so my parents rewarded me with gifts of money. However, I burned out in my senior year and was fortunate to receive a passing grade in some of my classes. Finally, after graduating from high school, I furthered my education at college and obtained a BS in Psychology and subsequently worked for a couple of years in the field. Then, I decided to pursue an MA in Counseling Psychology. Eventually, after a long hard grind, I graduated with a doctorate degree in Counselor Education and Supervision.

One day, when I was about three or four years old, I walked to a nearby village in Laos with my grandfather, who, at the time, had not made the decision to become a Buddhist monk. He chose that path many years after I left Laos. It was morning and the hot sun was still kind and did not harass us on our travel. After walking for many miles along a dusty road, I felt a little tired and lost motivation to walk any farther. Besides, I was still fatigued from walking countless miles the day before when me and my older siblings had taken care of the farm animals from dawn until sunset. We didn't own a car, so walking was the only option. I remember always having to walk from place to place, but sometimes, we'd get lucky and travelers would allow us to hop on their trucks for part of the way. Unfortunately, we hadn't seen one that day. I longed for one to come by because we were strolling on bare feet and the morning sun was becoming hot.

Eventually, we arrived at our destination and my grandfather asked me to wait downstairs in his friend's hut until he finished with his agenda. Most other kids were out watching farm animals, so I didn't see anyone with whom to play while lingering. My grandfather didn't tell me why he had come to this particular village, it could be that I was too young to understand adults' business, but I had been here before with older siblings. Later in the morning, when it was time to head back, my grandfather decided to take a shorter route, so we walked through a dry farm to get to a road that offered more shade. My grandfather walked fast because he wanted to get back before late afternoon, but I was dragging behind. Just as I had almost caught up with my dear grandfather, I decided to stop and stood under the shade of a big tree to observe my surroundings. As I looked at the dry farm, trees, sun, and bushes, I deeply wondered if there was more than this physical life I was living. I felt bored and a little sad thinking about the physical forms in front of my eyes and I was profoundly interested in knowing what was beyond it all.

After that day, I didn't question life's mysteries again until my late-teens. One night, as I waited in a slow line at a fast food drive-thru, that feeling of boredom and sadness returned. Unsure why I would do such a thing, I lifted my right arm, looked at it, then looked at the cars in front of me and wondered if it was all real. I remember sitting in the car feeling lost, not having answers for the questions that gnawed at me.

My family considered me defiant of the traditions and rules that the Laotian community so valued. A couple of times, my mother had told me that I made my own rules. On many occasions, during dinner, she had let me know that I didn't listen to her and my father. At times, my behavior embarrassed her, especially in public and in front of her friends. In many ways, I felt left out of the family and the Laotian community.

It wasn't until my mid-thirties that I next questioned the mysteries of life. One day, I read something about humans being a force. The author was trying to open my mind to an alternative understanding; he suggested that "I" consisted of a mind, a body, and, perhaps, a soul. I was confused, and, when I thought too much about this, I experienced tension headaches. After some reflection, I rushed to the bathroom to look at my hair, face, and arms. I wondered what was holding my physical body together. Was it true that I had a soul? Was I a force? Who was I really? I began to think that there was more to me than merely my body. I became more interested in spirituality than ever before. Up to this point, I hadn't seriously asked questions about a soul or spirit. It could be because my goals, and my youth, distracted me so much that I never truly paid attention to deeper things about life. This, despite often attending church services during my teenage years. Pastors at church had talked and preached about it, but I wasn't able to grasp it conceptually, so I lost interest. My main focus was on obtaining a good education, locating a desirable position in my field, and being with friends. I was too busy exploring fun activities and seeking a healthy relationship that could potentially lead to a lifelong commitment. I was living life ignorant of the world outside myself.

Chapter 2: Self-Reflection

After ending an unhappy relationship in my mid-thirties, I felt strongly motivated to gain a deeper understanding of who I was. So, I became an avid reader and took the time to observe myself both inwardly and outwardly. Once the relationship had ended, my goal was to find a healthier one and to attract positive people into my life. I also wanted to be a competent and effective therapist to assist my clients with their obstacles. One way to do so was to have better insight and comprehension into who I was. My philosophy was, the more I understood myself, the more I would understand others.

When I took time to self-reflect, I gained considerable awareness of my past relationships and why I was attracted to certain types of men. The personalities of some of the guys I had dated were apparently not healthy for me. One serious relationship in particular reminded me of the chaotic one I'd had with my mother before she passed away. Following a careful analysis of my circumstances, I made an effort to seek additional understanding from another therapist.

Therapy sessions helped me better understand the painful relationship I'd had with my mother and it healed my lack of confidence, something I'd had all my life. My mother and I had fought on many levels, from how I should think, to the proper way to act and talk. It had been difficult for her to handle me as a teenager. Our relationship had been dreadful because I was headstrong and wanted to live my life on my own terms. I had often thought about running away from home, but didn't know where to go for shelter. To get away from the unhappy environment, I would spend time with my friends. While hanging out with them, I never wanted to come back home.

Fortunately, my knowledge of psychology was put to good use. Having such a tremendous desire to know myself, I didn't hesitate to convert what I had learned into actions. I consistently made an effort to learn different ways of perceiving the situations that I found myself in and to make sense of them. Then, I heard about meditation and how it could help deepen self-understanding, clear my mind, and enhance my concentration. I was ready to explore; however, my true interest, initially, was to impress a guy.

The man I admired, whom I was trying to impress, was very spiritual. He was all about knowing and understanding himself in every aspect. Spirituality was a new territory. It appeared strange at first, but I was open to listening when someone wanted to discuss the subject. While getting to know this person, I bought a couple of books on meditation, mainly to get him to like me. Unfortunately, the relationship didn't turn out the way I had hoped. As a result, I ended up with heartache and a pile of books I thought I might never use again. Sometimes I wondered how people had the patience to meditate and practice yoga. I certainly didn't think I could meditate because I was too impatient and had a hard time being still and focused. I thought quieting my mind and being in silence was all a waste of time. I remember my rising irritability during a Pilate's class when I had to slow down and breathe. I had considered ending it early to go run on the treadmill instead. However, continually hearing about meditation from friends and the media persuaded me to try it once more.

The first time I meditated, it felt like I had traveled to different countries and regions. Many times, though, I would just daydream. Usually, I thought about how I wanted my career and love life to take a positive turn. If images entered my mind that didn't spark my interest, I would push them away. In some instances, I forgot I was meditating. Although I wasn't very good at meditating, I continued to work on it. I purchased additional instructional books to learn more about different meditation techniques, however, they were useless when I closed my eyes and my mind automatically wandered.

One day, plagued with doubts and insecurities about work and personal relationships, I became extremely emotional. Why did I always seem to end up in the same situations, and why was I unable to find a relationship that could turn into marriage? Moreover, I couldn't openly share my ideas with my supervisors without repercussions. I decided to meditate. This time, I was open for anything to surface and I wouldn't push it away.

As I settled into the meditation, I saw myself lying down in a farmhouse. It was very similar to one that I had seen alongside the freeway when I had gone to visit friends in the city. The room was bare, with no bed, no pictures, and no rug. There was only a very small, old pillow for my head. The floor was wooden, gray, and old. As I lay there observing the room, I had the feeling that it was a place for me to come to rest, where I could gain a deeper understanding of myself. I didn't understand the significance of the farmhouse until later, when I realized the connection to the farm where I grew up in Laos. My favorite times with my family were back then when we spent the night at our farmhouse, watching over the rice fields to ensure no wild animals destroyed them. The farmhouse represented a place of familiarity and comfort.

Meditation took a new route, but, surprisingly, I found myself in emotional turmoil again. After a hectic day at work, I received an unfavorable text message from a guy friend who told me he didn't want to be more than friends. This broke my heart. I didn't understand why this man, with whom I was head over heels, rejected me. After many hours feeling sorry for myself, I wanted to know why I seemed prone to encounter such similar situations over and over. So, I meditated. As soon as my eyes closed, I saw myself with my mother, grandmother (who had passed away shortly after my mother died), and Jesus, in a carriage outside the farmhouse. It appeared that we were going to go somewhere, but because I wasn't able to stop crying, kicking, and screaming, we didn't venture anywhere. My mother and grandmother did their best; they hugged me, touched my face, and held me in their arms to quiet me, but it didn't work. I continued to be hysterical. Finally, Jesus stopped the carriage to come and help them. He held my feet together, so I would stop kicking, while my grandmother and mother held me down. Moments later, I calmed down. When I opened my eyes from the meditation, I was weeping and felt physically exhausted, which helped me fall asleep.

A church had sponsored our family when we came to America and we had converted to Christianity a few months after we moved to Rockford, Illinois. I had attended church with my family every Sunday until I went to college. The first time I'd heard about Jesus was from a missionary living in a nearby village in Laos. I was five years old, lying around the house with my late grandmother, who worshiped spirits. It had seemed like a fictional story at the time, and I was keen to listen. After hearing about him, I had been curious about who he really was. During their sermons, pastors told me about how good Jesus was and I felt close to him. To witness his presence in my meditations was truly fortunate.

A few times, while meditating, I saw myself tend to, and ride, horses. I found this relaxing, tranquil, and free, especially after a stressful day. Often, at the horse farm, I attempted to understand emotions that resurfaced from work and personal relationships that had failed. Although I had put a lot effort into it, my last relationship had ended with heartache and pain, which brought loneliness and humiliation. When I had been myself, it hadn't sparked his interest. When I'd tried to be someone different, it hadn't made a difference. To heal my wounds, I tried to remember when I felt most rejected. After reflecting for a few minutes, I recalled as a teenager that I had felt deeply unwanted by my mother. She used to tell me that no man would want to date me because I was horrible. I was horrible at obeying my father, my mother, cooking, and following Laotian traditions. Many times, when I had expressed my thoughts and opinions, she would make me feel low and stupid, and I was left feeling disowned.

I remember when I was about four or five years old, I was traumatized when my mother left me behind with the rest of my family. She had taken only my youngest sister to Thailand to be with my father. He had left the country to live in a refugee camp in Thailand so he could go to America. I desperately wanted to go with my mother and youngest sister, but I was left crying hysterically in the arms of my grandparents. I watched my mother hold my sister's hand, walk away, and not look back. My heart filled with deep sorrow for many days and I often refused to join my family for lunch at the rice field. Before bedtime, I would look at the road from the front porch to see if my mother had returned for me. I would ask my grandparents if she was coming back, but they chose to stay silent. So, for a long time, I would look out from the porch, yearning for one of my parents to return to be with me or to take me with them.

In one of my meditations, I saw Jesus carrying a little girl on his shoulders. It didn't take place at the farmhouse, but at the village of my childhood where I used to fish, swim, and play with my older siblings. As I took a closer look, I realized the little girl was me. Instantly, my spirit was uplifted. But, just as quickly, I relived the scene where I was left behind. I felt the same feelings of rejection when my mother had walked on, holding my sister's hand, without looking back. After witnessing this, I remembered why my mother had to leave me, and why she only took my sister. The Vietnam War was over, but it was still unsafe to cross the border from Laos to Thailand. But, at the time, I didn't fully comprehend my mother's plan, not until I was much older. My therapist and I had worked on abandonment issues and thought that these were fully reconciled. It seemed that I needed to understand the pain once more, so I could move on. I felt more secure by understanding my pain, so I returned to the meditation where Jesus was holding me as a little girl. It made me very happy to witness the glow on the girl's face as she rode on Jesus' shoulders. Afterward, Jesus and the girl climbed onto the carriage. I was unsure of the destination. Eventually, I came to understand the reason that I kept falling into unhealthy relationships.

I no longer daydreamed or fell asleep much during meditation as I had initially. Perhaps, it was because I had made a conscious choice to be more open and to allow anything to happen. One day during meditation, I saw myself playing with children. Jesus was relaxing on a hammock under a lush, green tree. A little while later, I walked toward Jesus, sat down, and placed my head on his lap to give thanks and to feel his loving presence. Suddenly, I saw someone nearby and looked up. The man sat in a meditative pose, wearing a yellow robe. He held one hand in front of his chest and his hair was pulled up in a bun. I wasn't quite sure who he was and pushed the image away. I wasn't as open as I thought I was. Moments later, the image appeared again. Once more, I dismissed it. But, I became curious. Was this Buddha, or just a Buddhist monk? The image was a bit blurry because I turned my head away so speedily. Odd as it may sound, I wasn't interested in anyone other than Jesus. I was a Christian and had been taught that God was a jealous God. However, from then on, the image consistently appeared and it was difficult to keep pushing it away. Strangely, in the midst of it all, I dreamed of seeing Buddha statues lying, sitting, and standing. Fortunately, in my dream, I was more open, and when I awoke, I felt much calmer.

As I continued with work and daily meditation, it seemed that I was becoming more and more detached and dispirited than I had ever been. Perhaps, through meditation, I was re-experiencing emotional pains from childhood and the sadness of not being in a desirable relationship. It didn't help that many friends and co-workers were engaged or in promising relationships. In many respects, that made me feel left out. Many men were scared away by my strangeness, or I unconsciously chose to behave differently to fend them off. Deep down, I was not ready to be in a relationship and share myself with someone, mainly because I didn't want to be responsible for making someone else happy. Of course, I was also fearful that, being who I was, I wouldn't be enough for the other person. In addition, I didn't have much desire to go out and interact with others, and I had not made any effort to do so.

This loneliness drove me to think deeply about life. It wasn't helpful when a couple of friends and family members asserted that I was socially inept. They pointed out that I didn't know how to sit properly at the dinner table during family gatherings or on dates. It wasn't that I lacked proper manners, or that I didn't know the social rules and norms. The main issue was that I didn't find fulfillment being like everyone else. Conforming to society's ideals and standards didn't produce happiness and joy, but rather, it induced agony and despair. The more I made an effort to be like others, the more lifeless I became. Even so, such comments still affected me negatively. They made me doubt myself more than before. I started to question whether the way I perceived things was very different to others' perceptions.

Day by day, I became unhappy and empty inside. I didn't understand why there wasn't yet a grave with my name written on it. In a few months, I would be 36 years old and I still did not have clear direction in life. At the same time, I had saved no money for the future, unlike other people I knew. Sharing alternative views seemed to make others uncomfortable, and I got into trouble many times for doing so. To find comfort, I read many philosophical and spiritual books. I was quite surprised that some of them shared my own perspectives.

Chapter 3: Going Crazy

A new meditation featured a scene where I was caught by a hideous, greenish, one-eyed monster living in a green, dirty swamp. I struggled to get away, but was unable to escape. When I opened my eyes, I was puzzled. Why was there a monster appearing in my meditation? It didn't make sense. I hoped I would never see the creature again. But, it showed up uninvited the next day. As before, I fought to escape its captivity, but couldn't. The third time I saw myself captured by it, I fought even harder, but again, I was unable to. Persistently being captured by the hideous monster in the swamp, and not understanding the message behind it, left me feeling awkward. I began to wonder if I was going out of my mind. Perhaps, I was hallucinating or having a psychotic episode. My isolation was worse than ever. I experienced uncertainty about everything. One night, I thought about why I had such a hard time fitting in with others. I remembered times when elderly people and professors had told me that I was wise for my age. I wondered if my wisdom segregated me from others. In need of clarity and support, I saw my therapist.

She asked, "Do you feel like you can't tell what's real any longer?"

I answered, "I'm unsure what reality is."

I left the office feeling even more out of touch with 'reality' and I was truly concerned that I really was losing my mind. Reality seemed blurry and vague. With increasing doubts and insecurities, I rarely came out of my bedroom to interact with my roommates. I didn't want them to think I wasn't well. A couple of friends and a family member went on to say that I was different. One day my sister told me, for the second time, "You are socially inept. You're clueless and don't even know how to sit properly at the family table." I didn't argue with her and silently walked to my room. It didn't make sense to me. Why was sitting with my legs crossed amongst family inappropriate? We had different perspectives and it wasn't fruitful for me to persuade anyone, even family, to understand my views. Strangely, I felt deeply awkward around others. One day at work, I thought that maybe I was like the psychiatric clients that I served. A few times, I even thought about going to a psychiatric hospital to get an evaluation. Maybe they could help.

Despite feeling out of touch with reality, I continued to question other aspects of life, such as God and religion. I was more motivated than ever to know everything and anything about life. So, on weekends and weeknights, I stayed home to evaluate the existence of it. My therapist had informed me a couple of times, not to think so much. She encouraged me to relax my mind, but I couldn't adhere to her advice. It didn't matter if I was driving, eating, taking a shower, or even conversing with others, I thought deeply about life. I thought about sins, universe, death, and creation. If I were to disobey God, would He really send me to hell? Then, I thought about my clients' emotional and physical sufferings, which led them to do dreadful things. It would break my heart to think how unfair it was to them that God lacked mercy and sent them to burn in fire for disobeying Him. It didn't make sense that they should suffer more than they already had. The pain and grief that they experienced was already hell. Many ideas that I'd been taught about heaven and hell didn't seem to align with what I'd observed and examined, which brought more confusion and questions. The more I inquired, the further I strayed. This pushed me to understand existence on my own through reading, observation, and life experiences. To help relax my mind, I took hot baths every night, and, sometimes, twice a day on weekends.

In one of my therapy sessions, my therapist assured me that I wasn't going out of my mind. She told me that the views I had about life were pretty solid. She genuinely appeared to admire my intelligence. She further suggested that I try to find people with similar interests and perspectives with whom to associate, so I could flourish. Her kindness and caring motivated me to understand deeper the many different aspects of life and to foster a better understanding of myself. She was the only person, at the time, who understood me and the books I was reading. The more I shared with her, the more she was impressed. She recommended that I write a book about my experiences, as well as my thoughts on life, because it would help many people. Shocked by her suggestion, I fell silent. I had never been interested in writing, nor had I ever thought of myself as a good writer. In school, my research papers had to be corrected and proofread many times before turning them in to professors. So, I responded, "I suck at writing. There is no way I will ever write!"

Before I began to meditate this time, I knew I was going to see the monster again. I thought about giving love to it, to see how it would respond. As soon as I closed my eyes, there it was: the awful, gigantic demon holding me prisoner within its long, ugly arms. I did not move or struggle as I had many times in the past. I chose to remain calm. Then, silently, with my eyes closed, I projected my positive and loving energy toward it. I fearlessly put my head on its arm. One thing about which I was sure was that I had a lot of compassion that I could give to it, similar to the way I had given to my clients. My clients, even those with the most difficult problems, often expressed gratitude for the kindness I extended to them. To my surprise, the creature slowly shrank to a smaller and smaller size until finally I was released. I walked, with slimy clothes, out of the misty swamp, but, unfortunately, I then found myself standing in front of a long tightrope, high above the ground.

The tightrope was loose and unsteady. It was approximately 150 ft. long with little noisy buckets attached underneath, from start to finish. I knew I had to make the rope taut in order to walk across it safely. It was hopeless. I tried numerous ways to make it firm and stable, without success. Then I tried to walk across hoping it would remain still, but I failed, and had to take several steps back and start again. Finally, I realized that I needed to understand the chaos inside me in order to walk smoothly to the other end. The fears, anxieties, and doubts I had about myself, which I'd carried with me most of my life, needed to be healed. When I was not meditating, I evaluated and examined my thoughts and actions, so that I could understand them clearly. At the same time, I continued going to therapy to enhance my understanding of the underlying causes of the afflictions that hindered my growth. Then, because I did not give up, I eventually made it to the other end of the rope. I told myself to take risks, and that, if I fell, I wasn't going to die, despite the height of the rope. As my confidence grew, I was able to ride a bike across the rope, without holding on to the handlebars. I was able to walk, ride, and even hop to get to the other side of the rope without fear.

The feeling of being awkward gradually subsided and I felt more in tune with myself and with others. I was not as doubtful of myself and my experiences during meditation. It was productive and helpful to continue reading Lao-Tzu, Nietzsche, and Rumi (to name a few). The enjoyment of reading and having similar perspectives to these philosophers empowered me to be more of who I was. Many times, I wrote down inspirational quotes from the books to remind me to look at difficult situations from different angles, in order to continue growing. The more I chose to perceive things differently, the more I experienced things anew.

Chapter 4: Spiritual Events

Approximately two months after I questioned reality, I met a new friend, who happened to practice meditation. I started going to spiritual talks and events regularly with her for a little while. She didn't live in my town, but she did live near the spiritual center we were attending, so I drove over to meet her there. I also met a couple of people at the spiritual events who seemed to be open to many of the things that life has to offer. Following a spiritual discourse, they asked whether I felt guilty about going to spiritual events instead of a church service. With a smile I said, "Yes and no." They reassured me that it was normal for people who came from different religious backgrounds to feel little guilt. Deep inside, I did feel guilty, nervous, and apprehensive about the new road I was exploring. The guilt derived from thinking that I was not showing devotion toward God and that I was deviating from him to seek another. My new friends and I got to know one another a lot more during lunch before they mentioned a third eye meditation and asked if I was familiar with it.

They continued to talk about the third eye and how to practice it, and vaguely discussed the different levels of experiences in meditation, about which I had never heard. They told me that the master, or guru, could help clear up my confusion about these different stages. I listened with much interest and wanted to learn more. After listening to them for a while, I had doubts as to whether I was practicing meditation correctly. I had little awareness about third eye meditation and it sounded interesting. When I came home, I quickly researched and practiced it for the first time using a direction sheet I had found on the Internet. It wasn't much fun; I developed a headache afterwards, and more headaches every time I tried.

At the next spiritual event, I informed my friends that I'd had a difficult time practicing third eye meditation and, as a result, I was developing headaches. I demonstrated the method I'd been using, and, to my astonishment, they started laughing. They told me to look straight ahead and not to roll my eyes upward to look at my forehead. I must have misunderstood the directions, or the information was unclear. However, I was happy to have clarification, so I could start practicing it properly. They then inquired on my thoughts about life and I humbly shared. They said, "You seem to be more of a spiritual person than a Christian," which made me laugh, and I was glad to finally become closely acquainted with others of similar interests.

One day at a bookstore, I found spiritual books and read the whole series within weeks. On weekends and weeknights, I stayed home to read rather than go out with friends. The remarkable points made in the books helped me feel reassured that I was not crazy, strange, or different. It seemed that I had known them all along, which I found to be wildly unexpected. Despite feeling some sense of uncertainty and doubts about myself, which I'd had for most of my life, things started to connect. Sometimes, I became impatient and wanted to heal parts of myself that were still in pain, but I understood that deep wounds needed time. It seemed that the books understood me more than the people who were close to me and, ironically, I did not feel sad about it. As a matter of fact, I began to feel more confident about what I knew, and realized once again that I wanted more from life than I'd been taught to expect. Spirituality seemed to grasp my full attention and it felt like something for which I had been yearning all along. Although I went through a period where I thought I was out of touch with reality, it turned out to be an inspiring part of my life that gave me strength to follow my heart. When I heard comments such as, "she is different", or, "bizarre", I welcomed them with a smile. Such comments became motivators for me to know and understand myself, and life, even more deeply.

After approximately two months of going to the spiritual center, I continued to hear similar advice, that I needed assistance from the master to get through the different planes of meditation. Also, people were not open to sharing their own personal experiences with one another. I tried to accept it as part of the center's rules, although I didn't agree. Then, one night after a spiritual talk, a couple of friends gathered around the table discussing their thoughts on the spiritual topic we had just heard. It was an opportunity for me to gain insights regarding my meditation experiences, so I decided to jump in. It was not a surprise, however, that everyone then became quiet. To lighten things up a little bit, I said to a female friend sitting next to me, "Look at that guy. He's really cute."

Surprisingly, she reacted by saying, "You need to focus on your path and not be distracted. You are lost."

I replied, "Well, I enjoy whatever is around me. I can't be serious all the time. Don't you have to be lost in order to be found?"

Frankly, I didn't realize that I was on some sort of path, which might be why her comment took me by surprise. She looked at me and replied, "You are right."

I continued to feel frustrated regarding the situation. Fortunately, I did finally manage to find a couple of people who were open and we shared our experiences with one another. I was relieved because I believe that when we openly disclose our experiences, we can learn from one another, enhancing our understanding of both ourselves and others. This belief probably stems from my background in therapy. When clients disclosed their thoughts and feelings, they found it therapeutic, not only for themselves, but for others as well.

However, once more, I declined to seek the master's help to get through the dark plane, mainly due to lacking confidence in myself and being too embarrassed to inquire, but a small part of me believed that I could get through it without assistance from him. I wanted to find my own ways, and I did not want him to see through my insecurities. It was frightening, but somehow I got through it. The dark plane was the opposite of my experience when I first started practicing third eye meditation.

The first couple of times I practiced, I saw nothing, but a dim air in front of me. Then, one night, I saw a small blue wavy aurora that got bigger when I went closer to it. From there, the fun and excitement began, including traveling down tubes similar to time/space wormholes. After going down one tube, I went down many others. Sometimes, there were three of them branching out in front of me as I slid down one, which made it difficult to decide. Subsequently, it landed me right next to the moon. My eyes were wide and my jaw dropped. The next thing I knew, I was next to the stars and all the beautiful planets. They were so big, and brilliantly enhanced. Many times, I wanted to reach out to touch them, but I was too afraid. I was so in awe of everything I saw.

In the following meditation, I found myself in the land of fairies. They were so captivating, I didn't want to leave. I was envious of their wings, that they could fly anywhere they pleased. There were fireflies, lush trees, and blooming flowers everywhere. Their homeland seemed so magical and happy that I tried to come back during the next meditation, but I couldn't. The next whirl tube took me to the vast ocean where I swam freely with dolphins and other beautiful ocean creatures. It was hard to believe that I was able to breathe under the water, and the friendly sea beings didn't seem to notice me. Then, I found myself flying in the sky looking down upon the Great Wall of China, glittering with so many different lights. There were crowds of people, all colorfully lit up, walking in the same direction, and I was enchanted. Sometimes, the meditation took half an hour and, at times, it was two hours, although it never seemed more than five minutes.

The next meditation featured me meeting with the father of the spiritual center's master, who was a guru himself when he was alive. The current master seemed very genuine and loving to the people he guided. However, I wasn't open for him to assist me. I didn't realize that the guru in my meditation was his father until I read one of the brochures about the master's mission one evening. I was surprised to see his pictures and a little story about him and to learn about what he had done when he was alive. I felt connected to him, so I cut out his little black and white picture and put it in my room.

Initially, I didn't know who he was, and I did not ask. All I knew was that I felt a tremendous loving energy coming from him, which was enough. He was in his mid-seventies, wearing a white outfit with a white turban on his head. We sat and talked for a while before he suggested that I go back into the past with him and, at first, I hesitated. Then, reluctantly, I agreed. Suddenly, we were riding into the past on the back of a flying dragon. The sky was a little dark, which made it hard to clearly see the trees below, especially as they were also covered with fog. Before we traveled farther, we made a stop at a place where people built their houses within walls of stone. There was a deep valley dividing the two stone walls with big trees on each side. I was unsure of the era, but I had a sense that it was Medieval. With no particular reason, I walked to a house and knocked on the door. I was taken aback when my mother answered and invited me to come in while the guru waited outside. It was strange, as well as uncomfortable for me, so I refused to sit down when she made a gesture for me to take a seat.

Before she went on to say more, I asked, "Are you happy here?"

"Yes, I am," she readily replied.

I turned around, about to leave, and she asked, "Can you come back to visit me here?"

"I will."

Until I came out of meditation, I hadn't realized how much I still missed my mother. It had been a long time since I'd last visited her grave. I went back to see her a few times in meditation, especially when I didn't feel balance in my personal life. Then, I decided that I didn't want to go back into the past. There was nothing that I wanted to see. The guru urged me to do so, but I persistently refused. Unfortunately, after my refusal, I no longer saw him in my meditation, no matter how hard I tried. I called out his name, but there was no answer. Fortunately, I saw him again after a while, waiting by at a beautiful island, and I hurried to greet him. Then, I saw another boat approaching. When it finally arrived at the spot where we were standing, I realized it was the master of the spiritual center.

"Get on the boat with him, he will help you," said the guru.

"No," I replied. I saw the master reach out his hand to assist me, but I refused.

"No, I'm not going to go." And, immediately, I opened my eyes.

Again, the guru was waiting for me at the island in the following meditation. He urged me to get into the boat with his son and, for the second time, I declined. Then, suddenly, I was in space, surrounded by a brilliant group of stars. I was in a galaxy far from earth, overjoyed. I did not look around to see if the guru was with me. I traveled from one galaxy to another, capturing all the beauty of the cosmos. It was beyond belief how perfect the universe was. Soon, I was flying above the clouds, lying under the falling leaves of a beautiful, golden tree in a golden forest. Next, I was among cherry blossoms, their magnificent flowers falling from the branches onto my face as I lay on the ground with my arms open. Then, for a whole week, every time I meditated, I was in the soul plane, where everyone said they loved one another. There was no physical body there, simply auras. I could sense if a soul was nearby. Everyone was like brother and sister to one another and sometimes I didn't have to close my eyes to feel it or see it. Heaven was the only way to describe the whole experience.

After roaming for a while like this, I saw my mother and grandmother. They called me into a room and we all sat around a table. It appeared as if we were going to have a meeting, but, unfortunately, I don't remember of what the meeting consisted. However, I do remember that I wanted to roam the plane and did not want to be disturbed.

In a later meditation, I looked around for the guru and again I didn't see him. I waited for a while, but when I still couldn't see him I felt sure I was on my own. It could be that because I wasn't open to receive guidance from his son, there was nothing he could do. I didn't realize I needed assistance until I attended spiritual functions at the spiritual center. Nor did I recognize that I was searching for something so deep that I could not comprehend it. Sometimes, I wasn't able to resist. I would spontaneously ask someone if they knew in which level of meditation I was. Surprisingly, a young, beautiful, Caucasian woman with long brown hair with whom I was acquainted at the center responded. She said to stay focused on the light, and to try not to get distracted with all the surrounding beauty, as it would only make me stray.

"What light?" I asked.

She answered, "It's really small at first. It's almost so small that you can't see it.

When you find it, you need to focus on it and it will get bigger."

"Thanks," I said.

She then walked away to stand in line for darshan, a blessing from the master, as he was about to leave the building. I had thought that it was a positive thing to enjoy everything that was in front of me during meditation, and not to run from it. If it presented itself to me, why not embrace it.

The following meditation, I focused on trying to look for the light. It took several attempts before I saw the tiniest speck of it, and then only for a split second, and even then it didn't grow larger than a pencil dot until a year later. Sometimes, I wondered what it would really be like to be in the light for longer than a moment. Each time I saw it, it brought tremendous joy, like nothing mattered, and my heart briefly filled with only love.

After I had travelled through many tubes in wonder of the many things that I witnessed, I finally arrived at the darkest realm. At first, I was frightened, so I opened my eyes and withdrew from the meditation. I thought I'd been in hell and was afraid to close my eyes to meditate again the next day. It took a few days before I had the courage to try again. Right away, I was surrounded by darkness, so, again I snapped open my eyes, fearful of becoming absorbed by it, or losing control, or worse, die. Since I did not have guidance and was too afraid to ask for help, I wasn't sure what was taking place. I was unsure about all of it. I was unsure why I saw all these things in meditation and why there was a guru. I was going with the flow not knowing where I was headed or why. The only thing I knew was that I wanted something different, something more than I had in my life.

The following day, I tried again, hoping that I would go through a tube and land in a different place, but, of course, I was wrong. Immediately, I was right there. There was no single time/space hole into which I could slide. I worried that I might not come back if I continued to walk in darkness, if I did not open my eyes. What would my family think if they found my dead body in my room? Was I ready to die? Then, I had another thought. Maybe I could sing a song to put myself at ease and deter me from negative thoughts. So, I started singing, 'Jesus loves me' a few times, still shaking and trembling. It was pitch black and I wasn't able to see a thing. The fear persisted, so, again I opened my eyes. Why was I there? Was this hell? If I kept walking, would I see demons, dragons, and people being tortured in fire?

The following mediation began with me singing 'Jesus loves me'. I sang it a few times then I called out the guru's name, but there was no answer. I was frightened. Then, I started to sing again and continued walking, feeling slightly calmer. Abruptly I stopped, and negativity overcame me. I started to think that I might not return from this alive. I looked to my left, and then to my right, and saw nothing. No scary creature crawled out to capture me. I was relieved. I took several deep breaths and started singing once more. Suddenly, I saw a light ahead. I could see the silhouette of a man, a light shining above his shoulder, but I couldn't tell who he was. He then slowly turned around, halfway, and I recognized him almost immediately.

"Jesus!" I yelled.

He continued to walk on and I followed, approximately 20 feet behind. The fears gradually subsided and I continued to follow him. After a while, although I kept up with Jesus, I could no longer see him, but I didn't panic and kept walking. Then I realized that I was no longer afraid. Jesus had shown me that there was nothing of which to be fearful. Since there was no ending or beginning to the darkness, I was not in a hurry to go anywhere.

After that, whenever I meditated, I would simply relax and feel the darkness around me. I began to feel more harmonious each time I entered this meditative scene and I walked in darkness with no fear. Then, I saw something on my left and became excited, but I wasn't sure what it was. I looked closer and saw bookshelves. With nothing else to do, I decided to read one of the books to see if there was anything written about my life or my future. Unfortunately, the pages were blurred, so I continued on. After walking for a while, not surprisingly, I became impatient, and eager to leave this place to go find another adventure, so I searched for a tube. It didn't matter in which direction I made an effort to locate one, I wasn't able to find any. Every time I meditated, I became so irritable and impatient that I came out of it. After a month of finding myself in the same place, it started to fatigue me. Each time I was there, I wished to leave. Sometimes, I would stare off and fail to absorb the experience, which just added fuel to my restlessness. All I wanted to do was to move on and experience something new. Then a thought entered my mind. Was this all there was? Was there nothing more?

Not knowing who to ask that would answer my questions besides the guru, I contacted a psychic. She suggested that I enjoy the experience and not resist. Still in irritable mode, I said, "I have been in it long enough. It's time to move on from it."

After the session had ended, I drove home from the park and meditated. As hard as it was, I heeded her advice and tried to embrace the darkness around me. I didn't try to find a hole through which to escape, but fully enjoyed what was there. Then I felt a sense of peace and harmony arise within me, which helped me realize that being in darkness was as peaceful as being in the soul plane.

Many times when I meditated, I remained in the dark realm. It wasn't important to move to the next level, and I didn't know of such a level anyway. Sometimes I researched on the Internet or read about stages of meditation, but I wasn't able to understand them completely, so I was still lost.

Eventually, however, I found myself going down the tube. Initially I was bewildered, but after much thought, I realized that I was going to miss being in darkness this time. I had spent a lot of time there, being with myself, but now I was going elsewhere and I didn't have a clue as to the destination. This new tube was one of the longest and getting through it took a couple of meditations. When I finally came out at the other end, I saw gold and purple colors. They were magnificent, and I was captivated.

At the meditation center, I found myself frustrated with others who weren't open to disclosing their meditation experiences. I so wanted some idea of what was going on. Despite the fact that people informed me that unfolding personal experiences was restricted, I continued to ask. One friend suggested that I really did need to talk to the master so that he could enlighten me, because, if I were without direction, I would never advance to the next level. But, I remarked, "Buddha did it on his own. He found his own way, didn't he?"

He replied, "That's true." The remark took me by surprise, for I didn't know much about Buddha. Many years ago, I'd read something about him and didn't have much recollection of it.

"What makes you think that I can't do the same?" I said in a jovial tone. We started laughing and went on with our activities at the event.

As time passed, my desire to attend spiritual events waned. It wasn't that there was no more interest, but rather, that I had learned as much as I needed, and I wasn't going to get any more from it. Instead of attending weekly, I started going every other week. Then it became once a month, and only if there were special occasions.

One early evening after a spiritual session, a couple of friends from the center took me to a different spiritual function that was taking place in the suburbs. From what my friends told me during our car ride there, it sounded very exciting. My interest was heightened when I was told that people could meet individually with a spiritual teacher after the talk to ask personal questions. The function was about to start when we reached our destination and everyone had taken their seats as we quietly walked in. We were assisted to take seats closer to the front since we were not locals. The function was celebrated in the backyard of someone's house; the guru, dressed in a white outfit, sat at the center. A beautiful little Caucasian girl about six years old sat in front of him. He was joking and playing around with her as if she was his daughter. As I looked around, I saw different ethnicities gathered in another tent. About twenty minutes after sitting down, people began to sing in Indian and clap their hands in celebration before a discourse on spiritual enlightenment. It was strange, but, apparently, the spiritual leader was not the one speaking, but a thin man wearing a white outfit sitting next to him. However, it turned out that the thin man was an exceptional speaker himself. He spoke extensively about love, and I noticed that everyone paid close attention to him.

Sometimes, I deeply desire to be like that, to speak without fear in front of a large audience, free from being bashful and shy. But, I have mild social anxiety symptoms, which impede me from vocalizing my thoughts and ideas freely with others in groups or large crowds.

Immediately after the ceremony ended, we were invited into the house for free food and to interact with others who stayed to meet the spiritual teacher. Many of the events were also free. We all stood up as the guru and a couple of people who sat by him made their way into the house. As my friends and I were getting ready to go inside, I prepared a few questions. I waited in line for a little while, until it was my turn. I became nervous and second-guessed whether I should ask the questions I had written down. The guru's daughter came out from the room and kindly suggested that I follow her to meet with her father. He sat silently staring out of the window and looked at me as I entered. He was very thin, had long gray, thin hair, and was wearing round glasses. He reminded me of a wizard. I quietly sat down on the floor, unsure how to proceed. Then I bravely asked, "When am I going to get married and to whom?" I couldn't believe it. I finally had my chance, and all I could ask was whether I would get married, when, and with whom. Creation, religion, and existence never entered my mind at all.

He gave a little smile and answered, "Live in the now. Be present and stay in the now. If you want to marry, you will."

Disappointed and surprised by his response, I wanted to press him further to get the exact answers I wanted. I caught myself though, so I stopped and thanked him by bowing my head. I felt loved and comforted by his genuine and loving presence; shouldn't that be enough? He seemed to be so light, peaceful, and harmonious within himself, and I needed to find ways to make peace with myself. Oddly enough, I placed my head on his lap and he stroked my hair lovingly. Before I walked out, he said, "I am unconditional love." I glanced at him, bowed, and left the room with much appreciation.

Chapter 5: Observation

As I became more self-confident and less self-absorbed, I began to observe my client's actions, behaviors, and thoughts more closely than ever before. It was humbling to think that I wasn't any different from them. I realized that I too have my own stories and illusions; I too had experienced going out of my mind and being out of touch with 'reality'. The experience of going crazy brought much humility, compassion, and understanding toward others. One night, I lay on the couch, thinking about my own experience, feeling unreal, when a voice suddenly emerged and said, "Now you know what it is like to experience both." I smiled with profound gratitude and I felt a sense of connectedness flow through me. It was a little strange to hear a voice from deep within me emerge, but I was truly grateful for the phenomena.

One day, when I was about to get off work, I stopped when I heard the screams of two separate women coming from either end of the hall. They cried out in such pain and despair, it made my heart tremble. I stood there for a while before I proceeded to walk, but I didn't get far. I was so immensely drawn to one of the women's sharp cries that I felt her pain myself. Her despair felt like it was my own. It wasn't uncommon for psychiatric patients to scream in horrible grief when they were faced with hospitalization. Their symptoms could become uncontrollable if they hadn't taken their prescribed medications. I started to shake and hurried into the bathroom to take deep breaths as I told myself to settle down. Eventually, I began to feel more relaxed. I opened the bathroom door and raced out to my car. I was dazed by the experience, unsure what to make of it. I had empathized with others' pains before, but to feel as if it were my own was a new experience. Was this what it really meant to be in another person's shoes?

Work became routine and non-challenging, and one of the ways for me to make my day go faster was to watch. So, I paid close attention to people's behaviors and my surroundings. I remember one particular day at work when I watched one client as he conversed with me in the lunchroom during dinner. He kept looking around at others, then said, "Look at everyone; they are so caught up in their own dramas. They are players and actors."

I looked at him with amazement and smiled. I silently agreed with his perspective and, without a sound, I thanked him for reminding me of that wisdom; it helped me to remember not to take life too seriously. He was thin, unkempt, and had a contagious laugh. Many staff members preferred to be around him because of his silly jokes and free spirit. He took me by surprise one afternoon when he spent time with another client who was in a wheel chair. Sometimes when I looked at this other client, I turned my head away because of his unnatural physical shape. I reacted this way mainly because his condition brought sadness to my heart. At times, when he ate his meals, he would spill food and drool all over himself, which made me cringe in disgust.

"What are you doing? Don't you want to go to group and earn points?" I asked the first man.

He replied, "No, I am spending time with my friend."

His response brought tears to my eyes and I quickly walked away. I was truly touched that a man, who himself was challenged, had such compassion to share with another. The next day, I saw the man in the wheelchair, again covered with food; however, instead of walking away in repulsion, I went to greet him.

Observing everyone around me, including co-workers, clients, and employers assisted me with acquiring a deeper understanding about myself, my relationships with others, and the metaphysical world. I realized more and more that everyone and everything, if we pay attention to deep messages, are great teachers. As I witnessed many of the clients experiencing hallucinations, delusions, and paranoia, I thought about how they were not so much different to "normal" people.

One day at work, from afar, I watched one of the clients stand up and sit down several times at a dining table. It was a gloomy day and a thought occurred to me: Everything is yin and yang, opposites. I stood still, watching, filled with appreciation, and thankful that I was finally paying attention. On another occasion, I was inspired to be environmentally friendly. I tried to recycle aluminum cans, and when I saw the recycle symbol, I thought to myself how everything was circular, cyclical and eternal. Similarly, on a different day, one of the clients was going through her cycle from being nice, kind, and friendly to being physically threatening. Usually, the cycle repeated over a couple of days or a week. It was wonderful to understand life just by paying attention and being a good observer.

After that day when I failed to get a precise answer from the guru as to when, and to whom, I was going to marry, I started to call fortunetellers. I did this so many times that I eventually went broke. For over a month, I had to drink cheap coffee from fast food restaurants because I couldn't afford to purchase finer brands. It was dreadful. But, having to downsize my coffee didn't stop me from calling. I would call before going to bed, hoping to hear the answers for which I had been searching. Then, to make matters worse, the non-stop calling took my bank account into the negative, and my two-weekly paycheck did not return it to a positive balance.

Living from paycheck to paycheck became stressful. So much so, that I became envious of people who had money to purchase things, including my clients, who didn't even have much money, but they had more in their accounts than I did. Many people talked about having money in their saving and checking accounts for retirement or a rainy day. I knew that if the rain poured, I would end up having more loans and more debts. This wasn't the first time I had struggled without money, but it was definitely the first time I had gone broke from calling psychics. Saving money for my future was never something that had interested me. I had always lived life from one moment to the next and hadn't thought too much about how my future would pan out, particularly concerning financial matters. Well, maybe I did a little. I thought about marrying a wealthy guy who might have more money, or marrying someone who knew how to save and be frugal. One of the psychics uplifted my spirit for about a week when she predicted that I was going to marry a rich and handsome man. Unfortunately, her prediction did not manifest and I was left feeling the way I felt before - hopeless. I didn't realize then, that I was looking for someone to help me understand an in-depth part of life about which I was in the dark; the metaphysical and spiritual aspect.

One morning, while taking a shower, I thought about how broke I was the week before. I had finally managed to save some money when I skipped a week of calling fortunetellers. It was nice not to feel overwhelmed by poverty.

Suddenly, a deep voice emerged again and said, "Now you know what it is like to have."

I thought about what I heard and asked, "I need to know the difference between having and not having?"

Within a few seconds, a voice replied, "Yes."

I found that becoming solvent, after having been broke, and understanding the experience, brought me tremendous peace and harmony. From that point forward, my perceptions started to change and I tended to perceive life more from a metaphysical viewpoint.

My physical life was becoming more mundane, which pushed my interest increasingly toward the metaphysical. At work, I would talk about metaphysics and philosophy to get through the day. At times, I dreaded going to work, not only because I was losing interest, but because I wasn't getting along with a particular person in authority. After over two years of working at the same place, I was let go from my position. It was an emotional departure, but I knew it was time for me to leave and go experience new things. Rather than judging it negatively, I made an effort to understand myself as I went through it. My enthusiasm to know myself inspired me to write questions that were helpful, such as: What messages am I going to take away from others around me about myself and life? How can I grow through this event?

Monitoring my thoughts and actions, and trying to understand their causes were monumentally serving my desire to understand myself. On many occasions, I suffered headaches from consistently watching my thoughts, but it didn't prevent me from doing so. All I wanted to do was to understand, heal, and grow in every aspect, and everything else seemed to be secondary.

Chapter 6: First Experience with Mindfulness

In the mid-summer of 2010, I took advantage of being unemployed to attend different spiritual event. I observed that at some of these events, people appeared to place spiritual leaders on high thrones. It seemed that people were ready to be led, relinquishing their responsibility for finding their own understanding. At times, gurus blessed water and food as if the items were impure. Initially, I was confused, but went along with everyone else by eating and drinking blessed food items, and I hoped that good fortune would come my way. After much watching, I realized that nothing needed blessing. Everything was already sacred and pure.

One day, half an hour before practicing daily meditation, I experienced an extraordinary anger with the way my father chewed his food. The sound of him biting, smacking, and opening his mouth while he ate, agitated me and I was overcome with frustration. I could see every piece of his meal in his open mouth while he smacked on it. Of course, as usual, he was oblivious. I watched him, so distracted that I forgot to eat my own food, until I could no longer tolerate it. I left the dining table highly frustrated and went to my room to prepare for meditation.

It could be that my overreaction stemmed from not being able to locate a desirable job. It could have been pre-menstrual symptoms, which had always put me in a bad mood. But, I realized that my father and I were similar in so many ways that it was also possible that I didn't want to see something of myself reflected back at me from him. In addition, others, including his own brother, always made fun of my father regarding his inappropriate table manners, which fueled my anger since I didn't like it when people mocked him, even though deep inside, I agreed with them. Hoping to resolve the problem, I had tried to talk to him about it, and, often, I had become angry with him for not learning. Many times, I had suggested that he learn English, so he wouldn't have to depend on others, especially my sister and I. At times, it was burdensome and I became frustrated. When I was angry with him, it was never about that one thing, but about everything else as well. It would be an uplifting experience to see my father go to a doctor's appointment on his own, or not to go into women's bathrooms because he could not read the sign. In my younger years, I had always witnessed my mother taking her frustrations out on him, and I was doing it unconsciously in my adult years.

I wasn't certain how I was going to mediate if I wasn't calm, however, I ignored the discomfort and decided to close my eyes. I took several deep breaths, but I wasn't able to settle down as my anger persevered. I got up to go walk around to cool down and release the intolerable frustration. It didn't help that I continued to think about it and couldn't seem to distract myself from it. After pacing for a few minutes, and not fully at peace, I decided to give it another chance. I could still hear my father chewing and smacking on his food like a primitive creature, even from here. I considered going upstairs and yelling at him to release my anger. However, despite my strong desire to do so, I couldn't put that thought into action. I have yelled at the passive and gentle guy so many times for so many different things and it has never worked. I considered simply going upstairs to give him my meanest look and then just walk away. I had sometimes done this in the past, but it hadn't had any effect either. In fact, I don't think he was even aware of it.

No matter how hard I tried, my father's table manners continued to affect me negatively, so much so, that I could not totally relax. I thought about giving up the attempt to meditate for the day, but I held on and told myself to be one with the emotions. I allowed the emotions to flow through me and I noticed the sensations filling every fiber of my skin. I felt the burning and tingling making its way from my head, down to my spine, and through my entire body. I observed the negativity taking over and allowed it to happen without moving or desiring to get up and end the despair.

Then something beautiful happened. Something that I struggle to find words to describe; I felt a release. A release from the irritation and intolerable anger, and I was filled with deep, deep joy and harmony instead. It was a calm feeling that I hadn't felt for a very long time. A few moments later, I burst into tears. I continued to observe my emotions until they subsided to the point where I had no emotional attachment toward my father's habit.

Afterwards, I deeply appreciated the frustration with my dear father. I asked in deep silence, still with my eyes closed, why I felt such an anger and irritation about the way my father chewed his food. A few seconds later, an answer emerged from inside, "It was the way you chose to look at it." I opened my eyes and gently smiled, with much gratitude. At first, I was uncertain what had just taken place. Somehow, I had transcended the excruciating anger and turned it into the most beautiful and miraculous bliss. As I sat in my room absorbing the experience, I realized that I had just used mindfulness to be one with my experience and it bewildered me how effective it was. I had tried to practice mindfulness meditation from books, but I had failed to comprehend how it truly worked until now. Suddenly, the wisdom regarding the way I perceived the situation with my father poured in.

Slowly and peacefully, I walked upstairs and found my father still at the dining table drinking his tea loudly. I looked at him and silently thanked him for being who he was. I admired my father for his bravery to march to his own music, in spite of his lack of awareness of it, and not to follow the rules set by society. People mocked him; perhaps they were too afraid to listen to the tune of their own hearts. I took a seat at the table and asked if his tea was good. He answered that it was and went on sipping.

Although my family and I do not show physical affection toward one another, we do show it in other ways. After he finished his tea, I asked if I could take the cup to the sink for him, and I spent a short while talking about the trip we'd just taken to Laos before he went downstairs for his nap.

I had now realized how effective mindfulness could be and I knew that I would continue to use it, and I did - consistently. Whether I was resisting my feelings, or allowing myself to experience my emotions, I was being mindful. Whenever I found that I wasn't being mindful, I would try to correct that by being mindful later on. At the same time, if I experienced any unwanted emotions and was not able to understand the causes readily, I would make an effort to comprehend it at a convenient time.

Chapter 7: Metaphysical

In late summer of 2010, I practiced insight meditation and mindfulness consistently. Sometimes, I meditated twice a day to heal emotional issues that were resurfacing from being unemployed. It was a blessing in disguise not having to go to work, because I had ample time to understand myself through self-analysis, observation, meditation, mindfulness, reading books, and talking to a therapist. One night as I was reading, I felt a sudden connection to everything around me. I was one with everything and everything was one with me. Then I felt a deep sense of peace and serenity arise within, which urged me to hurry outside and kiss the lush bushes and flowers around the walkway to the entrance of the house. When I came back inside, I took a minute to absorb what had just happened. I was grateful for the experience and deeply touched by it.

During this time, I also developed an interest in aura and energy. I had always wondered how I could see other people's auras, as well as my own. I tried to follow directions from the Internet, but was not successful. One night, as I was brushing my teeth before bed, I saw a blue aura on the left side of my face. It continued down to my neck while I was flossing. I was astonished, so I contacted Sean, a boyfriend that I'd been dating for a few months. We had reconnected through a social networking website that shared common friends from the same high school. Sean had knowledge of metaphysics and the universe, so I discussed much about life with him. I asked him, while we were taking a walk at our usual place around the school campus, if he could see auras.

He replied, "Yes."

"What's mine?" I inquired.

"Blue," he answered.

"Really? You can really see it? Wow." Unable to hold myself back from asking more questions, I continued with, "Is everything energy?"

"Yes," he responded.

"How can I see energy? Everywhere I look, I only see physical things."

"Just keep staring at one thing for a long time, you will see air come out from it."

"I can't see air."

"When the car drives on the road after the rain when it's hot out, you can see air coming out."

"Oh, okay. I got it."

Afterward, I went home, stared at a dresser in my room, and saw nothing. It gave me a headache, so I stopped and tried again the next day. Then I saw clear wavy air rising from my arm and became terribly excited. I watched for a few minutes, then called Sean to let him know. When we finished talking, I continued to look at my arm and then the pillow. Over the next few days, I kept practicing so that I wouldn't lose this ability.

The following meditation highlighted an image where I observed a young Indian boy walking next to a wagon pulled by two cows. I was unsure of the location, but his aura was blue/green, as were the cows, wagon, trees, grounds, and everything else surrounding him. Then, I looked at myself and saw the same color. I was utterly flabbergasted, and continued to observe while I tried to absorb what I had just witnessed. After that, I saw myself lying on a bench, on a hot summer day, in front of an ice cream shop, watching people eating ice cream. I was taken off guard when I saw that the ice creams were the same color energy as the people who were eating them. I noticed the clouds and buildings, including the bench on which I was lying, and saw they were the same color. Then a voice deep within came forth and said, "Now you know, you are never alone." Instantly an enormous feeling of love and comfort overtook me, and a tear of joy ran down my face. It was refreshing to know that I was connected to everyone and everything, and everything and everyone to me.

Before I began meditating one day, I was interested in meeting the One that created and held the universe together. As soon as my eyes closed, I saw a huge man with a beard lying on the ground of the universe. He was chuckling and laughing with joy. People were building homes, getting married, and claiming their territories on his body. Then, I saw a couple arguing with one another, a girl smiling in her front yard, and a man feeling proud of himself after climbing a rock. The One continued to be amused.

Many thoughts and questions ran through my mind. Is this God, holding the universe together, and are we His children, enjoying ourselves on Him, with Him? If he is God, then He is joyful, playful, and non-serious, and doesn't care how his children behave. He seemed to appreciate whomever they were and whatever they chose to do. I looked at him and asked, "Really, you are not going to burn us in hell if we don't believe in you?" He started laughing. It appeared that he saw nothing wrong. After opening my eyes, I thought again about God, and wondered if He might be different than I've been taught to believe.

Around this time, I stopped attending church services and explored different areas of spirituality. The contradictions about God drove me to find out about Him on my own. It was a risk I was taking, but not to follow what was in my heart and find my own answers to the questions about existence was misery and death. I trusted God enough to believe that He would not harm His own creation if His child wanted to find out all she could about Him.

With more understanding about the metaphysical, a desire ignited within me to uncover further truths behind the physical world. This time when I closed my eyes to meditate, I saw that I was the creator and I appeared as a tree in a beautiful forest sanctuary. It was summer and many people camped here, enjoying recreational activities. They walked, talked, and questioned the existence of God as they hiked up rocky hills filled with leafy trees. I was astounded to hear one of the hikers asks, "Who is God anyway?" I laughed with admiration, similar to the man who had held the universe in my previous meditation. The question amused me, and in fact, it seemed as if I laughed constantly as I watched people pass by, talking about their lives. Sadly, no one seemed to notice the magnificent trees and the tranquility of nature, they were too absorbed in their own lives.

The insights about existence were much clearer after this. God seemed to be loving, caring, carefree, and joyful. It began to make sense that nothing was "wrong". Right and wrong were our own constructions, a matter of perception.

I had no particular question in mind when I meditated next time. As I lay on my bed, with meditative music playing softly, I saw that I became the water in a cool lake. It was a bright summer day and people were swimming, skiing, diving, and having fun. After a while, I became sorrowful at the lack of awareness and appreciation from people toward water and nature. Similarly, on another occasion, when I was the ground, I felt the cars drive and the people walk over me, but they did not exhibit gratitude toward me. In one of the scenes, I was food for an alligator in the zoo. I felt a tremendous love when the alligator was deeply grateful. That day after meditation, I rushed out of the house to look at nature: grounds, grass, and dirt, and I felt love and sincere gratitude for its perfect beauty and generosity.

My mood was a little different, more serious, following my previous meditation. This time, I deeply yearned to understand more about the physical world, so I asked if it was all real. Immediately, I was shown that there was nothing except energy. I recognized that I was in Chicago, but I didn't see buildings, condos, or homes. It was all air. Since there was nothing physical, many questions came to mind, such as: Where is everybody and everything? There is nothing, only air, energy. Shortly after, I saw clusters of energy and sensed that it could be an apartment, so I went there to see what was going on. A young couple, not in physical form, seemed to be watching television together on a couch. Her head was on his shoulder. However, there was nothing in front of them, but they were watching something. To appease my curiosity, I decided to go behind them and look into their minds. I was on the mark. They were watching a comedy show.

Leaving the apartment, I saw a mother, again not in physical form, put her baby in a stroller. However, I was taken by surprise when I didn't see a baby. There was no baby. But, in her mind, there was a baby. Next, I found myself driving a car. I felt as if I was going somewhere, but I was going nowhere. I was in the same place. I was shocked, but kept driving, and again, I stayed put. Wherever I went, I stayed in the same place; it made no difference. I was still in disbelief when I opened my eyes. Could everything be a product of my imagination? In no hurry to get up, I thought about the trip I'd taken to Laos with my father a few months ago. I wondered if we had really gone there, or if it just in my mind. Silence filled the room, and I continued to lie still, staring at the ceiling. I wondered if the room and the house were real, or if they were all just my imagination.

Am I real? That was the next significant question I had before meditating. It was Chicago again, without concrete, just energy. Only moments later, I saw myself remove a suit that appeared to be like my own body. There were many body-like suits, and I was able to change into whichever suit I desired. As usual, many questions entered my mind relating to what I witnessed. One question was: Is my body only a suit that I put on? As I looked around, I saw a mirror and walked toward it. I became frightened when I saw nothing. I had no reflection. I shouted, "Where am I?"

After I'd taken a couple of deep breaths, a voice deep inside said, "Why are you so surprised? You already know all this. You are not your body."

Then, I observed something profound. I found myself in the middle of a battle, fighting valiantly. Then I fell, and I saw that I'd been killed. But, I did not die. I saw myself step out of my dead body and went to pick up a new one, as if I was picking out clothes to wear from a closet. I was amazed to realize that I was not dead and could not die. Death and dying were only in the mind.

Quickly, when I opened my eyes from meditation, I went to look at myself in the mirror. I was so pleased to see my whole body. I had been terrified that I might have been invisible, as in my meditation.

One day, I was travelling by train, on my way back from Chicago with Sean. I became tired, so I decided to close my eyes and try to sleep. A couple of minutes later, I saw that we were not riding on the train, but floating in the air. Startled, I opened my eyes and touched my seat and my arms to make sure that I was still there. I took some deep breaths and felt more relaxed, but I kept my eyes open after that until we arrived home. I wanted to discuss the experience with Sean when we got off the train, but I was too tired, and needed to make sense of it first.

Every night for about a month, I listened to one of the gurus on the Internet talk about metaphysics. Shortly after I stopped listening to him as frequently, I saw myself follow him in one of my meditations. He led me to a temple and gave me a golden sword. I reached out to take it, and suddenly saw myself standing in front of a mirror, holding the sword, in a small room draped with maroon curtains. I looked at myself in the mirror holding the sword, and then found myself in a theatre. With the sword in my hand, I started to practice using it. Mesmerized by the moves that I made with it, I didn't bother to observe my surroundings. After a while, I looked around, but didn't see anyone. Not thinking much of it, I continued to practice. Later, I became curious. Where was everyone? Why was I the only one in this big room? I looked around again; I was still alone. A thought suddenly occurred - that I might be in a theatre of my own self. I was the director and the actor playing out my own scripts. When I finished the meditation, I continued to ponder that realization. It was a difficult idea to accept, that this world was just a theatre and we are players in it. During my entire life, I had thought that everything was real. On the contrary, could it be that everything is just a play?

It had been a few months since I'd lost my job and I still felt sadness regarding the way it turned out. I thought about how I could have handled things differently. Despite feeling deeply sad, I began to meditate. As soon as I closed my eyes, I saw myself sitting in a meditative pose like Buddha, witnessing myself, and everything else, that was going on at work. The 'I' at work felt angry, sad, disappointed, and happy with co-workers, but, the 'I' that watched had no emotional reaction to what she witnessed. It was similar to watching a movie, but instead, I was watching my work life without emotion, objectively. There were scenes where the 'I' at work was overly critical of her abilities to carry out her job, where she became sad and disappointed when her performance was poor. When I opened my eyes from meditating, I wondered if this was what it was like to be Buddha. Did being Buddha mean having no attachment, no reaction, and no emotional connection? If that were being Buddha, I would hasten to be like him. There were waves of emotions inside me that I wouldn't mind losing, or at least, diminishing.

The following day, before meditating, I wanted to know who I was before I was born. Shortly after closing my eyes, Jesus appeared. He stood right beside my mother who was in labor. Jesus held me in his arms and said, "Don't forget who you are. You are light. Don't forget that you are light." There was light surrounding both Jesus and the baby moments before I arrived into the world.

A little later, I walked toward Jesus in a room at a church. I came to stand next to him and saw that he was practicing calligraphy. I looked at his writing and asked who he really was. I turned around, looked at the far left stained-glass window, and saw flashes of everything and everyone. I asked, "You are everyone and everything?"

He replied, "Yes, including you."

As soon as I heard that Jesus was also me, I quickly opened my eyes and left the mediation. I felt a strange mixture of peace and fear, and it may very well be that I wasn't able to accept it. How could I accept that Jesus and I were one and the same, when all along I had been taught that he was separate from me? On one hand, it made sense. On the other hand, I still questioned whether what I had seen thus far was all true. How could I be shown all this?

Being fired from work had not been an easy situation to swallow; I was still up and down about it throughout the summer. In many ways, being let go was causing major injury to my self-confidence. One night, I tossed and turned, feeling distraught about what had happened with work. Again, I wondered what I had done wrong, and what I could have done differently. I also questioned what I had seen in meditation, and what I had observed was real. If it were true, who would believe me and how could I verbalize it to anyone except Sean? Again, I wondered if I might be crazy, or at least, foolish about all of it. While tossing and turning in bed, I opened my eyes and gave up trying to fall sleep. Then I saw energy swirling above me, and I was stunned. A deep voice emerged and asked, "Is this real enough for you?" Immediately, I burst into tears and told myself that I would not doubt myself again. An intense inner peace flowed through me and I felt deep inside that when I was ready, this would all be waiting for me. I didn't understand why I had that feeling, and never really thought anything of it. All I knew was that I was filled with joy. I watched the energy most of the night, and then fell asleep soundly until morning.

Part Two: Healing

Chapter 8: Vishnu

When I had personal time, I would try my best to remember what I had realized in meditation so that I wouldn't get so caught up in personal drama, or if I did, I could bounce out of it quicker. Likewise, whenever I experienced an emotional crisis, I would use mindfulness and awareness to bring clarity, and, equally important, to understand myself in full spectrum, I would try to comprehend the causes of the problem. In late summer of 2010, I meditated frequently.

In one meditation, I saw myself approach the old gray house in which my family and I had lived for many years, ever since we immigrated in 1983. It had been our home since I was twelve years old and until I went away to college. Many hurtful memories came from living in this torn and run down house. The front porch was aged and broken, and the side of the house had almost collapsed. As I approached, I saw a gigantic, blue man standing in front of the house with his arms crossed. He was bare-chested, wore skull necklaces, and his lower garments were partly made of gold. He had a golden crown on his head and golden jewelry on both of his arms. I had heard of him, Lord Vishnu, and I'd seen his picture once when I attended a spiritual event. He stood in front of the yard as though he had been waiting for me and was ready for business. As I looked around the yard, I saw myself hang from a light pole like Jesus on the cross. It was disturbing and I wanted to open my eyes, but I continued to watch and tried to grasp what was going on. Then, I saw blood splattered from my body as Vishnu cut it into pieces. Again, I didn't try to intervene and continued to observe closely.

When I opened my eyes from the meditation, I noticed that my entire body felt much lighter, which made my mood brighter. Many questions ran through my head, such as: Who was he, and what was he doing? Why did he slice me into pieces? When I had some time, I researched the blue giant on the Internet. Vishnu is one of the Hindu Trinity of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. He is the organizer and maintainer of the universe. I was surprised, as well as excited, by what I learned, though I couldn't help but wonder what he was trying to organize within me.

The next day, I planned to practice relaxation meditation to reduce a terrible tension headache. I didn't get the chance, however, because, as soon as my eyes closed, Vishnu appeared. He stood sternly in the front yard of a housing complex that I recognized as one that I usually pass on my nightly walks with Sean. Vishnu stood with a sword in his hand and immediately cut my head off. I was shocked. He had split my skull in half and blood gushed all over the front yard. As I watched the blood drain from my skull, I felt a drastic decrease in my headache, and soon, I was in a relaxed and meditative state. A little while later, I found myself in the old house again. Vishnu was outside, setting up camp as if he was preparing for something, but I didn't know what. I didn't inquire as to what he was doing and imitated what I'd done before, I watched. Then, I saw painful scenes where my mother and I argued. Every scene evoked many wounded and unhealed emotions that had long been repressed since I was a teenager.

Sometimes, before ending a meditation, Vishnu would hand me a beautiful flower to show that I had done wonderful work. Often, before insight meditation, I would practice mindfulness. I would first notice, observe, and then surrender to the heavy energy that flowed through me. By playing the scenes in my head, I would practice mindfulness until I wasn't as reactive as I had been previously. Being consistently mindful and aware was becoming a way of life.

In the fall of 2010, it was becoming cumbersome, overwhelming, and stressful to prepare for counseling licensing tests. Fears of failure took its toll on me to the point that I could hardly study. It didn't help any that I also had to deal with the awakening of my agonized past. Because I wasn't able to control my emotions well, it drove me to take my frustrations out on those around me. I experienced tremendous anxiety when I arrived at the testing center and I considered skipping it. I sat in the parking lot, waiting to take the exams, and I thought about going for a long car ride instead. In the end though, I wasn't foolish enough to follow through with those thoughts, so I plucked up the courage to take the exams and face the results, whatever they may be. Then, when I totally failed the exams, I experienced severe emotional devastation like I never had before.

For the first couple of days' aftermath, I isolated myself. Failing the exams was one thing, but to feel such emotional torment about it was another. I had been conditioned to feel like a failure since I was a teenager, and it was something that I had felt most of my life. I was so stressed about the situation that I didn't want to be with anyone, including myself. What I truly desired was to run away, as many miles as I could, from the person I was, to get away from the agony of being me, a failure, and a mistake. Feeling empty and alone, I didn't dare to look people in the face when I talked to them. Many times, I wondered why Sean remained with me, and even why I was still alive. As I lay in my bed, full of negative thoughts, I closed my eyes to meditate. I hadn't done so for a few days because of my brewing emotions, so I hoped that meditation would shed light onto the situation.

Vishnu was again waiting as I approached the old house. I was still in deep emotional pain, so I didn't greet him. He didn't cut me into pieces this time, or show traumatic past situations. Instead, he went inside my body, which took me off guard, and I felt very nervous. He took out my heart; it looked dim and old like a failing light bulb. Then he gently replaced it with a shiny new one. When he finished, I immediately felt so loved and comforted that tears of joy ran down my face. I whispered, "Thank you, Vishnu." He smiled and I bowed in deep reverence. When I brought my head back up to look at him, I was astonished at how big he was.

Once my mood had lifted, we went inside the house. There, I watched a scene where, when I was a teenager, my mother pointed her finger at me and yelled, "I wish you'd never been born. Go burn in hell." I remembered how angry, sad, and unwanted I felt. After the berating, I saw myself sitting alone, saying nothing, to avoid getting into deeper trouble. I realized that a few days ago I had felt just like this, that same feeling of being unwanted. Moments later, I saw myself walk toward the wounded teenager. I hugged her and told her that it was okay to be who she was. I told her that I accepted her, that she was beautiful, and that she was a success, a star. I left the scene and opened my eyes, feeling much more at ease.

The next day, however, I continued to feel distraught and empty. It seemed as though I could never do anything right and I became very critical of myself. I was in deep distress, as before, and didn't want to live. I was confused. Why was I still in the same situation? I'd worked so hard to understand and heal myself; I'd gone to therapy, read, talked to others, and meditated. It seemed that opening old wounds hadn't improved my self-esteem, but rather induced further pain, which made me think of hurting myself. My torturous past brought me to tears, holed up inside my bedroom, for many more days. I would call Sean to tell him that I was suicidal, and he would rush to be with me. I would describe the horrifying emotions I was experiencing and my wish for better days. He would respond with, "It will get better."

The next day, before meditating, and still full of pain, I inquired as to why I was still hurting. Before going too deep into the meditation, I practiced mindfulness for a few minutes to feel refreshed. Once I was uplifted, I allowed myself to go deeper, and patiently awaited the answer to the question. Eventually, I saw myself climb up a tree next to the old house; Vishnu wasn't around. I sat on a limb of the lush green tree and asked again. Moments later, a deep voice emerged and said, "You need to know what it's like to experience the low, so you will know what it is like to experience the high." Immediately, I burst into tears, but they were happy tears. "Thank you," I whispered.

I continued to lie on my bed, peacefully appreciating the experiences. I sincerely hoped that I would remember this message; it would help me to see things more positively. For now, at least, I felt more connected. On my regular nightly walk with Sean, I filled him in on the meditation.

Without hesitation he said, "You need to have one to have the other."

I snapped. "I already know that. I'm already annoyed that I don't think of it all the time, especially when I'm at my lowest."

"Well, hopefully you'll remember it next time," he replied.

Although he was on the mark, I didn't feel comforted by his statement. I had reminded myself many times about the things that I had come to realize, but somehow, I'd still forget.

It was no surprise when, as soon as I closed my eyes, Vishnu was waiting by the house, this time near the front door. Great, I thought, what plans does he have for me this time? Wasn't the pain I went through in the past weeks enough already? When we entered the house, everything was the same as when I'd lived there; the ancient furniture, curtains, the rug that needed to be cleaned, and the dining table. All the furniture, including the curtains, had been donated by the church. Some of the curtains were so thin that you could see through them from the outside. Vishnu stood by the dining table, and my intuition told me that I needed to sit down. I took a seat. Vishnu went into the kitchen to collect a bowl of soup. At first, I was delighted to be served upon by a Hindu God, however, when he placed the soup in front of me, I realized that the soup had been made out of me! I became unsettled and looked up at him, confused. He said, "Eat it."

"What?" I said.

"Eat it," he replied.

I looked down at the soup. I was so disgusted, the thought made me want to vomit. Shocked by the situation, I played with the spoon for a while and Vishnu stood stern, with his arms crossed, waiting for me to take the first bite. A while later, I decided to test the flavor, curious about how I taste. As soon as I had the stuff in my mouth, I spat it back in the bowl.

"Disgusting!"

Vishnu said, "You are going to have to eat that too."

I thought it was too outrageous and there was no way I could ever eat myself, even in meditation, so I opened my eyes. Again, I wondered if I might be going crazy. These were very strange meditations.

It didn't seem that Vishnu was going to give up, because he was still waiting for me in the dining room with the untouched soup the next time I meditated. After taking a seat, I asked, "You still want me to eat this?"

"Yes, of course," he answered.

I cautiously took the first spoonful and immediately spat it back into the bowl. Again, he said, "You must eat that too."

I instantly stopped meditating to prevent the horror, and I felt sick to my stomach. I lay in bed for a few moments, unsure when I was going to meditate again. But, I realized that Vishnu would not give up until I followed his request.

During my walk with Sean, I brought up the unusual meditation and asked for his insight regarding Vishnu's plans. I became irritated when he told me to discern his purpose on my own. For the next few days, I chose not to meditate, but to practice mindfulness instead by reviewing hurtful situations with my mother and I allowed myself to experience the feelings associated with them. I was still alarmed about what Vishnu had asked me to do, and I didn't quite understand his agenda.

It was difficult to get through my days without meditating, and I became more and more annoyed with Vishnu. A few days later, despite realizing that he would be waiting at the table, I worked up the courage and meditated. I did so with the hope that I would be in a soul plane, where everyone tells everyone else that they love one another. There, everyone is filled with joy and intoxicated with love. But, anything at all would be better than being with Vishnu. It was no surprise though, that as quickly as I closed my eyes, I saw him stand with his arms crossed looking at the bowl of unfinished soup. But, I was so caught up with having to eat myself as a soup, that I forgot to ask for his rationale.

I bravely ate the repulsive soup. Shocked, I couldn't believe that I was able to keep it down. When I had finished, I smiled at Vishnu. I was happy and proud of myself for having such determination to complete my odious task. However, then he came to stand in front of me with another bowl of soup.

I asked, "Are you kidding me? Why?"

He did not say a word.

I sat quietly in deep frustration, contemplating what I should do. I knew it had to be done, so I ate it. I ate it, and I ate it all. After a short time, I saw myself enter another old building that looked like a temple to attend a feast gathering.

As I walked into a semi-dark room, I saw myself, Jesus, and others I didn't recognize, sitting around a table. Straight ahead, I saw parts of my body hang above a fireplace. Fancy feast, I thought. I thanked the people who chose to join the party, and reluctantly began to eat the food on offer - soup of me.

A little girl, about four or five years old, sat next to me. She wore a battered tiara. She said nothing and looked down the whole time, as if she had no meaning in this world. I didn't want to look at her, partly because I realized it was probably me and I didn't want to accept that. I tried my best to ignore her, sitting there at the table, withdrawn. It was more pleasant to pay attention to the guests, and even the hanging body parts, than to face myself. After a while, I relented and asked her who invited her to join the gathering. She replied, "You did." I was a little shocked, but how could it be? I already had an idea, but didn't want to accept it. I didn't want to face more wounds, largely because I wanted to avoid emotional devastation. Finally, I turned around and hugged her, and I apologized for ignoring her. As I hugged her, I was taken back to Laos when my mother had left me to go to Thailand to find my father.

I had returned to the scene where I cried hysterically, a broken-hearted child whose mother chose to take her younger sister instead of her. I re-lived the heartache of that day once more. And again, I vividly remembered my grandparents holding me back as my mother held my sister's hand and walked away. Then I saw my little self, crying exhaustively for a long time on the ground. Before long, I saw myself walk toward the little girl and embrace her. As I wiped away the tears from my little self, I told her the important truth, that everything was all right and she was loved. I carried on, explaining that her mother didn't leave her behind because she did not love her. She left because it was difficult for her to take two children across the border to Thailand safely. I reassured her that it was not her fault. Then, as I held her closely, the little girl disappeared.

A moment later, I was back at the table next to my little self. She was smiling and cheerful. Her long black hair had been combed and she played with a clean and bright, new, tiara that she gently placed on her head. I looked at her lovingly, smiled, and told her, "You are beautiful."

After the meditation, I understood Vishnu's plans, and was grateful for his help. Vishnu, the maintainer, had shown parts of me that I needed to face, understand, and mend. That night, when I took my walk with Sean, I told him about Vishnu's intentions. It wasn't unexpected of him to say, "You need to love yourself. Love is the foundation of everything." I had heard this statement from him many times, but I had chosen not to look into it in depth, largely because I was too terrified to discover negative things that I did not dare to see. Now, though, I was beginning to do just that, to love myself. I hadn't realized that I hadn't loved myself until Vishnu opened my eyes to it. It seemed that I still had a lot of work to do, which I wasn't looking forward to, to face all the pains that had been imbedded within me.

In the next meditation, I saw myself in the lower level of a hospital, perhaps in an emergency room. There were so many of me in hospital beds, like patients waiting to be restored. Slowly, I turned to Vishnu to warn him that this was going to take a while. As usual, he didn't say a word, standing stern as if he were a guard, with his arms across his chest. I went toward the first bed, looked at a patient, and saw my own lifeless face. Immediately, I was taken back to the old house. I saw my mother sitting on the sofa, not uttering a word. I walked slowly toward her to express my long repressed pains. After telling her of my hurt, I said to her, "I forgive you."

Instantly, tears fell down her face and she opened her arms to embrace me. She again asked for forgiveness for the deeply afflicted wounds in my life. As we hugged, I said to her, "All I wanted was for you to love me unconditionally." She told me that she had been miserable and unhappy, and had misdirected her anger at me.

After talking, communicating my emotions, and gaining a better understanding of the nature of our relationship, I was back in the hospital room. Then I saw myself sit up on the bed with restored strength and color. I felt exhausted, but I knew that I needed to go through every bed, healing every single one of me.

After Vishnu had shown the parts of me that I needed to understand in order to bring connection, I stopped seeing him as frequently as before. Strangely enough, at the beginning of a few meditations, I saw myself swimming in the swamp of my own ruins, trying to reach Vishnu at his castle. I felt disgusted at seeing myself in that way, so I tried to swim faster. Half way, I called out for assistance from Vishnu, but received no response. However, intuitively, I understood his purpose. His message was that I hadn't fully accepted all parts of myself, and he was showing me what I needed to do to heal. As I swam across the marsh, I suddenly saw myself lying on the bathroom floor, cold, gaunt, and disheveled. I realized what I had to do, but didn't want to accept myself in such a condition. I was tired from all the self-healing and didn't know how to continue with this one. Avoiding it, I just watched myself in that vulnerable state. Finally, I picked my other self up from the bathroom floor and washed myself from head to toe with a cloth. I was overcome with love and compassion, so I gave myself a hug and told the unwanted parts of myself that I accepted and embraced them. I gently put my other self on the floor again and continued wiping. I was startled when suddenly I noticed that my other self began to change, growing an elephant head, ears, trunk, and tusks of pearl white, but my legs and torso were still in human form. Nervous, I continued to clean my feet, but I avoided looking at my face. As I did so, the thought occurred to me that I was turning into Lord Ganesh. I had heard of him, but didn't have detailed information. I knew that he was Lord of success and remover of all obstacles. Still, why was I turning into him? What relationship did we have with one another?

Later in the day, I reluctantly informed Sean about the meditation, and was fearful of what he might think. I had no idea what was going on, or the message behind seeing Lord Ganesh. Surely, sharing my experience with Sean about this couldn't be any worse than sharing my experiences with Vishnu. After thinking about it, I felt more at ease and told Sean everything in the hope that he would help me gain clearer insight. Sean reassured me that it was a good start. Lord Ganesh was the son of Lord Shiva and goddess Parvati. The Hindu deity in human form with an elephant head is well-known in India and Nepal.

As I continued with meditation, as well as being mindful daily, I hardly see Vishnu. He had shown me what I needed to do in order to bring tremendous reconciliation and he would no longer be around. After all, I was more connected and organized than I had ever been. Why would he stay around after all the assistance he had offered? Vishnu had been an enormous help, and now it was time for us to go our separate ways.

While driving to another town one day with Sean, I shared with him my sadness at not seeing Vishnu and my anxieties about whom I would meet next as a guide. Sean said, "Maybe Shiva." Right away, I had goose bumps. I was apprehensive about meeting with him. Despite not knowing much about Lord Shiva, somehow I had the feeling that I knew him. I understood he was a destroyer of the ego, and I realized that I possessed similar characteristics. I can be self-destructive, but I learn from the situations very quickly by gaining different and deeper perspectives about life and myself. The feelings I experienced over the prospect of meeting Lord Shiva were overwhelming and I didn't want to carry on a conversation about him. The meeting with Lord Vishnu was psychologically brutal and painful enough. To think of meeting a guide more challenging was extremely frightening. Again, Sean uttered a statement that brought more goose bumps, "Meeting with Shiva can be scary."

"Really?" I asked. "I don't want to be afraid. I hope I don't meet him yet, I'm not ready."

After three or four months without seeing Vishnu, I saw him one last time. The last meeting didn't take place at the hospital, or his castle, but at the old house. I found myself sitting on the old sofa as Vishnu walked slowly from the kitchen, holding a beautiful, white flowery necklace. Feeling truly excited to see him, I told him I missed him. Without any reluctance, he gently placed the necklace around my neck, and I deeply and humbly thanked him. Then he looked into my eyes and said, "You are Vishnu."

I replied quickly, "No, I am not Vishnu. You are."

He kindly repeated, "You were always Vishnu, all along."

As Vishnu disappeared into thin air, I pleaded with him not to leave, to continue to guide me. Then he said for the last time, "You are Vishnu." Moments later, I began to see myself changing into a big, blue giant Vishnu. It was deeply surprising to witness this occurrence. Now and then, I'd had the feeling that I was Vishnu, but as always, I'd had a hard time accepting it. It could be a challenge to consent to this idea; I'd been taught that Vishnu, Shiva, Jesus, and Buddha were deities outside of who I was, and not within me. The next day, I felt revived, renewed, and had much more confidence than before. I wasn't as calculating of my moves, thoughts, and actions as I had been.

During my usual walk with Sean, I informed him about the last encounter with Vishnu. I was certain the meeting with Lord Shiva would take place in the near future. Sean reminded me again that I had already known what Vishnu was going to tell me, but I had been too afraid to accept it.

"Yes, I know, because I have a hard time believing in myself," I replied. I added that I wasn't interested in meditating at the moment, because I was afraid to meet with Lord Shiva.

Sean said, "You need to continue with the meditation, face fears of the unknown, and know yourself."

I was quiet after hearing this. There was nothing I wanted more than to know myself, and nothing was going to stop this immense desire, not even me.

One day, Sean told me that he had known about me before we met. He said I was obsessive about knowing myself, and he was correct. Most of our conversations, if not all, were about spirituality. Sometimes, he would ask me to change the subject and talk about something else for a change. Of course, even when we did this, I would slowly bring things back to metaphysics. In one of our conversations, I asked him to tell me about Shiva and what might happen when I met him. He got annoyed, not wanting to predict what was ahead, and replied, "You don't listen anyway."

"I really will listen this time," I told him and humbly asked again.

However, he said, "No, you don't listen, and you need to find out on your own."

I couldn't agree with him more. Yet, the desire to gain information about Shiva was considerably urgent and I wanted to prepare myself for the meeting, so I kept pressing for answers. No such luck. He became dreadfully angry, and we argued.

For the rest of the walk we remained quiet, and finally I said, "I really need your help. I'm sorry to bother you with all this, but I'm scared."

"I don't know what Shiva's going to do," he replied.

To change the tune a little, I decided to tell Sean some personal stories about my past. I talked about how I'd tried to fit in with the crowd for fear of being different, but I felt deeply empty inside. I had always had a very strong desire to inquire, and to search for answers, with everything in life. When Sean and I met, he was the sole person who truly knew me more than I knew myself. That's why I asked him for input about the many unusual things that were happening. He calmed down, looked at me with compassion, and responded, "I understand." Then he said no more.

Much later, after realizing myself, Sean told me that he had been enlightened for many years, and for many lifetimes. This lifetime will be his last. It never occurred to me to ask him about enlightenment because I'd never thought about it, or sought it. I didn't even know the meaning of the word itself. I wouldn't know, or fully understand what the experience of it was like if he had told me, before I came to it myself. All that I deeply wanted was to know myself and the universe.

Chapter 9: Unknown Pain

One evening in spring of 2011, a strange thing happened before bedtime. After dinner, I spent quality time with my niece and nephews then headed downstairs to my room to get ready for bed. Before going to sleep, I decided to do sit-ups, and thought about my hectic day at work. It was disappointing to think that I needed to move on from my current job and find something that would spark my interest. As I felt the sadness, I unexpectedly felt a surge of pain engulf my entire body that left me paralyzed on the floor. I didn't know what was happening, so I continued to stay still on the floor, afraid to move. After a few minutes, I tried to get up, but I couldn't. I couldn't even cry out my pain. There was nothing that I could do, and at that point, I was unsure if I could move at all. The pain was so severe that I wanted someone to release me from it, and it didn't matter what they had to do. By now, my sadness had become the deepest despair. I couldn't prevent it, or escape it, but had to feel every inch of it. After a while, I slowly crawled to my bed. A couple of minutes later, I called Sean. Maybe he could shed some light. Although I'd managed this far, I was still in extreme pain. Fortunately, I was able to utter a few words to describe my experience. While we talked, I slowly began to feel better and I was able to move around gently.

"Nothing lasts," Sean reassured me to help put me at ease.

Slowly, I responded, "It felt like hopelessness overtook me. It felt like death."

The next day, I felt somewhat relaxed, but I still felt pain. I wanted to cry often, but I held myself back from having an emotional breakdown in public. A few times, I went to the bathroom to sit and pull myself together. Since I was oblivious to the cause of the pain, I talked to Sean about it on my way home from work, to try to decipher its cause. He tried to comfort me by saying that I was brave to face the pain and not run from it.

Angrily I replied, "There was no way to escape what I felt last night. I'm still feeling the effects of it now."

It didn't seem fair to be angry with Sean. It wasn't his fault that I felt the way I did. I asked for insight since he was knowledgeable about the metaphysical aspect of life. He said I was preparing myself for something far greater than I could comprehend. He didn't elaborate, so I asked for clarity, but received a vague explanation instead. He was certain I would find out on my own when it was time. Although his reply was ambiguous, but it was enough for me because I needed something, some sort of answer, to instill hope that everything was going to get better. Unlike before, I refrained from pressuring him for clear details and felt calmed by what he said. It seemed that I was more comforted than I'd ever been before, just from understanding my personal experiences through a metaphysical perspective.

I thought that the pain had gone, so it was a huge letdown when, after a week, the strange, unknown pain returned to haunt me for the second time. Again, I experienced the agony and I was in deep despair before bedtime. Fortunately, this time, I was able to move around sooner. I was able to crawl to rest in bed after being still on the floor for only a few minutes, but I wasn't able to escape it. I had to endure everything. Again, I wished for someone, anyone to deliver me from the affliction, even if that meant ending my life. A few minutes later, still wracked in pain, I called Sean. I asked, "Is this ever going to go away?"

He responded, "It will get better."

At work, I managed to fake a smile and carry on with my day. I was still unsure why I was feeling the pain. Then, a couple weeks later, I experienced it a third time. As before, I was immobilized on the floor, but for only a couple of minutes. It seemed to get better each time. In fact, I was able to handle the torment without calling Sean right away.

Chapter 10: Shiva

After Vishnu placed the white, flowery necklace around my neck, I never got to see him again. However, Lord Shiva hadn't appeared to me either. I wondered why this might be. A couple of reasons surfaced in my mind. One explanation could be that I already knew that I was he, and the other possibility was that I was too afraid to meet him.

On one occasion, while meditating, I saw myself at the Hindu temple that I usually attended to feel spiritually connected. After paying respect to Brahma, I bowed in deep reverence to Lord Shiva's idol. After I had given respect, I looked at Shiva's statue, but I didn't see him, instead, I saw myself sitting as Shiva. Tears fell down my face and my spirit was uplifted. It was hard to succumb that I was really Shiva, despite knowing intellectually that I was he. I felt astonished and captivated, yet I still had doubts whether this was all true.

Then a voice deep within surfaced and said, "Why are you still surprised?"

Once again, tears of happiness streamed down my face. When I opened my eyes after meditating, I was still amazed by it all.

I felt nervous about what would happen next. From what I knew of Lord Shiva, the destroyer of ego, he tended to create dramatic events to bring light to darkness. However, I realized that I would need to go through the upheaval with much courage so that I could further grow. After meeting with Lord Shiva, many of my meditations were terrifying and horrific, some of which involved my physical body being cut up and hung by a sawmill to drain the blood. Sometimes, my body was shredded. Afterward, I found myself in a tiny room in front of a mirror. There was nothing to see except myself. I didn't want to look, so I would look down, afraid of what the mirror might reveal.

After many meditations, I grew tired of being in the small room and I knew what I had to do. I needed courage to accept myself, especially those parts that still disgusted me, in order to move on. So, I worked up the courage to embrace my low self-esteem, self-hatred, self-destruction, and low self-confidence, as they lined up to be acknowledged and accepted. As I continued to heal, the room became bigger and bigger, and in no time, I was able to leave it. I would regularly remind myself that I was auspicious; I was beautiful. Sometimes, I would feel emotional pain from past hurts surfacing and I would cry while I was at work or alone.

After I left the room in the next meditation, a guru appeared. Right away, I recognized him because I had seen his pictures on a social networking site. He was a worshipper, or follower, of Lord Shiva. He walked away and I had the feeling that I was supposed to follow. As he led me through a hallway filled with only energy, the beautiful sights along the way distracted me and I lost sight of the guru. On my left, I saw a magical circus and illuminated buildings, which were difficult to ignore. On my right, I saw entrancing lights like auras. When I lagged behind, the guru came back to tell me not to be sidetracked. Finally, we arrived at a train stop in space, filled with only energy. I felt apprehensive initially, reluctant to get on the train, but after a few moments, I stepped in, and immediately, I was in the land of gold.

I was astonished to witness such a sight, and deeply enchanted. Everything appeared to be made of gold, including the people. I stood among them as they waited. Soon, a carriage carrying a princess came and everyone followed her. But, I could no longer see the guru. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I followed the princess along with the others, the gold people. I wondered if they noticed me and became nervous about how they might react if they did. Shortly, we arrived outside a palace. The princess stepped out of the carriage and entered. I followed behind, hoping she wouldn't know. On my left, I saw a room lit by a tall, clear tube. When I looked to the right, I saw people partying in a huge room, oblivious that I stood outside. I didn't know where the princess was going, but I decided to make a detour and take a look around. After roaming the fascinating palace, I circled back to the lighted room, curious about what type of room it was. I approached the tube a couple of times, but each time, I took a step back, afraid of what it might do. After a while, I sensed that it was a transporter. It took me a moment, but I worked up the will to go in, and instantly, it took me to a land of horned people.

These people were tall, muscular, and serious. Strangely, despite hoping he hadn't seen me, I found myself bowing to the emperor, along with all the others. The emperor wore a purple robe and gold bracelets around his wrists and neck. I was becoming paranoid, convinced that someone would notice me, that they would capture me in order to behead me. The emperor walked back and forth. I didn't dare to look up to get a full view of his face because I was too frightened. So, I stopped meditating instead. After that, I didn't know where my meditation was headed.

In the next meditation, I found myself in the land of human giants. I felt as small as an ant and I sat on a giant's shoulder. He was enormous and I wondered how the ground could hold him. He travelled with his wife and I didn't know where they were going. A few moments later, the giants disappeared and I was in the land of the thin. The people here were also very tall, but as thin as paper. I looked at them from the ground, and fortunately, they didn't see me. My neck felt stiff from looking up, so I decided to come out of the meditation.

The next day, I asked Sean if he had been to the places that I had seen. It took me by surprise when he said that he had. Maybe I wasn't imagining things after all, or if I was, I wasn't the only one. Witnessing different people, living different lives, in my meditations helped me to better accept others and to embrace the differences in them, rather than focus on their exteriors. This perspective motivated me to look beyond their physical forms and more on their hearts and souls. Almost daily, I used the word auspicious in my vocabulary when I spoke to others. This was to help me accept all parts of who I was, as well as to help others to realize the beauty of who they were.

As the end of spring approached, my job situation took a dive. I was fired from my counseling position, which came as a shock and the circumstances caused me much pain and embarrassment. I was speechless, to say the least. Above all, I had no direction regarding my career. After they told me that I was no longer employed with the company, it took a few minutes to gain control of myself. When I left the supervisor's office, I had to stop and take deep breaths to keep from shaking, and by the time I reached my car, I could hardly breathe. I called Sean, but he couldn't hear me because I was crying so hard.

For a couple of days, I suffered tremendous distress. Fortunately, I made the wise decision to use mindfulness. This would help me to be one with my emotions no matter what they were. On top of that, I meditated, sometimes twice a day, so that I could gain a deeper understanding of myself and what I had just gone through.

While taking my nightly walk with Sean, I realized this upheaval was due to Lord Shiva's actions. I had experienced joblessness a couple times before and had come out much stronger. When I told Sean what I had learned, images of a funeral ceremony entered my mind. Sean seemed adamant that I wasn't going to listen to him when I asked for his opinion regarding the meaning of the intruding images.

He insisted, "You need to figure it out on your own. You don't listen anyway."

I pleaded with him several times to help me out because I was going through rough times and trying to sort out what was happening within me.

He then said, "A funeral symbolizes self-renewal, transformation, and growth."

Quickly, I replied, "Well, I already knew that. Can't you tell me something that I don't already know?"

"Well, you know you're Shiva. You always have to create such a big crisis for yourself," he answered.

"Because I can handle it," I added.

He replied, "You wouldn't need a big crisis if you'd only pay attention."

One night, out of nowhere, when we were speaking on the phone, Sean asked me, "Do you know that I know you more than you know yourself?"

I responded, "I know, that's why I ask you for your thoughts about all these things I don't yet understand, especially when it has to do with metaphysics."

Then I shared with him what I'd seen in meditation; I had seen him help me open my eyes. They were shut tightly, we had made several attempts to get them open, but, finally we had succeeded and I was able to see. I hadn't realized that I needed so much strength and energy to open them. I even came out of the meditation feeling exhausted.

He then shouted, "You need to wake the fuck up and stop falling back asleep."

I yelled back, "I'm trying very hard. I want to remember so badly."

"I'm not coming back for you anymore," he said. "This is the last time."

I kept silent. I needed no clarification. I had heard it many times before. I didn't know what remembering myself, or waking up required, all I knew was that I wanted to know me, everything and anything about myself and life. So, my response took me off guard.

A couple of times, when closing my eyes to meditate, I saw blood all over the bathroom, and then I had to open them again because I was too scared to see it, too scared to find out what it meant. It didn't matter whether I had my eyes shut or not, I would continuously witness blood splashing over the walls. On one occasion, I kept my eyes closed, despite my fears, because I wanted to see what would take place. It was terrifying; I observed my mother stab me in the back while I had my face in her lap. I saw a similar scenario when I visited her grave, so I cut the visit short. These experiences were nightmares. The only difference was, I was not asleep. To find comfort, I asked Sean for his thoughts.

He said, "You're hurting yourself and you need to stop."

I knew he was correct, but I was afraid to admit it. Moreover, I needed to face it, which would be excruciating.

"How?" I asked.

"You need to figure that out yourself," he added.

I felt even more lost listening to him. Furthermore, I wasn't certain of what I was supposed to do. Deep inside, I panicked, worried that something was seriously wrong, and I wished the images would stop.

At first, I chose to avoid meditating. This lasted a few days, until I finally stopped running and faced the horrific images that haunted me. When I closed my eyes to meditate, I was automatically in the bathroom witnessing my mother stab me in the back with a butcher's knife. Blood splashed everywhere, including the floor, the bathtub, and the wall, in an apartment that I did not know. As I continued to watch, I saw my lifeless body sink down into the water. Closely, I observed myself fall and it appeared that I had given up. It was shocking, but I persisted to watch myself die. What happened? Did I just give up? Was I really dead? If I were dead, what was going to happen to me in real life? It was deeply disturbing, and I started to freak out. However, I didn't stop meditating and continued to watch my body sink deeper and deeper into the water. It was heartbreaking, but I couldn't see how to prevent it. I was also worried in case I died in real life. As I looked on, I turned paler, like a bloated corpse, but now I appeared to be sinking to the bottom of a lake. Then, out of nowhere, surprisingly, astonishingly, a healthy, loving, and glowing version of myself came to lift my weak body from the water. I saw her carry my corpse to the shore, place it under a thick, green tree, and breathe life into it. Miraculously, life energy flowed through my body and I became livelier, although I was still weak and pale. Then, I heard her whisper, "I will never give up on you. I can never give up on you." Instantly, I was filled with a kind of love that I had never known before. As she continued to hold me, I felt love grow within me. I felt the tears roll down my real face as I continued to witness the love that I had for myself. I never knew that I could love this much, and the strange thing was, I loved me, something I thought could never happen.

As I lay under the tree and continued to regain energy, the loving version of myself disappeared. When I sat up, I saw my mother, grandmother, and grandfather sitting there instead, under the tree, surrounding me, and I was filled with love.

Within myself, I felt as if I had been revived, woken from the dead. After resting on my bed to absorb the experience, I made a visit to Sean's house, to share with him the wonderful meditation I'd just had. Listening attentively to the story, he tenderly responded, "I think you're beginning to realize what I always knew about you." His eyes were full of tears, which touched me deeply. He added, "You're so courageous, brave, and strong. I truly admire you."

"I can't run away from myself anymore," I replied. "I have done it countless times. I ran away to avoid any emotional and psychological discomfort. I distracted myself from the pain inside with things like unhealthy relationships, going out, and focusing on other people's problems."

He then made a shocking comment, "As you did many times in past lives."

"What?"

I had no recollection of past lives, but I understood what he meant. "You're saying that if I don't have a deep understanding about myself, I'm bound to do the same things. Past and present life isn't much different, then."

I realized again, what I had always known, we re-create similar situations over and over until we recognize what's going on within us and make changes. I had observed so many people, including myself, drawn to similar people, places, and things because we lack awareness of our own thoughts and actions. Often, I had conveyed this very message to my clients, the people around me, and even myself.

Sean added, "That's why you move so fast, because you get it. You even understand the trees you walk past and feel their energy."

"And I understand animals and other things around me as well," I added.

"Because you're open. You're open to yourself."

When Sean uttered those profound statements, right away I had goose bumps. It was true, I was open to know myself, in every way, it didn't matter how frightening it might be.

Frankly, I was amazed by my own courage to face the gruesome scenes and the emotional pain that hadn't been fully resolved. He then asked, "Have you seen your grandpa in your meditations yet?"

"A couple times, maybe. Am I supposed to see him?" I asked.

"If you want to."

Whenever I didn't receive an exact explanation, I tended to become aggravated, which created arguments between us. However, I was thankful for Sean's ambiguous answers at times, because they empowered me to take responsibility, to search for answers to my own questions.

Mid-summer of 2011, I continued to regularly visit my mother's grave, so that I could heal my relationship with her. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I could still see her hurting me. Fortunately, I wasn't bleeding heavily like before, and the wounds seemed to heal quickly. In other meditations, my grandparents and mother continued to give warmth and comfort, while I rested under the lush tree near the ocean. My grandfather seemed to make the place home, as I witnessed him gardening nearby. It was apparent that I was getting stronger. I was able to sit up and look around without assistance. Sometimes, I would swim in the ocean or help my grandfather with his garden, which was growing beautifully. The plants grew taller each time I mediated. I saw a boat nearby and the ocean was calm. Soon, I realized the boat was waiting for me, for when I was ready to move forward. A couple of times, when I had plenty of energy, I got on the boat to leave, but I found myself coming back; yet once I was fully recovered, and the garden was growing in abundance, I knew it was time to leave the island. This time, I did not turn back.

Next, I found myself back in the apartment where I'd been stabbed. My mother was still hurting me, but, fortunately, there wasn't much blood. What blood there was, quickly healed. Suddenly, disturbingly, it switched from my mother to me; I was now the one thrusting the sharp butcher's knife into my own back. As I watched, I came to terms with the fact that I was psychologically mutilating myself most of my life. It seemed that I sought comfort through misery. It was no surprise that the better I understood my past, the less blood dripped from my body. At times, there was no blood at all, and it was like stabbing air.

The next thing I knew, the hurting stopped - there was no use for it. There was no blood, and no emotional pain. Unfortunately, I didn't understand why I still carried the knife. It could have been for comfort, I was uncertain. Besides, it could be that I wasn't able to let go of it yet. Unexpectedly, while I was thinking, I saw a loving version of myself walk my way with a gentle smile on her face. She wore a flowery skirt, brown-colored blouse, and her hair was partly clipped away from her angel-like face. I was awe-struck by her glowing beauty, and felt so comforted whenever she was close by. Quickly, I tried to hide the knife behind my back, fearful that she would see. We took a seat on a small bench by the bathtub and I hid the sharp object to my right. When she did see the blade, I became embarrassed, but she didn't seem to be concerned. Instead, she proceeded, kindly, to tell me that she was not there to judge or criticize. I could keep the knife until I was ready to let it go.

There were times, during meditation, when I attempted to cut myself on my arm, but I felt no judgment, only love, from my unconditional self. It was comforting when she made positive statements about me despite my negative behaviors. After a while, I no longer had a desire to hurt myself, but still kept the knife around. Sometimes, I found myself without it for a while, but as soon as I became aware that it wasn't in my hand, I would search for it. When I found it, I placed it where I was able to retrieve it readily. However, at least I wasn't holding it next to me like before. That was a positive step. I was able to put it down whenever I wanted now. Since I didn't know the apartment, I decided to take a tour, while my unconditional, loving self waited on the bench observing me with much admiration. When I finished, I sat down next to her and was amazed by how much more I was becoming like her. We wore the same outfit, had the same hair style, the same gestures, but I was not yet quite as perfect as she was. However, when I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, I saw that I had become almost that perfect. When I turned around, I noticed she was about to depart. I went to sit next to her and asked why she was leaving. She gently said, "You no longer need me. I am always here if you do."

"I do still need you, please stay!" I begged.

Then she disappeared into thin air, just like Vishnu.

Chapter 11: Excruciating Pain

Before my insurance became inactive, I made the decision to go see my therapist for the last time. I also planned to attend a spiritual event afterward. When in session, I informed my therapist that I'd been mindful, aware, and understood the causes of my conflicts, as well as using insight meditation to heal my emotional distress, which had helped me to feel more connected. She understood, however, my decision not to practice therapy saddened her. She explained that I had the gifts to help others and asked me to reconsider.

I replied, "I want to empower others to understand themselves in a different way now. I'm not sure in what way yet, but more than I've been doing." A few minutes before the session ended, I added, "Thank you for your love and guidance. I'm truly grateful for your help."

After a long drive, I finally arrived at the event that I had looked forward to attending. There was already a long line to see the guru. I waited with other attendees for many hours, but I grew impatient and fatigued. Following a meeting with the guru's assistants, I became frustrated with the initiation steps, so I went to find a quiet place to call Sean. After talking with him, I no longer wanted to be initiated and I left the event.

In the early morning, while I drove home, an unexpected thing happened. I started to feel an enormous ache, nervousness around my chest and stomach, and I didn't know what to do to stop it. I tried taking deep breaths and turned up the radio to try to ignore it. Unfortunately, it didn't work. The agony gradually worked itself up to the point where I had trouble breathing and as a result, I had trouble focusing on the road. Once home, the pain persisted and worsened. I wasn't able to sleep. I lay in bed for many hours in pain. Hoping that I would feel better, I decided to go for a walk. Unfortunately, the agony spread through my entire body and mind, and I was unable to move. The suffering became so overpowering that I didn't want to live, so I began to think of ways to end my life as I tossed and turned in bed, curled up in a fetal position. Eventually, I called Sean.

Amid my emotional breakdown, I managed to bring myself to tell him, "I don't want to live."

With concern, he asked, "Why?"

I slowly responded, "I don't know. I just want to die."

As our conversation continued, I felt a bit calmer. He invited me to come over to his parents' to process my distressful experience. He was looking after their dog while they were on vacation, and he said that I could spend the whole day with him. After crying in bed a while longer, I began to feel a little better, so I got up to get ready to go and see Sean. On my way, I stopped to get coffee. I wore sunglasses to cover my watery eyes. It was a challenge trying to contain my ache while ordering the coffee, and when I got back to the car, I sobbed hysterically. My tear-filled eyes made it hard to focus on the road because it blurred my vision.

When I finally arrived, I lay down on the sofa. I tried to describe what I was experiencing, but it seemed impossible to convey my emotions without weeping. The distress seemed worse than previous episodes, but I didn't know why it was so intense. This time, however, I deeply wanted to end my life in order to make it disappear. The dog looked at me with a worried expression and left the room. Throughout the day, I kept going into Sean's parents' room to rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw myself in a white room with doctors and nurses, dressed in white, huddled around me. This frightened me. It didn't matter whether my eyes were closed or open, I continued to see the images. Sean didn't appear to understand what I was going through. I had asked him to explain the pain several times, in metaphysical ways, so that I could start to understand and heal. He simply said, "Just go through it," and left the room as I held myself and cried. I felt deeply alone.

Following many hours of torment, it slowly subsided. There was less heaviness in my body, so Sean and I decided to go out for dinner. At the restaurant, it seemed that the pain was going away. Though I still felt deeply hurt, I was able to hold a conversation without bursting into tears. However, when we began to eat, the heaviness gradually returned. Sean took one look at me and quickly finished his food before heading back. In the car, the pain became unendurable, so, I turned away from him and wept.

After a while, I slowly turned back and pleaded, "Please take the pain away from me. I can't bear it any longer. I really want to die."

He replied, "You chose this."

I considered this. If Sean, or anyone, could take the pain away, would I really want them to? The answer was no. It was my experience and I had chosen it for myself; I needed to be strong and go through it. I was shocked by my own answer. I thought that all I wanted was to die, to escape from feeling the horror of the pain.

We walked inside the house and sat on the couch. Sean started to flip through channels searching for something interesting to watch on television. When the heavy pain fully worsened, I left the room to be with myself. I didn't want Sean, or the dog, to see me in despair, for they had seen enough of it. As I rested, the psychological pain relentlessly persisted and I could do nothing to stop it. It was from feeling extreme paranoia, guilt, and fear, which led to all types of pain and fear unimaginable. Once more, I thought about different ways to escape the pain, including over-dosing, running in front of a car, or go get a knife in the kitchen to end the despair, but I was in too much pain to move. The images of me lying on the table with nurses and doctors dressed in white robes looking over me reappeared. Again, I shut them out. I was too afraid to find out the message behind the visions. I didn't want to find out that I was in pure hell, a nightmare I couldn't come out of. As I tossed and turned holding myself, I remembered mindfulness.

Unexpectedly, a deep voice came forth and said, "Welcome all of it. You are not going to die. Just welcome it."

"Welcome it?" I asked.

"Yes," said the voice.

Silence filled the room and I stopped sobbing. Instead of resisting, I finally opened myself up to take a risk and fully be with the pain, no matter how excruciating it might be. I was ready to die from it, if that's what it took. I couldn't tolerate it any longer and going through it was like dying.

I silently whispered to myself, "I welcome all. Come on in. I will feel everything."

It had been fourteen hours of agony and now I was ready to embrace it, to surrender to it. The moment I stopped fighting, I felt every fiber of despair engulf me. It was like death swirling over my weak body, ready to take me to the underworld, and I didn't resist its power. A few minutes later, though it felt like hours of torture, a miraculous thing happened that my mind could have never imagined about pain. The very despair that I had fought all day slowly, softly transformed into the deepest joy. My body started to feel lighter and lighter, and within minutes, I overflowed with complete happiness. Now, instead of tears of despair, tears of joy ran down my face. In that instant, I understood the most important thing: I was pain as much as I was joy, yin and yang, positive and negative. I was all of it. It was beyond my wildest understanding that deep agony was also deep joy.

Moments later, Sean came into the room to check on me. I thanked him for being with me throughout the day.

He asked, "Do you get it now?"

"Yes, yes. I get it. Through it, I realized who I was." I was exuberant. I shared with him how much I felt strength, happiness, and connection to myself from the experience.

He asked, "Who are you?"

"I am the yin and the yang. And I feel so much unconditional love for myself."

I told him that I wasn't going to judge or run away from this part of myself, but instead, I would welcome it.

"If I don't know pain, then I don't know what joy and happiness are. It's two sides of the same coin, love and pain. I am one and the same, giving myself different experiences of who I am. The storm is also the calm, in and of itself. Weakness is strength and sorrow is joy."

Sean said, "You got it."

I went on, "It wasn't my mother who had placed sorrow and pain in my life; I chose it. She was playing her part to give me the experiences that I wanted and was wonderful at playing her role. Tomorrow, I will go to her grave to tell her how much I appreciate her love. I could never forget the experience I just endured."

While Sean and I took our nightly walk, an image of the goddess Durga flashed before my eyes. She rode on some great creature and fiercely destroyed a whole village. Sean asked, "What are you thinking about?"

I replied, "I'm seeing Durga burn down a whole village."

He smiled and said, "You are goddess Durga, the destroyer, similar to Shiva."

"Yes. I destroy the village so I can build a city," I smartly replied.

Then I realized that the work of Lord Shiva was coming to completion. All along, I was fearful of encountering the circumstances that I had just gone through, and all that had come from Lord Shiva. However, through weakness, I gained strength. How could I ever thank Shiva for such experiences that brought tremendous self-transformation, wisdom, and renewal?

Chapter 12: Who I had been

Around this time, the loving and kind version of myself finally helped me to recognize how much I had flourished. Unfortunately, I would still carry a butcher's knife in my hand, but there was no longer any blood staining the walls, the bathtub, or the floor. While admiring myself, I reached to touch the mirror. I was examining my reflection, observing the changes in me, when, unexpectedly, the mirror turned into liquid metal and pulled me into a long dark alley full of energy. I was nervous, but I continued, apprehensive, but curious. As I walked, I looked at my arms; there were tattoos on one of them. I looked down and realized that the ground was littered with syringes. I kept on walking, carrying the butcher's knife in my hand. Before long, I found myself behind a samurai, walking down the stairs of an arena.

Many people had come from all over Japan to watch the match between two fearless warriors, and I was among them. The crowd cheered and clapped their hands for the first warrior as he approached the arena. I was startled when he turned around and looked at me, and, at once, I had a sudden feeling that he was me, in another lifetime. He was one of the most skillful samurai warriors of his time. The crowd roared louder and louder as he approached, and I followed him to the gate. When he stepped onto the battlefield, the crowd stood up and cheered. Then, the match began, and only moments later, the samurai warrior had won. He had killed his enemy instantly. He stood looking at his dead opponent as the crowd continued to cheer. Next thing I knew, I walked behind him as he entered his home.

Suddenly, he stopped in the hallway to listen, as if he knew someone was there, and my heart pounded. I feared that he might he see me. Then, out of nowhere, ninjas, dressed in black, jumped down from the ceiling and attacked him with their swords. The samurai warrior drew his sharp blade from his waist and quickly killed all the ninjas before they had an opportunity to strike him. My mouth dropped and my eyes widened in disbelief. As he looked at the dead ninjas, another one dropped quietly behind him, like a spider, and shot an arrow into his back. The samurai fell immediately to the floor, dead. I quickly opened my eyes, shocked. Was I really once a very skillful samurai warrior?

When I thought about that meditation, I became interested in finding out if I had really been a samurai warrior in a previous life, so I immediately drove to see Sean.

Right away, I asked, "Was I a samurai in a past life?"

He looked at me for a moment, unsurprised, and said, "You were so cocky and conceited. You killed another warrior in a disrespectful way. So your opponent's followers took revenge and killed you disrespectfully in return."

I paused and pondered this. I thought about what it was like to be disrespected. I remembered, when growing up, the other kids in the village had teased me for being unattractive.

"Because I was disrespectful in a past life, I have to experience disrespect in this one, so that I know what it's like?" I asked.

"Exactly," he replied. Then, he shared shocking information that I was not prepared for. He said, "I was your wife."

The idea of Sean being my wife was unsettling and a feeling of disgust surfaced that made me turn away from him. It was difficult enough to imagine him as a woman, and even harder to imagine him being my wife. As I lay silently on his bed watching TV, the image of a beautiful Japanese woman wearing a kimono washing clothes in front of a house entered my mind, and of course, I immediately shut it out and focused on watching TV instead.

The following day, when I closed my eyes to meditate, I observed water running through rocks in a small creek in a dense forest, but, moments later, the stream quickly dried up. Again, I sensed that I was the water. Soon after, I saw a mosquito flying around trying to bite an animal. Then, it disappeared and I knew that I, once, was that mosquito. Next, I saw a cicada die the natural death of its lifespan, and then a happy tiger died in battle with another tiger. Shortly after, I watched a poor, hardworking Asian man, pulling a cart around a busy market, trying to sell his food items. I watched him pull the cart, wiping sweat from his face with a rag and asking passers-by if they wanted to buy some of his items. He was thin, tanned, and wearing ragged clothes. I felt compassion awaken within me as I observed the poor man and I wanted to help, but I couldn't. The only thing I could do was watch. Later, he returned to his rice farm for a nap in a hut. Then I noticed a king cobra silently make its way up the stairs while he slept. When it reached the man's bed, the snake immediately bit him. Once the cobra was gone, I walked closer to see whether the man was still alive, but unfortunately, he was dead.

When I opened my eyes, it puzzled me why my past lives were shown. I didn't know the reason, but I was thankful. After thinking about the meditation, I realized that this cobra reminded me of one that I had killed when I was young, on my way to look after farm animals.

When I was about six or seven years old, I ventured out with a village friend to find some farm animals that my family had let out for the day into the forest. On our way to find the animals, my friend and I decided to walk the road alongside the dried rice fields, so we wouldn't get lost. As we walked, she saw a king cobra lying across the road in front of us. My friend stopped me, grabbing hold of one of my arms. We were frightened and didn't know what to do. How could we continue without getting attacked? But, we had to get past, because we had to find the animals before noon. I looked around for a stick and, when I'd found a suitable one, I asked my friend to stay back while I tried to scare it off. I poked the stick at the snake and it slithered off under a bush at the base of a leafy tree. I went after it with the stick held tightly in my hand. I searched for a couple minutes, not realizing that it was right behind me, its head straight up, ready to strike. I turned around and attacked. I swiped at its neck and continued beating it until it was dead. Afterward, my friend and I took the cobra back to the village and I handed it to my grandfather, who cooked it for dinner that night and shared it with the neighbors.

In a subsequent meditation, I found myself observing another lifetime where I was involved in a very volatile, highly tumultuous relationship. I took a butcher's knife and stabbed myself in the chest to escape the horror of it. Strangely, the knife was very similar to the one that I had carried at the apartment. Next, I was a tall, thin Caucasian woman with strawberry blonde hair who had issues with drugs. The police raided the drug house I was in, and I made a run for it with drugs and syringes in my hand. Afraid the police would find me, I hid under a bridge. When I was safe, I decided to use all the drugs I had with me and, unfortunately, I witnessed myself die from an overdose. The police found my body the next day and placed it in a body bag. I heard one of the policemen say, "What a waste," when they zipped up the bag.

Following this, I saw myself living in Greece as a very wealthy lady married to a handsome Greek warrior. Everyone in the household appeared to be dressing themselves up for some kind of celebration. I wore a beautiful white dress with my hair up in a bun. I was the lady of the house and considered a great beauty. As I walked through the halls, my servants addressed me as "my lady." But, I didn't join the party; I went to a big, beautiful swimming pool surrounded by many statues of Greek gods and goddesses. In my hand, I held a little bottle and I went to sit by the poolside. I looked into the water, deep in thought. Moments later, I drank from the bottle and fell into the pool. Apparently, it had contained poison. Many thoughts ran through my head as I witnessed the body float in the water. It was infuriating, not knowing why I had committed suicide, and in such a horrible way. Curious, I decided to find out. I moved into the room where people were celebrating and discovered that my husband was having an affair. I had died from a broken heart. This upset me so much, I immediately decided to open my eyes from meditation. I had to talk to Sean about this.

Upon arriving at Sean's house, right away, I started ranting. Although it was unfair to him, and he didn't know why I was so angry at first, I continued to vent my emotions about the affair he'd had in another life. He became angry and responded, "You didn't love yourself. You were the one who wanted me to have a mistress." His profound statements silenced me, and it took a few minutes to reflect on this. There was sadness in my heart because I knew it was true. At times, I felt that I wasn't worthy of being loved and that no one could truly love me. The more I remembered my past lives, the better understanding I had about my current life.

Every life that I had lived, all came down to one life, this life. With a deeper comprehension, I thanked him for marrying me in yet another life where I'd been considered the most unattractive woman in the village, a penniless servant. Then, I uttered, "I remember all the lives we've shared."

"It's about time," he replied.

Once I had recalled all the lives I had lived, I began to see clips of my own future. I saw how many children I was going to have, with whom, and what I would be doing.

Chapter 13: White Horses

I chose to continue to meditate despite feeling torn about my personal life. In one meditation, I found myself sitting under a tree admiring the calming blue sky. Moments later, a white horse flew my way and descended to the spot where I sat. He was stern, strong, and pure, and I longed to stroke his proud face and neck. I approached cautiously. He showed no fear and let me reach my hand out and pat him. Afterward, I hopped up on his back and he flew me away to another place, through open clear, magical skies. The ride was free, calm, and peaceful, something I much needed due to my distress.

The next thing I knew, we had landed in a green clearing, surrounded by big beautiful oak trees. On either side, beyond the trees, were two small mountains. I dismounted and went to sit under a thick tree. Suddenly, from nowhere, I saw many white horses fill the sky, headed in my direction. When they arrived, they surrounded me and I sat in awe of their magnificence. They were perfect and mystical.

After the meditation, I looked up the meaning of the white horses and selected an interpretation that fitted most with the situation that I was going through. White horses meant that life experiences would bring strength and prosperity, which encouraged me to refrain from judging and being overly critical of myself.

Later that same morning, I was led to real white horses at a pumpkin patch outing. I was still feeling out of sorts, in spite of my understanding that circumstances bring strength. After we had settled at the pumpkin patch and eaten a few warm donuts, my nephew became adamant that he wanted to go see some white horses not far from where we were. I decided to take him, and left my niece with my sister and her friends. When my nephew and I saw the horses, I didn't immediately correlate them with the white horses from my meditation, or the meaning behind it, until my nephew showed the same admiration toward them that I had. No matter how many times I told him not to pat them, he continued to reach out his arm and indulge himself. I realized then, that this was a reminder for me that, negative or positive, our experiences only bring courage. I hugged and kissed my nephew for reminding me to enjoy life and abandon irrational judgments.

Although I'd had insights about my stressful situation, I continued to struggle with it. Now, before I meditated, I would ask why I still had difficulty. Why did I repeatedly have to go through similar experiences? Soon, I saw myself sitting in meditation pose under the same big oak tree, but, this time, there were no horses around, so I went to sit next to myself and closed my eyes. Briefly, I saw many of the distressing situations I had endured displayed in front of me like scenes in a movie. I wanted to open my eyes, afraid of the answer, but I persisted with it. In no time, the answer came. Again, I was reminded that everything I had done, and everything I had been through, would only ever lead back to me so that I could grow. It made me feel harmonious and at peace, so I slowly opened my eyes. It seemed that, this time, my distress had subsided.

The next day, I felt reassured by the insights I'd received. I was ready to meditate again. Almost immediately, after closing my eyes, I saw myself sitting in the same meditation pose under the same tree. As before, I went and sat next to myself to meditate. In a short time, I was in a tranquil place surrounded by trees, mountains, valleys, and cherry blossoms. I was deeply enchanted by the beauty, it felt like heaven. In the midst of it, I saw that I was everything and everything was me. I wasn't separate from the sun, the moon, the stars, or the skies. Although I knew it, felt it, and saw it, I couldn't believe it. I wanted to open my eyes to digest the knowledge, however, I decided to carry on, captivated by the wonder of who I was. Similar to a child, I hopped, sang, hugged, and kissed bushes and trees, and, later, I saw another person walk by. Right away, I recognized her to be me in another human form. Like children, we hopped and sang, enjoying together the perfection of who we were. Then, suddenly, we were arguing, pointing fingers at one another, and soon, we were in a screaming match. As I watched, I came to understand that the beauty of life is to have someone to love, to argue with, to blame, and to dance with. This was an expression of the perfection of life.

I was curious whether Sean had seen the white horses when he was on his path to self-realization many years ago. Part of me wanted to ask, to get reassurance that I was not foolish, but part of me was afraid. When I finally managed to find the resolve to ask, he said that, of course, he'd seen them, but then he added, "I am the white horses."

Hearing his answer, made me feel a whole lot calmer, however, I questioned why I did not see myself as a white horse. Could it be that I was still afraid? Then I brought up another concern, "I don't seem to readily remember all the insights and wisdom, why is that? I truly want to remember what I learn; I don't want to have to remind myself constantly. It's irritating and makes me impatient. Sometimes, I get headaches."

Sean didn't offer suggestions on how I could remember and I was curious if he always did.

"Do you remember all the time?" I asked.

He responded, "Yes, I am connected to everything all the time."

I begged, "Tell me, how?"

But, he stayed quiet, and, surprisingly, I stopped pressing; this didn't happen often.

Chapter 14: My Grandfather

During one meditation, I walked into a house where a small party was in full swing. In the living room, a few people mingled, but I made my way to the kitchen. There, I saw my grandfather sat on the floor with a few Asian women, watching them cook. He was thin, about eighty years old, and wore a yellow Buddhist monk robe similar to the one he wore when he was alive. As soon as I saw him, I went to sit next to him. In real life, I wouldn't normally be able to do this, because he was a monk. In Buddhist tradition, women cannot sit close to monks; unlike men, they have to keep their distance. I didn't realize until that moment how much I missed him. My grandfather had appeared in my meditations a few times, but I didn't normally feel his loving presence like I did here. After I'd made myself comfortable sitting and watching the Laotian ladies cook their food, my grandfather stood up to leave. I had an overwhelming feeling that I needed to follow him. However, I decided to come out of the meditation instead.

My grandpa was waiting when I closed my eyes to meditate the next day. We began walking as soon as I reached him. I remember asking where we were going, but he didn't respond, so I remained quiet and followed behind. When I looked around, I saw that everything along the way was energy, including the buildings. Soon, we stood by a huge hole in a broken floor. I wondered how we'd get to the other side. Then, my grandfather walked across as if the hole didn't exist. I was astonished. However, I was at a loss how I'd get across when it was my turn. I paced back and forth, trying to come up with a solution. I looked down a few times and realized how far I would fall if I missed. I was frightened. As I hesitated, my grandpa yelled, "Come on!"

"I can't. I'm going to fall. It's very high, I'll hurt myself," I shouted back.

He spoke calmly, "It's all in your mind. Nothing is there."

I was far too fearful to listen, however. I continued to pace, looking into the yawning gap. When I refused to take that step of faith, he came back to help me. I reached out for his hand and held it tightly. Then, to ensure I wouldn't fall, I grabbed on to his arm like a baby, shaking. I closed my eyes, refusing to look down. Once we'd made it to the other side, you'd think I'd feel relieved, but no, I was still afraid, breathing heavily, and shaking from head to toe.

The following day, my grandfather told me to board a train. I didn't know where we were going and I didn't ask. Because my grandfather had passed away, I hadn't seen him for a long time, so I went to curl up next to him, to feel love and comfort. The train moved and I watched the scenery pass by as we travelled. After a short time, the trained stopped and I thanked the conductor as we disembarked. We came to a place where the only physical structure was a bench; everything else consisted only of energy. My grandfather sat down and I followed. A few minutes passed where nothing was said and nothing was seen. Confused, I got up and walked around, looking to see if there was anything here other than the bench. I looked and looked, but saw nothing except air, energy. Wherever I looked it was all the same, there was no difference. Then I realized time did not exist. It was always now, here. There was no ending, no beginning, just now. I went back to sit by my grandfather and thanked him for the insight. He said, "Contrast, distinctions, opposites are in the mind. In the mind, you have endless comparisons."

He stood up and we continued our walk. I saw Venice, Italy - it was jaw dropping. There were buildings, sidewalks, cafes, and restaurants in nice clean streets.

I said, "So, in the mind, you can have Italy, Laos, Africa, anywhere. Different faces, different places, and so on. However, in the non-mind, there is no difference. All is energy, all is the same."

He looked at me, "You understand so quickly."

I smiled and replied, "I knew this Grandpa, but it was never shown to me in this way."

Next, we were in space, surrounded by energy. Suddenly, I saw a white ceiling tile up above us. My grandfather immediately removed it and we climbed up a ladder to another floor. Once there, I saw a black ceiling tile. Again, my grandfather removed it. Then, another white tile appeared as we moved up to the next floor, and again, my grandpa removed it.

"Everything is yin and yang," I said.

He nodded, "Yes, white is nothing without black. Black is nothing without white. You will not be able to distinguish the difference without yin and yang. They support and complement one another."

I added, "They are shadows of one another."

That evening, walking with Sean, I shared my new understanding about time, energy, yin and yang, and he listened attentively. I asked, "Why is my grandpa showing me this? I already knew all of it."

Sean replied, "I don't know. Maybe he is preparing you for something."

"Like what?" I implored.

He didn't tell me, but he said that I needed to be patient, find out, and experience it for myself.

Of course, I decided to press, to get a concise response, so I tried again, "My mind needs to be transformed?"

Unfortunately, I didn't get the answer I'd hoped for because he chose to be silent, so I stopped with the questions. As we continued walking, I thought about how my mind needed much reconditioning to understand things in deeper perspectives, so I could step into new territory without being as fearful. Maybe, that was my grandfather's intention, to prepare my mind.

The following meditation was different. My grandfather was not around, so I decided to enjoy the peace and calm of flying in space. Soon, I witnessed a powerful force taking on a human form. It became a handsome, muscular, Caucasian man, admiring himself as he tried on a gray suit. I was speechless, and carried on observing. Next, I saw him attending school. He pretended not to know how to read or perform math. I was curious, why was the most powerful energy that could do anything not able to perform this simple task? A voice suddenly answered, "Energy can be anything, that's why it is so powerful. Energy can be anything energy desires."

One night, I wanted to test this, to satisfy my curiosity. I wanted to see if the ceiling in my room would disappear and become energy. It did not. Every night after that, I looked at the ceiling before going to bed to see if it would vanish, but, each time, it did not happen. Although, I wasn't able to see the room become invisible, I was able to see energy flowing from everywhere. Then, one particular evening, before falling asleep, I turned onto my other side, trying to get comfortable and, astonishingly, the ceiling was gone. The house was roofless! In panic, I closed my eyes, breathed heavily, and told myself that I wasn't ready to see things disappear. Moments later, I opened my eyes and saw that the ceiling had returned. Thank goodness.

Part Three: Transformation

Chapter 15: Jesus

The next time I meditated, my grandfather was waiting. We walked together along a road filled solely with energy. As usual, I had no idea where we were going and did not ask. Eventually, we came to a door on the right side of the road. My grandfather asked me to open it and go in. Feeling apprehensive, I chose to open the door slowly and entered a small room that had many pairs of shoes, maps, and treasure chests full of gold and silver. There were some maps on the floor nearby, so I put a couple of them in my backpack. I had the feeling that I needed to select a pair of shoes for my journey, so I searched for a pair that would comfortably fit my small feet. There was a bewildering choice; so many that I became anxious about which pair to select. After some time, I picked golden sandal slippers decorated with golden flowers, but still thought that, maybe, I should wear tennis shoes instead, for comfort. I browsed for a different pair, but a couple minutes later, I came back again to the golden sandals. They seemed to fit perfectly when I tried them on, and so I went with them. At last, I walked out of the room and we continued.

A little farther down the road, I saw a little, lighted house on the right and, as we approached, my grandfather asked me to go in. I was reluctant to go by myself, so I asked my grandfather to come along. He said, "Go in. I will wait outside." I heeded his advice and walked toward the house, but kept looking back at him. I feared what I may find. When I reached the door, I hesitantly entered. A middle-aged, Asian woman stood to greet me and showed me which room I needed to enter. Before she walked away, I thanked her for her hospitality by bowing my head. I saw many, many more pair of shoes in the room, and once again, I browsed with a desire to pick out a new pair. I decided to keep the golden sandals.

Suddenly, Jesus appeared and I immediately burst into tears. I slowly walked toward him to give him a hug. As always, I felt tremendous love and comfort being in his presence. After a long hug, I looked at him and had the feeling that he had a message for me, so I was ready to listen. The message was, he never died on the cross to save people from sins, and Christianity had nothing to do with him.

He turned to walk away and I asked, "Will I see you again?"

He did not reply, but continued to walk until I could no longer see him. He did not elaborate on his message because he knew that I had already realized the truth: that Jesus, an enlightened being, had no reason to die for the beautiful, wondrous beings made in the image of God. There was no need to save souls that were already perfection.

I continued my walk with my grandfather and silently thanked Jesus for his important message. I turned back, hoping to see him, but he was gone.

Later in the evening, when I took my nightly walk with Sean, I shared with him Jesus' message. I said, "Jesus never died on the cross to save people from their sins."

Sean replied, "No, he never did."

"Christianity has nothing to do with Jesus."

"No," said Sean.

I continued, "I suppose it wouldn't make sense for God to send his son to die for His own creation when it was already perfectly created."

Sean simply smiled and we spent the rest of our walk in silence.

Chapter 16: I Am the Author

Sometimes, during these meditations, I found myself holding my grandfather's arm, or hand, as we walked, just like a little kid. On one of those occasions, I saw a gaunt, unattractive version of myself waiting alongside the road. I tried to change her back to a normal form, but wasn't able to. I made an effort to disregard her, but, again, I wasn't able to. No matter how far we walked, she persisted to appear. Then, I knew what I had to do: I needed to accept myself again. As soon as I accepted her, I saw other distorted images of myself representing other parts that I still had not fully accepted appeared. They seemed to line up, along the left side of the road, waiting to be accepted, healed, before I could move forward. I embraced them, and told every part of myself that they were beautiful as they were. As I welcomed who I was, the unwanted parts of me that I'd had a hard time accepting gone.

The next day, I closed my eyes and saw myself walking alongside my grandfather; I was still wearing the golden slippers. We seemed to be following a parade, but I could see no parade, and no one lined the streets to watch. Yet, I was aware of several elephants on my left side and a live porcelain mannequin between my grandfather and me. I looked at her a couple times and adored her pure beauty; I couldn't help but wonder if she were me. She was beautiful, tall, bald, loving, gentle, and fashionable. She wore a long blouse with a belt around her waist. As we continued along the road, she vanished.

Soon, we came to a pure, white room with paint cans and brushes. My instant reaction was to pick up a paintbrush and paint the gallery. It was an empty canvas and all it needed was color, designed whichever way I wanted. After the meditation, I realized that I was the author, painter, and constructor of my life. I needed to follow my heart and express it.

When I was growing up, I had been told to sit up straight, talk like a lady, act appropriate, and not express what was on my mind. I realized that I could change anything, be who I wanted, and do as I wished, despite my childhood. It took a long time to find myself, and along the way, I encountered hardships. Now, it was time for me to recondition myself and change my perspectives to experience things differently. Many times, I chose to hold myself back from fully expressing my thoughts for fear of negative judgment, or of being rejected by others, which only sprouted anger and irritation that eventually led to loneliness, self-doubt, and isolation.

It was time for me to move on, set aside the old, and welcome the new. How others perceived me was up to them, it was their choice. It was their responsibility to understand their own thoughts. Similarly, I was responsible for mine. Everyone is the author of their own stories, how they choose to live; it is their freedom. It is their responsibility to be aware of the choices they make. Life is an empty page, and we are all the authors.

Chapter 17: From One to Many

During the summer of 2011, I often visited a Hindu Temple. When I arrived, my usual routine would be to go around the temple room, give respect to the deities, and listen to chants, before driving back home. However, this particular day was unusual. When I came around to the Hindu God, Lord Krishna, He said, "Play the flute of your soul."

I bowed and replied, "I am."

Before walking on, I closed my eyes and thanked Him for uplifting my spirits previously. He had appeared to me in a meditation when I felt distraught, and of course, disappointed in myself. He showed up as baby Krishna and played a beautiful melody on his flute. He was sitting in a rice field in Laos, my birth country. I recognized the place as a spot where I would go to relax and watch the farm animals feed upon the thick, green grass. The sound of the flute was so deeply peaceful that it brought tears to my eyes, and for a moment, I forgot about my distress and immersed myself into the music. Shortly, after He finished playing, I saw myself grow. I grew bigger and bigger until I became the universe.

Before I finished my rounds, I saw a female deity, dressed beautifully in a gold and red silk sari, to whom I had never before offered my respect. However, this time, I felt the need to offer my regards, so I followed my intuition and bowed to her statue. With much surprise, I was overcome with bliss, and I stood silently absorbing the experience. Then, I heard her say, "You have a pure soul, my daughter."

"Thank you," I replied with tears openly falling down my face.

Once I'd dried my eyes, I sought out the group I would join to listen to the guru chant. I saw a few people surround one particular guru and I chose to join them. I listened for a while and slipped into a meditative state. Suddenly, I couldn't see myself. It seemed to me that I was everyone else except me and I became frantic.

Immediately, I lifted up one of my arms to see if I still existed. To my relief, I saw my arm. Nevertheless, this was all a little too much for me. I got up and hurried to get to my car.

Since I didn't grasp the deeper understanding of the experience, I tried to come up with many explanations on the way home. I wondered if I'd been in the zone, in a dream state; maybe it was fatigue; or, perhaps I was coming down with a sickness, but nothing seemed to fit.

It was no good; I needed answers fast. I got out my cell phone and quickly dialed Sean's number. When he picked up the phone, I spoke hurriedly as I described my unusual experience. Then I asked, "Am I everyone and no one?" But, I already knew the answer.

"Yes," he replied.

During the rest of my drive home, my mind took a different turn. Now, I wanted to know how one could be many, so I tried to come up with ways I thought this could be possible. The things I came up with didn't make much sense, until an image entered my mind which showed me in a conference room at my former employment. I was the only one in the room, and I gave my head a short, sharp nod, similar to the way Jeannie did in I Dream of Jeannie. As I did this, a person appeared. I continued to nod my head and people popped up in different physical forms, having different thoughts, interacting with one another. It is a difficult thing to describe, but I could sense that they were all the same yet different, and that, despite apparent differences, all is one. All of this I saw in my head as I drove, at times, I was so distracted that I swerved into a different lane. Then, a different image appeared of two people that I knew conversing, but their stories had nothing to do with one another. It dawned on me that everyone had their own scripts and nothing was at all personal. One great mind could multiply itself into many, countless, endless, infinite minds. This was a startling realization and I couldn't wait to get to the restaurant to tell Sean.

At dinner, I didn't bother to ask how his day had been, I was too eager to share my own news. Sean listened as I shared my insights, and, once I was done, we finished our dinner in silence. Soon, an image appeared of an acquaintance who climbed a tree, walked, and played in a playground all at the same time. I understood that he was everything; he was the ground, the trees, the sun, and the skies.

I must've been in deep thought for a long time because Sean asked, "What are you thinking about?"

With much enthusiasm, I told to him my understanding regarding what I had just witnessed.

He responded, "But you already know all this, right?"

I replied, "Yes, but it was never shown to me this way before. I can't remember everything. I usually forget what I've learned, or what I read, or what you say. I need it to be part of me. That way, I don't have to think about it in order to remember. I get headaches from trying to remember. I want it to be readily within me."

"I know; you will," he reassured.

"When?" I said impatiently. "I would like to remember it now and know all of it. I don't want to keep forgetting." I got up from the table to go refill my soda, and on my way back to the table, I looked around at the other diners and tried to make a mental note that they were all me, but I wasn't able to connect with them and it irritated me. When I sat down, I asked Sean, "So, does all this mean that when I talk to someone, I'm actually talking to myself, and when I look at someone, I'm looking at myself?"

"Yes," he said.

After dinner, we went for a walk. I couldn't leave Sean in peace; I continued to discuss my inability to remember. I said, "I want to remember this all the time, not keep slipping back and forth."

He reminded me, "Sometimes your impatience gets in the way. Just enjoy the process. You're a baby and want to drive a car. Just enjoy being a baby."

His words aggravated me, but I knew he was correct, so I decided to stay silent. But, for some reason, I felt my eyes well up. I tried not to cry as I told him, "I want this so much. It's consuming every inch and fiber of my life. Every minute, every breath, I think about it. I so deeply want to know myself. It's time." Then I inquired, "How can I continue to remember more of who I am?"

"Follow your grandfather," he said.

Sean was the only person that truly knew who I was, which helped me to feel like I wasn't alone. I was so grateful for that small comfort.

After our walk, I went home to meditate, and mentally I went back to the Hindu temple to gain a deeper understanding. As before, I wasn't able to see myself because I was being everyone and everything else. I was Hindu deities, rugs, floors, and ceiling tiles. Fortunately, unlike earlier in the day, I wasn't frightened. Before I came out of meditation, I made a mental note, so that I would remember that I wasn't separate from others, living or non-living, that I was one with everything.

However, it didn't last long. The next day, I found that I was unable to connect with others again. In spite of my realization, I continued to live in separation and saw others as separate individuals. However, I regularly made an effort to remember, and to be kind, loving, and genuine to everyone. Although it wasn't immediately within me, I was thankful to learn that we were all one, divided into many.

Chapter 18: Being Buddha

For a couple weeks, I was free from pain. I carried on as normal, thinking that it was a thing of the past. Unfortunately, it wasn't over. One day, the excruciating pain returned and I suffered for many hours. As before, I fought it, but wished I would die to escape from it. The agony was intense and I became fearful, which led to many more types of emotional pain than I could possibly imagine. As I tossed and turned, holding myself in bed, I saw a bottle of medication and considered taking it to end my life. Then, I asked myself if I really wanted to die. Again, the answer was, no. I wasn't ready to give up. As the pain continued to attack me, I remembered mindfulness, and a short time later, I was one with the affliction, and the torture transformed into joy.

Meditation seemed to take a different turn when I experienced the immense pain for the second time. In one of my meditations, my grandfather reminded me to be emotionally detached from life situations, so that I could be objective. He encouraged me to practice non-attachment to help me avoid getting caught up in my emotions, which in turn, would help me to be less anxious, less afraid. I tried to follow his suggestion, but it wasn't an easy thing to do. Often, I felt tremendous emotions arising from my problems, so I practiced mindfulness and meditated consistently to become detached, but I continued to struggle.

A couple weeks later, I experienced another incident of great pain. No matter how hard I tried to distract myself from it, I continued to feel the torment endlessly. So, I chose to stay in my room and be with the agony. A while later, I contacted Sean so we could go for a car ride and talk once he'd finished work. Before he picked me up, I told him I was feeling bad so he wouldn't be surprised if I were to cry. During the ride, I reassured him that I wasn't going to hurt myself even though I wanted to. However, it didn't appear that he was in a position to offer much advice. Apparently, he was having problems with his family and wasn't able to listen. Instead, I listened, so that he could vent his emotions, despite feeling deeply hurt and needing comfort myself.

Afterwards, we decided to have dinner at a local restaurant. Once we'd ordered, we sat quietly at the table with our agonies and didn't say a single word to one another. Moments later, I rushed to the bathroom to contain my emotions; I wanted to avoid becoming hysterical in public. The whole time I was in the bathroom, I tried to get my emotions under control. If I were to cry, I was afraid it would become uncontrollable, similar to past episodes. Eventually, I decided to come out from hiding and went to sit at the table, staring at my sandwich. I was so deeply hurt that I wanted to cry my heart out. While Sean ate his food and I stared at mine, I reminded myself that I wasn't going to die from being with the pain and that I needed to be with it again. Immediately, I surrendered to the torment and allowed the emotion to go through me a few times. I felt a surge of bliss seep through my entire body, and in no time, I was ready to converse. Sean was still distraught, so I said to him, "Just be with it. It'll be okay."

"Yeah, that's what I need to do," he replied.

When I came home, I decided to meditate before going to a friend's garden party. I was still feeling a little sad as I hadn't had time to process everything. Shortly after I closed my eyes, I saw myself in a canoe heading toward shore. In no time, I reached the shore, got out of the canoe, and went to sit under a shady tree to meditate. Then, I saw my current and past life situations flash before me like movie clips. I saw myself being extremely nervous, anxious, and afraid when talking in front of groups and taking licensing exams. Next, I witnessed myself being disgusted with who I was, especially when making mistakes and failing the board tests. I saw scenes of me being honest, dishonest, truthful, cursing, loving, hating, and laughing. After a while, a deep voice emerged saying, "Whatever you are being, you are being Buddha." The good, bad, negative, positive, dark, and light were all being Buddha. There was nothing wrong with being who I was. Whatever I was being, I was being myself, I was being Buddha. Nothing was out of balance or proportion. Everything was in perfection and symmetry. This was being Buddha. I felt very excited, confident, and joyful, so I called Sean after meditation. Unfortunately, he was sick and didn't feel like discussing it. Before I hung up the phone to attend a party, I said to him, "Everything is all good, everything."

Before heading out, I went upstairs to kiss my niece and nephews. However, my sister was disciplining my niece and she was in a 'time out', so I couldn't kiss her. In the past, I'd feel bad about this and would think that my sister was too harsh, especially over little things. This time it was different, I accepted it readily because I realized the beauty of being, the beauty of perfection.

At the party, I felt vibrant. Silently, to myself, I was celebrating who I was. Unlike before, I wasn't too anxious to talk to others, which was liberating. I was able to mingle freely and spontaneously with both friends and people that I was newly introduced to. Perhaps I even got a little carried away because I didn't realize that I'd had approximately three mixed drinks. This was the most alcohol I'd had since college. I must have been a bit tipsy because one of my friends asked, "Are you sure you want another?"

"Of course, I don't care. It doesn't matter," I responded.

After I'd realized that everything and everyone was Buddha, I started to utter the phrase "I don't care" in most of my conversations, especially with Sean. It didn't matter what restaurants we went to, or what roads we took to reach our destinations, I did not care. Every time Sean asked if I wanted to go see a movie or go out to eat, my response would be, "I don't care." Sean must have been annoyed because he asked me to change my "I don't care" phrase and use a different one. Of course, I replied, "I don't care." After that though, I began to use, "It doesn't matter," instead. It really did not matter to me what we did, I was enjoying myself anyway, or even if I wasn't enjoying myself, it didn't really matter. I was enjoying the perfection and balance of life.

During one of my meditations, my grandpa took me through a tunnel with many wires running down either side. At first, I didn't understand why he was showing me wires until he asked me to cut them so that I could become detached. I picked up a knife and started to cut the wires. It took a few meditations to cut through most of them, and sometimes I had to go through it several times to make sure that they were cut thoroughly. When I discussed my meditation with Sean, he would say, "You need to continue practicing mindfulness and be detached like your grandfather is showing you."

He then asked, "Did your grandpa show you your non-being side yet?"

"Yes, he told me that when I was ready, I could fully embrace my non-being. I saw energy swirling and nothing else. The energy was so vast, so limitless, that I was unsure how to welcome it all. He also took me to my core and asked me to open it. I wasn't able to open it as much as I'd like, but, he told me that when I was ready, I would be able to fully open it and embrace it. I also saw a pool of energy, but couldn't see an ending or beginning. I've welcomed some of it already, at least, I've opened my arms to it. At the time I wasn't sure what he meant, but now it makes sense."

"Good," he added.

Chapter 19: Letting go

Each day, I noticed the changes inside me. Some days, I was down in the dump; I felt like I was losing a part of myself without knowing the real reason for it, which saddened me.

One day I told Sean, "I feel different and I don't know why. It seems that I'm not identifying with that part of me that is Oday; that person who is a therapist, who has a doctorate degree, and was terminated from her job. I should feel something, but I feel distant from her, as if she wasn't a part of me any longer."

Sean and I went for a long drive on a hot summer day. I looked at the skies, the trees, and the clouds, and I felt in my heart that I was leaving them behind. However, despite some understanding, I continued to feel gloomy, so I asked Sean, "Do you know what's going on with me?"

He said, "You're moving toward the non-being side and grieving for the being-side. Don't worry, you'll know your being-side again and won't lose anything in the long run. You are moving really fast, so you're bound to feel lost."

Unfortunately, I didn't think too much about what he said, and continued to feel confused. I looked again at the skies, the trees, and the clouds, still feeling deeply sad. Since I didn't have a full understanding about non-being and had no personal experience with it, I became even more lost. Was there such a thing? Fortunately, I decided to meditate daily to obtain clearer insight.

Strangely, in a few meditations, I found myself in an underground area that looked like a factory, but, there were no machines, it was filled with only energy. I saw Sean and my grandfather help me take things out from the back of a truck parked in front of it. One of the many things we took out was toilet paper. It didn't make much sense, as far as the meaning behind it was concerned, not until I had an opportunity to look it up. It meant, "Ready to heal and let go."

In a following meditation, I continued to see myself, Sean, and my grandfather carrying things out of the truck. When we had finished, I saw myself inside the factory. It was dim and filled with energy. I saw myself line up with strangers. I felt nervous because I didn't know what was happening, so I looked around to see if my grandfather was around. I was relieved when I found him, not far behind me in line.

When he got closer, I asked, "What's going on, Grandpa? I'm scared."

"Go tell the person in charge that you are ready to move on," he said.

I looked ahead and saw a blue man with a golden crown on his head, earrings on both his ears, and gold bracelets on both of his arms. It looked like he was in charge. He looked similar to Vishnu, but much smaller. When my turn came to talk to the blue man, I was reluctant to tell him that I was ready to move forward for fear that he wouldn't let me. After a few seconds, I worked up the courage, and he said, "I wish you the best. I support you." I was both happy and surprised, and readily thanked him for his support. A little while later, I found myself flying above the factory with my grandfather, saying good-bye to everyone as they lined up, waving their hands, saying good-bye to us.

When I finally opened my eyes from the meditation, I still feared moving forward, in spite of the fact that I was also excited. I had received much reassurance from the people at the factory, my grandfather, and Sean, but I was still sad to leave my old self behind.

I noticed that my emotions were getting briefer. It seemed that I was able to detach myself quicker from my problems without much effort.

"Sweetie, I seem to get over things so much faster than before. I'm not as attached as I used to be," I said to Sean when we took our nightly walk.

He replied, "I know. Your aura is fading more and more."

In late summer of 2011, I had a friend come to stay with me at my sister's house for a few days before she left to find a job in a different town. When she was around, I would allow myself to get distracted by her company, her life stories, and her future plans. It appeared that I wanted everything to focus on her, or anyone, other than me.

Then I closed my eyes to meditate this time, I saw a little girl approximately five or six years old riding her bicycle in front of us. I couldn't see her face because she was ahead, but I had the feeling that she was me. Sometimes I found myself jumping up and down, hopping, or playing hop scotch, while I walked next to my grandfather. Ahead, I saw a temple, but it was still a bit far away. I wondered if we were going there.

In the evening when I met up with Sean for a walk, he unexpectedly said, "You're like a little girl in a candy store," when he observed my giddiness and fascination with the simplest things.

"I don't need much to be happy," I responded.

"Now, you are a little girl."

"I know. I saw it in meditation and in dreams."

"I can't wait for you to know and experience what I've seen," he added.

Of course, I begged him to tell me what he meant by that, but he refused. I got angry and begged again. He was adamant that he wasn't going to disclose what he knew, so I begrudgingly stopped asking.

Although I saw myself as a little girl in meditation and in dreams, I didn't fully understand what it all meant. Sometimes, I would see myself surrounded by endless candles in the dark, listening to monks chant as I sat in front of them, meditating. Although the theme was recurring, I was unsure about the deeper meaning behind it until I looked up symbolical meanings on the Internet, and it said, "enlightenment." I was surprised by this, as I wasn't aware that I was on the path to become enlightened, besides, I didn't even know what enlightenment entailed, so I didn't put much thought into it.

A week later, my friend came back to stay with my family after she failed to find a job. I was more than happy to have her around so we could talk about what was new in her life. For a few days, I focused my attention on her, and didn't pay attention to what was happening within. For example, one night I was very angry with Sean, but I was able to detach from my feelings as soon as something else distracted me. I caught myself and stopped to reflect. In the past, it would have taken me a while to calm down, but this time, it took less than a minute to stop feeling angry. Furthermore, it didn't seem to matter what I was angry at him about.

After I'd been let go from employment in summer of 2011, I decided to retake licensing counseling exams, which meant that I had to study consistently to have any chance to pass. I was never eager to study, despite flunking the exams in the past, so I distracted myself by conversing with my friend, or playing games on my phone, and I studied minimally. Almost daily, my friend and I would go to the library, mostly to talk, and sometimes I would study while she made phone calls to locate a job. When she left to go out of town for job interviews, I continued with meditation and being mindful.

One night, I decided to go play slot machines. I went to a restaurant in a part of town that was risky, especially at night. As I walked from the parking lot, people looked at me strangely. When I walked into the restaurant, the diners looked at me as if I didn't belong there. A regular customer came up to me and asked, "Aren't you scared coming here alone at night?"

I responded, "No. I just want to play slot machines. I don't want to drive out of town to go play."

Once I'd spent most of my money, I decided to leave. As soon as I walked out of the restaurant, a man, who appeared to be drunk, came up to ask for money and cigarettes. I didn't have any of either to spare, but surprisingly, instead of hurrying on to my car, I stood around answering his questions. Before I headed home, I called Sean to say good night, but he was shocked that I hadn't yet left the restaurant despite the late hour.

He asked, "Aren't you scared? I mean, a stranger asked you for money and cigarettes, and it's late?"

"Only for a few seconds."

Something was definitely changing, but I still didn't fully grasp what it was. Sometimes, I would drive around the outskirts of town with no clear destination, and it didn't seem to matter.

In meditation, things were changing as well. As usual, I walked alongside my grandfather and the little girl appeared wearing sun dress, riding her bicycle about three feet ahead. The temple wasn't far ahead, so we soon arrived outside where the monks lined up to welcome us. It seemed that they knew we were coming and had waited for our arrival. As we neared the temple door, I could no longer see the little girl. The door was open and we entered. The room was not big. There was a Shoji screen and not much else, but, on the floor, I saw a teapot and teacups. A few minutes after taking our seats, I realized this was a special occasion in honor of me. Moments later, another samurai joined us. Then, I started the ceremony by pouring tea for everyone. I glanced at the samurai and recognized that he was me. However, I didn't understand his reason for joining us, and my grandfather hadn't prepared me for meeting him. He looked masculine, brave, stern, and I could sense that he was probably very skilled. He was taller than the samurai in my previous life. When we finished our tea, I walked to open a freezer that I hadn't seen when we initially came in. In it, I saw many frozen bodies, all of which were versions of me. This was too disturbing, so I opened my eyes. What possible meaning could there be for frozen dead bodies at a temple? I couldn't grasp the meaning behind it. Not much later, after I thought about what my grandfather might want me to know, I understood that my emotions could be frozen, suspended, dead.

On my walk with Sean, I felt a little down, so I stayed quiet. A big part of me was dying and I was afraid to move fully forward. Again, he comforted me by saying that I wasn't going to lose myself, but I would gain a big part of me that I never knew existed. The only way for me to discover more about this part was to march into the unknown and experience it for myself.

"I know, but I still feel like everything is coming to an end," I answered.

The next day, I continued with meditation and found myself back in the temple with my grandfather, me, and the samurai sitting, drinking tea. I felt like I had to go somewhere, so I left the temple and walked into the beautiful front yard of a Japanese style home. There were many soldiers surrounding the house and, as I approached, some of them lined up on both sides of the path. When I arrived at the front door, I cautiously entered and saw a beautiful geisha, dressed in a fancy kimono, waiting. As I sat down, she gently asked me not to forget her and to return for her when I was done. I reassured her that I wouldn't forget, so she smiled and bowed her head. Afterward, I left and returned to the temple to rejoin my grandfather and the samurai.

I poured some tea for myself and wondered how long the tea ceremony would last. Shortly, the beautiful geisha arrived with her army. They seemed poised for battle. I became nervous, unsure of her motive, as she walked in. To my surprise, she went to sit next to the samurai and asked him to remember her. She seemed concerned that he might not be back, and saddened that she might be forgotten. The samurai was gentle when he comforted her and said, "I will return." Tears ran down her face, but she seemed convinced that he was sincere and trusted that he would come back. She then wished him well and left the temple. After the meditation, I understood that I would leave my being side behind and enter into non-being, although I did not know exactly what non-being really was.

In the following meditation, I didn't see my grandfather, or the samurai warrior, instead, after I had sat down, I saw Jesus, but I could only see his back, so I couldn't see what he was doing. Stricken by curiosity, I walked over to stand next to him and saw that he was flipping through the pages of a book. The writing on some of the pages was blurred, and other pages seemed blank, which made it difficult to read. As I continued to observe, I gradually understood. The message was: I would be clear, white, just like pages of the book.

Chapter 20: Acceptance

My friend came back to stay when she had no success finding a job. We continued with our old daily routine, going to the library, lunch, and back to the house. I was furious with Sean when he told me one night, "You're running away. You're not facing what's going on."

"I'm meditating every day and I'm being mindful as much as possible. I'm not running, you've got it wrong," I responded.

"You would've been marching into the unknown by now, but you're too scared."

I knew he was right, so I remained quiet and listened. Apparently, I needed to set boundaries and not have too many distractions in order for me to accept the changes that were happening.

In spite of all this, I continued to distract myself. At the library, I was able to study for about half an hour before my friend and I chatted about what we were going to do, or what we'd have for lunch that day. In the morning, I would go to Sean's parents' place to let the dog out and I'd meditate there for a while before heading out to pick up my friend to go to the library. When I did meditate, I continued to see Jesus, standing in his white outfit, turning the pages of the book. As before, I would go to stand beside him. Each time, there was less writing, until, one time, I was surprised to see that the book had hardly any writing on it at all. I sensed that the book would soon contain only blank pages.

One day, at the library, we decided to go to the first floor instead of our usual table on the second level. Not unexpectedly, before studying, I listened to her talk about romantic relationships. However, it seemed odd, because while I listened to my friend, images of past events kept intruding and they eventually became difficult to ignore. Since it was no use trying to disregard them, I decided to close my eyes for a second while my friend responded to text messages and searched the web. As I observed the scenes of my past in my head, many emotions briefly resurfaced and then disappeared, as did the images themselves. The images were ripping apart little by little until there was nothing. I tried to revisit the events in my head, but I wasn't able to. I was puzzled about what was happening. I became anxious and opened my eyes. My friend, finished with her phone, carried on with our conversation, so I stopped to listen.

All of a sudden, I noticed that my friend had become like a character in a movie. She was talking about her life, but I had no emotion toward anything she said. I already understood everything she said so there was no need to respond. Later, I texted Sean to gain some understanding about what had just happened. I felt much better after talking to him. He assured me that I would still be able to see events from my past, but I wouldn't have any emotions attached to them. I was beginning to understand more fully what it was that Jesus and my grandfather had been communicating to me.

In the afternoons, we would often get lunch at the same restaurant. I would always order the same dish, pho noodle soup. But, one day, I was mindful about my hunger and I suddenly wasn't hungry. Because of this, I ate very little. Of course, I didn't think much of this, and, when my friend asked why I wasn't eating, I told her that I wasn't hungry. This happened every day for quite a while, but one evening, Sean became concerned about my weight loss and suggested that I try to eat whether I wanted to or not. The trouble was, I was beginning to lose the desire to do many things. Sean said, "You need to eat and shower even if you don't want to, especially when the time comes." I didn't want to think about what was coming. It could be because I had never experienced it, and until I did, I wouldn't know what to think, in spite of the changes that were taking place within me. All I knew was, that many things were becoming less bothersome, especially when I was by myself.

The next day, my friend and I decided to go to our usual place on the second floor of the library; we thought it might help me to focus on my studies. We decided to be creative, so I sat facing the wall and my friend sat facing the window. Fortunately, I was able to study for a while, at least, until images became too intrusive. So, I shut my eyes and saw myself riding a white horse descending from the sky. It landed at a small, peaceful creek with thick, lush trees, rocks, and running water. I'd visited this place many times when I wanted to feel centered after a hectic day. However, this time it was different. I wasn't there to feel tranquil, but to find out what was going on, so I decided to walk across to the other side of the creek to see.

There was nothing there except tall grass. I had the feeling that I needed to continue walking through the dense, heavy grass. There appeared to be nothing for me to find, especially when I came to a long, blank wall, similar to the one that faced me in the library. However, I was stubborn; I now wanted to know what was behind the wall. I was surprised to see a chair. I hadn't seen this before, so I stood up on it to see, but I saw nothing; nothing but continuous, infinite walls. Then, I opened my eyes and continued with studying.

It didn't last long, though. Shortly, an image of me walking with my grandfather appeared. Again, I couldn't focus; I felt the need to close my eyes. This time though, I decided to try to shut it out by talking to my friend, hoping she was ready for lunch.

At lunch, my friend said she would be leaving the next day to go find work out of town again, and the following evening, she left. I was finally with myself, without distraction. I was ready then to be fully attuned, to stop running, and to be more open with whatever was coming my way.

The next day, I went to get coffee and headed to the library alone. I chose to study in the basement this time, hoping I could focus there. I found a purple sofa with a table which seemed ideal, because I could take short naps and perhaps meditate whenever studying became tiresome, which was often since studying held little interest for me. Nevertheless, I felt excited to have an isolated table. After ten minutes, I already wanted a short nap; I really didn't feel like reviewing for my licensing tests. In the end, I decided to go home early and meditate. It was Friday anyway, and the library would close early; on top of that, I had plans to go out of town with Sean later.

When I arrived home, I prepared myself for meditation. Since I knew I was going to meditate for longer than usual, I made sure the light was off, meditation music was on, and that I had a small blanket to cover my feet while lying down on my bed. In no time, after closing my eyes, I was walking alongside my grandfather to another place. Moments later, we arrived in a big open room and I saw Jesus sitting in a comfortable chair in front of a fireplace holding a book. I saw myself walk toward him; my grandfather waited. When I came close, Jesus stood up and said, "This book is old. It needs to be burned," before he handed it to me. I looked at the dusty, aged book for a few minutes, wanting to hold on, but knowing I had to let go. Then, I looked at the fireplace and reluctantly placed the book into the fire. I watched the pages of the book burn to ashes. When I turned around, Jesus handed me a brand new book. I excitedly opened the book and was surprised to see that it had no writing in it. It was clear, clean, and white. Jesus looked at me and asked, "Do you accept?"

I answered nervously and excitingly, "I accept."

He then warned, "You will not be the same any more. Everything will change."

Instead of being afraid of the unknown this time, I felt at peace, excited, and I thought to myself why did it take so long for me to accept? I also wondered why I was so frightened and why I ran from it, procrastinating with all sorts of distractions. There was nothing to be fearful of, but something to be celebrated.

"Thank you, Jesus," I said, and walked toward my grandfather.

Before I got much farther, Jesus said, "You know that you and I are one. We are the same."

I turned around and asked, "Really?"

He replied, "Yes. You are me and I am you."

Like a little child, I burst into tears, overcome with joy. Yet, somehow, I was still reluctant to accept this. A moment later, he was gone. I turned around and made my way to my grandfather. But, before we continued our walk, my grandfather said, "You will never be the same again and you cannot go back. You will go forward."

"I know, Grandpa. I know, and I accept."

Chapter 21: All is an Illusion

For a few minutes after the meditation, I sat on my bed being mindful about the peace within me. Sean would be picking me up soon, but I had no desire to get ready, so I continued simply to sit without desire. It was shocking how fast all this was occurring and I didn't have much time to process what had just taken place.

I heard my nephew crying and became upset, but then, a moment later, I felt no emotion. I sat there for a few minutes more, but in the end, I told myself to get up and go shower. I felt a little sad about what was transpiring, but I remembered that I'd felt this way before, although, it hadn't lasted this long. It could be that I was still grieving, but the sad feelings left as soon as I stepped out from the shower.

I met Sean at the driveway and I knew intuitively that we were going to take my car, so I handed him my keys. He looked surprised, but I had no desire to comment and just got in the car.

"How are you doing?" he said as he got in. I didn't respond. "Do you want to go out of town, or stay and go see a movie?"

I didn't have a desire to stay, go, or even respond to his questions. I was still, deep in silence. Eventually, I replied, "I don't care. Anyway, how are you?"

"I'm good," he said.

He carried on, talking about his day at work. I listened and observed, but, there didn't seem to be much else that that I could offer. I noticed that he seemed to be a character in a movie, acting out his parts. I was puzzled; why was this happening? Although it startled me, it fascinated me at the same time, so I continued to watch closely. And, the more I listened and observed, the more like a movie character he became.

Before we ventured out of town, we made a stop to get gas. Normally, I would be eager to go inside to purchase snacks and lottery tickets while Sean filled up. However, this time, I sat still in the car with no desire to do anything. Sean handed me money for the lottery tickets, food for the road, and casino games, but I continued to sit, staring ahead. I didn't feel happy, sad, or joyful. Eventually, I reached out slowly for the money, went inside the gas station, and bought the stuff we needed.

Once we were on the road again, I told Sean, "I've accepted my non-being and I'm now experiencing it. If it's okay, I'll just listen and observe."

"I know," he said, "I'm so proud of you. You seem peaceful."

We were on our way to the casino, and as we drove, I observed the trees carefully, the light posts, the skies, and the moon. Deep within, I recognized that everything was transforming rather quickly. I felt new, added.

As I watched everything pass by me, I realized that nothing felt real any more, everything was an illusion. I thought I'd understood this before, but this time it was different. This time, I truly understood.

"Everything is an illusion. This is all an illusion," I said.

"Yes, it is," Sean replied.

Suddenly, I looked around with new eyes: the trees were characters, the light posts were characters, and all the people in the other cars were characters. I was speechless. It was odd, here I was watching actors playing their roles, and we weren't even in a movie theatre. Again, I turned to Sean, "Oh my God, we are in the movie. This whole world is a movie theatre and we are all characters. Everyone is a character. Is this why you don't get bored?"

"Yep," he answered.

"I don't want this to end. I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Will this ever be over?" I asked.

Sean responded, "Yes, once your mind gets it."

This was disappointing. I'd never experienced anything like this before and didn't want to forget it, it was too interesting. Sean reassured me that, at any time, I could choose to experience it again. He added, "You will understand more as you continue."

Although I hadn't had any dinner, I still had little desire to eat. Sean said, "You need to eat, even if you don't want to. You need to nourish your body." He made a turn into a drive-thru and my eyes opened wide; now even the buildings were like characters. It was like being in a foreign land, as if I had never seen these things before; as if I had been blind in the past, and now, I could see. After we got our food, Sean handed me a hamburger. Of course, I didn't have the appetite to take even a bite, but he insisted that I eat it. So, I took a small bite. I was astonished; it tasted so deliciously different, as if I'd never tasted anything like it before. It was more than just food.

When we arrived at our destination, Sean parked next to two cars that caught my attention. Oddly, I sensed that the cars were talking to me. I really wanted to have a conversation with them because they were fascinating characters, but there was too much to experience and too little time to experience it.

Just then, as Sean and I approached the casino boat, I heard music playing in the streets and saw many people had gathered around to listen and dance the night away. The music sounded so enhanced, so amplified. I had never heard anything like it before, and it made me want to stay and listen, to be part of the act.

"Can we stay?" I asked. "I don't want to go to the casino. I want to enjoy the music. I've never heard anything like this before. Everything seems so maximized. I'm so fascinated by it."

He suggested, "Just continue, experience, and observe."

As we continued walking, I watched actors leaving the casino. They were angry, sad, happy, and cheerful, all a little exaggerated.

"Am I in the movie, but not part of it?" I asked.

"Yes. You've taken yourself out of the picture to watch it for what it is. When there are no emotions or feelings, everything is only a picture, a scene," he answered.

"When there are no emotions attached to the pictures, nothing is real," I added.

"Exactly," he reaffirmed.

When we entered the casino, I looked around to find a slot machine to play. It didn't matter which one because I was still enthralled by the movie scene. It was far more interesting to watch actors in their roles than trying to win money. In the end, I decided to sit next to a lady who was very much into her game. I chose her because she seemed such an interesting character; she amazed me. I watched her as she became excited with a win. She was so animated; her expressions were so interesting. The slot machine I chose was similar to hers, but I was not winning. It didn't matter whether I won or lost, I just enjoyed playing. After a few minutes, she suggested that I play the game differently. As she explained her best strategy, I closely watched in fascination as she made gestures with her hands. After she finished, I continued to observe her, and my surroundings. Somehow, I felt awestruck; it seemed strange that an actress in this movie would interact with me, the spectator. When she left, I eagerly went to find Sean. He encouraged me to continue to observe, until my mind truly understood. He also reminded me that once my mind knew that everything was an illusion, the experience would slow down, but it would not go away.

"This is far more different than I realized," I shared.

On our way back home, I sat quietly, trying to process my understanding of the experience. Sean asked me what was on my mind and I told him, "I had a fun night. Thank you for taking me out. It's slowing down now and I don't want it to."

"Don't worry. Just enjoy the process."

"I'm not worried, but I'm still amazed how fast everything is changing. I'm happy to experience them though. I now truly understand what my grandfather and Jesus were saying. They were right."

Many of my dreams were connected to what was going on inside me. Sometimes, I was unsure of the messages I received during meditation, however, my dreams helped to make them clear. Occasionally, I would wake up saying, "I got it." Sometimes they were in symbols and stories to help clarify the ambiguity.

One night, my dreams seemed unusual. A couple of times during the dream, I knew I was dreaming and woke up. When I fell back asleep, I would dream again, and like before, when I realized I was dreaming, I woke up. Many of the characters in the dreams were unaware that they were dreaming and thought everything they experienced was real. They seemed to take things far more serious than they needed. But, for me, it was liberating to be aware that I was dreaming and at least I didn't have to take everything so seriously any longer.

Chapter 22: I Never Left

The next morning, I headed to the gym. The experience of illusion didn't go away, however, it was a little different. I was aware that I was in the movie and not of it. It didn't matter if I watched television, or did my exercise routines, either way, I saw characters playing their roles. Nothing was real.

A couple of questions came to mind. Was there any meaning to all this? Was it all just a play?

When I finished working out, I went home and took a shower. In meditation, my grandfather took me to a new place, which initially seemed frightening. I was reluctant to follow him into the semi-dark mechanical world. I saw machines surrounded with energy that I found it difficult to see what types of machines they were. After my grandfather and I crossed the bridge, we arrived in front of a big door. He asked me to open it and I became apprehensive about what I would find. I was convinced there was something horrific awaiting me. After some hesitation, I opened the door. We walked together through the building, but it disappeared as soon as we reached the other side. Then, I saw a conveyor belt, carrying endless disturbing images of me on the cross. Of course, I became frightened not knowing what it all meant, so I decided to come out of meditation. After processing it all, and discussing it with Sean, I understood that I was sacrificing, letting go of the conditioned parts of myself.

Later in the evening, Sean and I decided to go for our nightly walk at our usual place, a community college not too far from my sister's residence. Not long after we started walking Sean asked, "Does everything still feel the same as they did last night?"

"It's different tonight. I'm connecting to everything around me. I'm becoming part of it all. It's like I'm walking with myself," I replied.

This, I thought, was one of the best evenings I'd ever had in my entire life. I felt at home. I wasn't different from the trees, the skies, the moon, the grass, the rocks, the stars, or the grounds. There was tremendous love coming from everywhere around me and within me.

"I am all of it. I am all of it! There is no separation. I am not separated from anything," I said.

Sean replied, "Now you understand you are never alone."

"I know, I know. I am all of it. I'm walking with Myself. Everything is connected to me and I am connected to everything."

I smiled at the beautiful, calming moon, and it smiled back. Then, I walked away from the sidewalk to go touch a tree, and it touched me back. There was no disconnection. To think that everything was separated, outside of who I was, would be an illusion. In no time, I realized I had always been home. I had never left. I was here all along. I was not a stranger to anyone, or anything; I was one with all. I sensed no fear, no harm or danger, because I was with Myself. I could have walked all night, enjoying Myself, with only love in my heart. I had never felt peace and harmony such as this before.

Sean was ready to go home, but I wasn't. I wanted to walk all night to cherish and absorb the wonder of Me. When I looked at the ground, I wanted to lie down on it because I wanted to lie down with Myself. When I felt a cool breeze on my face, I opened Myself up to it and became the wind as it brushed through me. When I looked again at the skies, the moon, and the stars, I saw the beauty and magic of who I was.

Then, suddenly, I felt insecure. I feared that I might forget the experience, and once more, I asked Sean, "Will I forget this?"

He said, "Just enjoy it and don't worry about anything."

"I'm feeling so new, so different, as if my whole DNA has changed."

And, I so hoped that I would always feel this way.

Chapter 23: The Return

Many people at college had seen me go to the library daily, dressed like a homeless person, carrying plastic bags full of snacks and a dirty off-white book bag. Appearance didn't seem to matter much, and sometimes my hair went unwashed for a couple days. I noticed that I experienced less desire to look nice, I was more focused on what was going on inside.

One day, after studying for a little while, I decided to go home early to meditate. I was curious about where I was with the process.

In meditation, I saw several versions of myself on the cross going past on a conveyor belt, one by one, a bit like suitcases carried on an airport carousel. I became weary watching endless copies of me pass by, so I looked to see how long the line was. Shortly after this, my grandfather asked me to follow him into a room. He wanted to help me understand the process deeper. As I followed him, the conveyor belt continued. As soon as I entered the room and saw television screens on the wall, I had an idea about the message my grandfather would share. Unfortunately, I began texting while my grandfather was talking. He watched me for a few seconds then said, "Stop texting and pay attention!" Quickly, I put the phone away, ready to listen. He didn't say anything, but I felt that he wanted me to search the room myself. I saw television screens everywhere and I soon understood. I would be watching life as if watching television; I would not be part of it. It was another reminder that I would remain emotion-less, perhaps even more so.

A few moments later, I found myself on an island with my grandfather, grandmother, and mother sitting around as if we were having a bonfire. I saw myself watch them as they took turns talking. I observed without feeling and I had no emotions associated to anything they said. Then, I realized that this was my non-being self; I was becoming empty like the blank pages of a book. As soon as I understood what was going on, my grandfather and I went back to the conveyor belt. It was still going.

I looked around and saw my nephew in charge of the conveyor. I smiled, pleased to see him, and thankful he was helping. Soon, I saw my grandfather walk away. I had the feeling that I should follow him, but I chose to stay with my nephew to help him out instead. To my surprise, my nephew insisted that I go with my grandfather, and he said he would take care of the conveyor. I went after my grandfather, and in no time, we arrived at a church.

When I opened the door, I saw Jesus stood there with his back to me, surrounded by light. I walked toward him, so that I could find out what he was doing, and saw that he was admiring a baby in a bassinette. Soon, a young choir, dressed in white robes, started singing praises, but not to Jesus, to the baby. When the choir stopped singing, I glanced at the baby one more time and recognized that it was me. I was becoming a baby. Afterward, my grandfather and I went back to the conveyor belt. Again, I was eager to find out where the process was up to, so I joined my nephew at his position to evaluate. It appeared that the process was nearly finished, because, instead of more crosses passing by, I could see papers, suitcases, and other miscellaneous things. In the midst of this, I heard a choir singing not far from where we were.

The singing continued for quite a while, but I decided to disregard it. Unfortunately, I couldn't continue for long because the singing became louder, and louder, making it hard to shut it out. After a few minutes, I went to see what was going on.

I saw the same scene I saw at the church. Jesus adored the baby and the choir sang, and oddly, it irritated me. Behind them, I witnessed a muscular warrior. Soon, I realized that I was becoming yang, a masculine energy. Despite my understanding, I was overcome with anger, and I couldn't understand why I kept seeing the same image. In the past week, my meditation had involved me witnessing Jesus, the baby, the choir singing, and a big image of a muscular man flexing his muscles. Somehow, I wanted the image to go away, but I didn't know how to make that happen. In one of my mediations, I destroyed the baby with an axe to try to end it. Before I swung the axe, I pleaded to Jesus to stop me from destroying the innocent creation, but he stood watching. I saw blood splash everywhere and I realized the baby must have died. I had killed the innocent, and unfortunately, I wasn't happy. In fact, it made me feel bad about myself as a person, both during meditation, as well as out of it.

The next day, I woke up, got dressed, and went to the library. As usual, I walked into the library looking unkempt. My designated place to study at the library from then on was in the basement. It was quiet and hardly any students came here, so I enjoyed having the place all to myself. Sometimes, I fell asleep, but, more often, I would meditate. After studying for a little while, I decided to lie down on the sofa for some meditation. I was shocked to see the choir and Jesus standing next to the baby singing. The baby hadn't died. Instead of feeling joy that the baby was still alive, I felt agitated. This time, I walked slowly toward the baby, contemplating whether I should hurt it again; after all, I still held the axe in my hand. As I walked closer, I saw the baby surrounded by light, similar to the light surrounding Jesus, and it made me stop in my tracks. I considered facing my fears of moving on, trying not to be afraid, and accepting the journey that Jesus and my grandfather had prepared me for so I could truly move forward into non-being. I stood right next to Jesus, the choir still sang, and the melody helped to calm me down. I watched the baby lying peacefully in the bassinette and I reached out to embrace it, then, I sang to it, along with the choir and Jesus. Moments later, I saw that, one by one, everyone started to disappear, including the baby that I held in my arms.

In the following meditation, I was back at the conveyor belt with my nephew. There were miscellaneous items still going through, but very few items left. In no time, it would be complete. After observing for a few minutes, I had a sudden feeling to move to another area. Ahead of me, as I walked, I saw a warrior standing with his arms crossed. Then he disappeared. There was no one around. The area was empty. I looked around once more, and strangely, I saw a fetus curled up in a womb. I was curious, so I went closer. Soon, I realized that I was going backward.

The next day started out the same. I woke up, went to get coffee at an Asian restaurant and headed to the library. I didn't wear makeup and my clothes were plain. Appearance became even less of a concern than before. I wore sweatpants, T-shirt, and the same fall sweater I'd been wearing for many weeks. Emotionally, my feelings were getting shorter and shorter. Many times, I said things without much care for what others thought, and sometimes I even wanted to say outrageous things, just to see if I could feel something; however, the desire to do so did not last. They were just passing thoughts.

When studying became cumbersome, I closed my eyes to see where I was with the process at the conveyor belt. Suitcases, bags, and papers still passed through. Not long at all before it would be completely finished. Then, I saw my nephew heading to some place and I followed him. He walked to a place that, from a distance, looked like a round cave. It was semi-dark, so I wasn't able to see clearly. However, as we continued walking, we arrived at another place that was much brighter. Ahead of us, I saw a big round shape, a bit like the sun, except it was both white and yellow and not quite as circular. We continued walking toward it, and finally I recognized the shape of an egg. My nephew entered it, but I was reluctant to follow, so, I just stood there. My nephew returned to me and urged me to enter. I was afraid to see what was inside, so I asked if he could wait. He nodded his head, and somehow, this gave me confidence.

Inside, I saw nothing. Everything was bright white. There was nothing else. I walked around, looking for something, anything. I decided to sit inside the egg for a few moments to gain understanding. I soon understood that I was going back to the beginning, from an adult, to a teenager, to a five-year-old, to a baby, to a fetus, to an egg.

Next, I found myself falling from a bottomless building next to the conveyor belt. I was breathing hard; I was scared. I thought I was going to die, so I screamed for help. But, there was no one around, nothing except a flying snake, which was coming my way. I continued to scream, but still no one answered. I took a good look at the snake when it flew closer, then realized that it wasn't a snake at all, but a sperm. I felt great relief. And, as the falling also stopped, I opened my eyes.

Part Four: Enlightenment

Chapter 24: Giant

When I returned from the meditation, I gathered my study materials and headed home. Since the events at the conveyor belt seemed to be over, I wanted to know what was coming next. At home, I decided to continue with meditation. When I shut my eyes, I returned to the conveyor belt area, but this time, without the conveyor belt. Everything was gone, done, finished. My nephew was not around when I looked for him, either.

Soon, my grandfather appeared far away, waiting, so I went to him. He started walking and I followed. We arrived at the same temple we'd visited before. I didn't see hundreds of monks waiting outside to welcome us this time. Oddly though, I saw a blue giant hovering outside, like a genie released from the lamp, protecting its palace. I became frightened and quickly asked my grandfather why it was here. My grandfather smiled and said, "It's here to help you feel more at ease with the process." This made me feel a lot calmer. However, I was confused about why I needed extra help, since I'd done pretty well with my grandfather's guidance until now, but I decided to trust him. Slowly, I walked toward the big blue thing so we could get to know one another. Almost instantly, it grabbed me up and I found that I felt comfortable sitting in its palm. However, it was hard for me to see its face from where I sat, due to its immense size.

Once I was acquainted with the friendly monster, my grandfather and I went inside and sat down. The temple was brightly lit and it appeared brighter than before. I asked, "Why do I need a giant's help?" To answer my question, he lifted a meatball on a toothpick. The meatball quickly turned flat, as if it had no substance. This just confused me more. I got up and walked toward the door to look outside. White snow covered everything and I was in awe to witness such beauty. In no time, I saw myself ski down the hill, having fun. Soon, I understood that the giant was going to help with the process and my emotions would be much shorter.

Following this revelation, we headed off to a different place. I was unsure where and didn't ask. It didn't matter because I had a wise giant and my grandfather either side of me. When I had personal questions, or became confused, about how to handle life's situations, I could ask either the giant, or my grandfather, to gain clarity. The giant usually made fun of me and wasn't at all serious. When he saw me sad or upset, he became playful and joked around. He would show me the lighter side of life situations that I found to be stressful, which made me feel loved. It also helped me look at things from different points of view.

During a nightly walk with Sean, I informed him all about the giant. I said, "I think I'm going to call him, Giant." I explained that Giant was a joker, non-serious. I asked, "Am I going to be flat and have no emotions like my grandfather showed me? My emotions are getting shorter already. How could they be any briefer?" Sean didn't give an answer and insisted that I waited to experience it for myself. He encouraged me to continue being mindful regarding what was going on internally, and to meditate. I then added, "The more mindful and aware I am, the faster I absorb my experiences. Mindfulness speeds everything up."

Each day, things were changing rapidly. At times, I was unsure what was happening. In the morning, I would experience normal emotions that didn't last long, but later in the day, they were even briefer.

In another meditation, the three of us arrived at a lighted, open room that had no physical structure. In the room was an operating table and some operating equipment. I walked toward it and Giant followed right behind. My grandfather sat approximately five feet away observing. Soon, I witnessed myself in a hospital gown lying on the table and saw Giant was preparing to operate. Next, another version of me appeared and sat not far away, watching.

"Why do I need surgery? What's going on?" I asked, but no one answered. I became frightened. However, despite my fear, I continued with much apprehension.

Chapter 25: There is No Other

The next day, I hardly studied, which wasn't really surprising, but it seemed odd because I was still angry about losing my job. I found myself expressing, in my mind, my anger and frustration toward the people involved. The unresolved feelings seemed to be stronger today than previously. I kept arguing, explaining, and defending my points as I walked up and down the stairs, or when I went to the bathroom. Of course, I knew I was arguing with myself, but I hoped those others would feel my grief. I had a clear image in my head of the people involved, and as I imagined them sitting around a table, I expressed my angry thoughts to each of them.

However, as I continued to defend my stance, abruptly, they all disappeared. I looked around the table and saw no one. They were gone, and I found that I was talking to myself. It was strange and I didn't understand why the images had vanished. I tried to picture everyone sitting around the table several times after that, without success.

I closed my eyes to try once more and saw no one except myself looking at an empty room. Next, I was in front of a mirror, talking to no one, so I opened my eyes. After a few minutes, I decided to meditate, so I could find out exactly what was happening.

Again, I saw myself in front of a mirror arguing, defending my points to no one but my reflection. I looked around, but I couldn't see a single soul. It didn't matter who, I just wanted to see someone, anyone besides myself. Where was everybody? Where did they all go? Since I was alone, I opened my eyes and continued with studying.

After I finished reviewing the exam study guides, I left the library to go home. I wanted to meditate, to try to gain clarity. As soon as I closed my eyes, I saw myself talking at the mirror again. But then, I saw myself get dressed and put on make-up. For a few seconds, I turned away from the mirror and noticed people lining up, and I happily went to greet each and every one. Afterward, I returned to finish dressing. However, once I'd finished and turned around, everyone had gone. I was startled and went to look for them, but I saw nothing besides energy anywhere. I yelled loudly with hope that someone would answer, but there was no one. I became more nervous and cried out even louder so someone, anyone could hear. It seemed hopeless, and after a while, I stopped. I had a feeling, a feeling that there was no one else. But, could it be true? I chose to ignore my feeling and called out to my grandfather for guidance. There was no answer. Utterly disappointed, I sat in front of the mirror, when, suddenly, the voice spoke, "There is no one else."

"Am I the only one here?" I quickly asked.

"Yes," the voice answered.

I asked again to be sure, "There is no one here? Where is everyone? Where did they all go?"

The voice gave the same answer, "There is no one else."

The answer was shocking and surprising. I tried to calm myself down and walked away from the mirror. But, I came back to ask, "Is everyone a reflection of me? Am I everyone and everyone me? There is only one, really?"

"Yes," said the voice.

After I opened my eyes and thought about what I just learned, I understood deeper; everyone and everything was a reflection of me and I was a reflection of everyone. After I showered and finished getting dressed, I hopped in the car to go see Sean.

As I drove, I looked around at the people in the cars next to me waiting for red lights to turn green. I felt nervous when I realized that everyone I looked at was me; I was looking at myself. A guy in a red pickup truck looked back at me and smiled when I looked at him, which disturbed me. I wanted to drive away. Silently, I pleaded for him to look away because he was looking, waving, and smiling at himself. It was a relief when the lights turned and I immediately pulled into a fast food restaurant to get a burger.

A girl's voice from the intercom asked, "May I take your order?" I paused for a while and thought about how she had just asked herself if she could take an order for herself? So now what? Am I supposed to respond to myself and tell myself what I want?

I quickly replied, "A burger please."

She proceeded to ask, "Is that all ma'am?"

Still in shock that I was talking to myself, I didn't respond and drove up to the window. I didn't look at her, but looked straight ahead when I handed her money for the burger.

She said, "Have a wonderful night."

I grabbed the food and drove away as fast as I could, thinking about how silly she was to talk to herself.

When I arrived at Sean's, I sat down and tried to relax. He looked at me and asked, "Are you okay?" Shocked, it took a minute before I answered. Sean was yet another version of me, taking a different form, and now I was talking to me? He asked again, "Are you alright?"

I cautiously asked, "Are you me, talking to me right now?"

"Yes," he answered.

I was pretty rude when I asked him not to talk to me because I didn't want him to talk to himself. "I feel like I am going crazy," I said.

Sean then consoled me by saying that he was me and I was him, but I was also an individual.

"Yes, but you are also me talking to yourself right now. There is no other," I stated. I stood up abruptly and told him, "I'm going home. I'm not feeling too well."

"You just got here," he remarked.

"I know, but I need to go. I'm a bit freaked out right now." I hurried down stairs and made a right turn to use the restroom before leaving. Unfortunately, his dog followed behind and stared at me while I was using the toilet. I silently pleaded with the dog to leave, but it didn't work, it continued to look at me intently. I took deep breaths and started to calm down. I asked the dog, silently, as it still stared at me, "Do you know who I am? I know you, I recognize you. I know who you are. You are me and I am you."

When I got home, I went to my room, shut the door, and started pacing back and forth. I thought I might be going crazy as I tried to come to terms with the realization that everyone I talked to was me. When I yelled at others, I was only yelling at myself. How could this be? It had been shown to me numerous times, so why was it hard for me to accept? I stopped pacing and sat on my bed staring out the window thinking about what was happening. Then, the deep voice came forth and said, "You have always known this. Why are you surprised?"

I silently responded, "But I've never experienced it."

I sat for a while until I calmed down inside, and then I began to accept that everyone and I were one and the same. There was no other.

The following day, when I arrived at the library, I looked around at others interacting, I wondered if they knew who I was because I knew who they were. Did they remember me? I remembered and recognized them. Did they know they were one dividing into limitless parts?

That afternoon, I was at peace to have accepted and experienced the Oneness of who I was. When I was down in the basement, I observed the books, the sofas, the desks, the tables, the chairs, and everything else around me, and began to appreciate them. I was appreciating Myself, my beautiful Self.

Chapter 26: Nothingness

After studying for a while, I lay down on the sofa to meditate. I was back in the same operation room, lying on the operating table with Giant, my grandfather, and another self observing nearby. Giant came toward the table. I felt nervous, so I asked him to wait until I could relax. After that, I opened my eyes and wondered what was about to happen. Moments later, I closed my eyes again and saw Giant drain out my blood into a silver bucket. The images terrified me and I started to hum to calm my nerves. I realized that I wasn't going to have much emotion and that it would be much shorter than I expected. I opened my eyes once more. The sight of blood filling the bucket had scared me, so I returned to my studies to distract myself. However, I was too curious about what Giant was up to, so I decided again to meditate. This time, I saw that he was almost finished draining out my blood, and again, I feared what was taking place and what was next to come. So, I asked him kindly to sing a song so I could feel at ease.

Then, the humming began softly and gently, and my body began to relax. The tune gradually became louder and louder, echoing through my entire being and placing me in a state of bliss; my tears fell and my soul elevated. I remained motionless and listened to God's unimaginable tune, the sound of the universe, placing me into a calm state. I was then ready to face whatever was in front of me. I wanted to open my eyes. I felt insecure because I doubted that I deserved to hear such a beautiful and wondrous melody. "Thank you, Giant."

Once I was relaxed and ready to go into the unknown, I opened my eyes and continued to absorb every ounce of what I was feeling and what I had heard. It was still hard to believe, so I remained on the sofa, transfixed.

The following morning, I felt normal despite the fact that my emotions didn't last. I forced myself to shower and eat breakfast before there were no emotions left. As usual, I went to get my morning coffee and headed to the library. When the afternoon arrived, I became desire-less and wasn't able to feel lasting emotions. It was like a breeze brushing on my face; one second I could feel it, and the next it was gone, as if I'd never felt it in the first place. Many times, I sat and stared at the wall, listening to what was going on inside. That whole afternoon, I had no desire to study, talk, return text messages, or make phone calls. Although my grandfather and Jesus had prepared me for the experience, I still didn't fully understand. This brought me deep sadness; however, I was able to feel that sadness only for a brief second, and then it was gone. I was feeling and then not feeling. As the late afternoon approached, I felt like a corpse. I wanted to leave the library, but as soon as I had any desire, it left me. I wanted to cry, but I wasn't able to.

Finally, I made myself text Sean to ask him if I could come over to talk. But, I couldn't get the motivation to move, so I simply stared at the wall for quite a while. Eventually, I managed to push myself up from the sofa, put my study materials away, and go to see Sean. When I arrived, however, it didn't seem to matter. Nevertheless, I brought myself to share it with him. I spoke softly like a person on her last breath, "I feel like a corpse. I feel like I'm dead. I have no feelings inside me. I am a zombie."

Sean said, "You will feel different tomorrow. It won't last." Although his words were encouraging and I should have felt uplifted, I didn't. I had no connection to them; they were like air because I was air. Then I rested on his bed and stared at the ceiling, paying attention to what was inside of me. Later, I left and went for my nightly walk around the neighborhood still feeling empty inside.

I remembered that the other night Sean had said, "Everything is changing so fast that you're not sure what's going on with you. One second you feel something the next you don't."

There was nothing left of me. I was a walking zombie, not feeling anything, nor having fear of any kind. I wanted to scream, to cry out loud, so that I could release my agony, but I couldn't. I had known this was coming and I'd had a warning, but experiencing and knowing were not the same. I didn't know that the emotions were going to be so short, to the point where I couldn't even feel it. It was starting to get dark and I knew I had to go home, but I had no desire to, and I was not afraid. I could have walked the whole night by myself if I chose to, or walked to the most dangerous neighborhoods and streets without fear. I thought about cutting my arm to see if I could feel any sensation, but it was only a thought. There was no desire behind it.

The following day, the deadness I had felt the day before had dissipated, but my emotions and desires were still very brief, especially in the afternoon, and through until I went to bed. I heard Sean's voice in the back of my head telling me to eat and shower no matter what. So, I showered, dressed, and went to the coffee shop. Predictably, by late afternoon I was becoming robotic. My regular waitress cheerfully took my order and, in a friendly way, asked, "How are you doing? It's so nice to see you."

It took me a few seconds to respond, "Nothing. There is nothing."

Then a friend came to sit next to me and asked, "How are you doing?"

"Nothing," I replied. "How are you?"

Fortunately, he talked at length about his health and life. But, unfortunately, after listening to him for a few minutes, even the desire to listen was gone. I understood everything he had said, was about to say, and had not yet said, and there wasn't much need for anything else. There was, however, awareness of all of it.

He then asked, "So what do you think?"

Once more, there was no response; I could only feign a smile. However, his inquiry helped me to realize that I was not thinking or believing. I just knew and was aware. I was in the knowing and had awareness. There was nothing that needed to be said, or responded to, I just knew. After a couple minutes more of listening, I decided to end the conversation until another day and left to go to the library.

When I got there, I didn't smile or chat with anyone before going downstairs. When I sat down on the sofa, instead of studying, I stared at the books with no desire to pick them up. I sat and stared for a while before I slowly reached for a book to review. Then I decided to lie down on the sofa and be still, because I was still. There was only stillness, nothingness, and emptiness in me and there was nothing else. I was air.

After a short rest, I closed my eyes and Giant was there, pulling out my intestines. The scene was horrific, although, right away, I knew what he was doing. My grandfather now sat in front of the wall. He was straight ahead of us, next to an empty fireplace.

When I left the library, I went to see Sean. As soon as I walked in, he asked, "Where are you at now?"

I didn't answer and chose to lie down still on his bed. Then I slowly uttered, "There is nothing inside me. I am walking air, empty. I am emptiness, nothingness."

"I know," he replied.

Many times, I wondered why Sean continued with the relationship. I had no feelings, no urge to touch, or to be with him, or anyone. I was just there, empty.

"Giant is pulling out all my insides. I'm going to be totally empty soon, more so than now."

"I know," he responded.

While Sean watched television and I lay mechanical on his bed, he said, "We haven't made love for a while. I think we should make love." Oddly, I didn't oppose, nor did I agree, I was just there, still. I just lay there in my stillness with lack of want or need. It was choice-less and I was aware of the choice. Sean comforted me by touching my arms. I turned around, looked at him and asked, "Are you done?"

He said, "Yes."

Surprising as it was, I told him that I didn't feel anything. There was no sensation of any kind from being physically intimate. The whole time I was just air.

I hadn't showered for a few days, so, when I returned home, I showered. I saw blood running down my leg and realized that I'd cut myself shaving; but I didn't feel any physical pain. Someone could hit me with a baseball bat, I thought, and I wouldn't feel any pain at all.

I went to lie down on my bed and stared at the ceiling, not thinking about anything, just listening to myself. I had no desire to turn from one side of the bed to the other. I lay on the bed for hours. I didn't go upstairs for dinner. I had no desire to sit up, or, if I did, I had no desire to stand up. I tried to force myself, hoping this time I could get myself upstairs to eat, but I couldn't generate any desire, so I just sat on the bed a little longer. Many minutes passed and I remained sitting on the bed, motionless. I decided to lie back down, once more skipping dinner. It was getting darker and I was still lying there, unmoving and empty. I thought about walking the streets at night aimlessly, like a homeless person, however, it was only a thought. So, I continued to prostrate in bed staring at the ceiling and the wall in front of me almost all night.

When I woke up, I told myself to get dressed, eat breakfast, and go get coffee before the afternoon came. When I arrived, I gave my order and said nothing else. Sometimes, I thought about saying outrageous things to shock people, to awaken something inside of me. I also thought about doing thrilling activities, like sky diving or bungee jumping, to feel something, but it was only a thought. Nothing was behind it. Many people asked for my opinions and I didn't say anything because there was nothing in me to give and I was aware of the choice-lessness in me. I was aware of everything that was going on inside and around me; I was aware of, and knew, all. When I heard people say this was right, or that was wrong, I knew, and was aware, that there was no right or wrong, it was all in the mind. There was no objective truth to anything, only individual perspectives. Likewise, there was no success or failure, nothing to accomplish or achieve, but just to be here and now. Illusion and non-illusion were shadows of one another, just like dark and light, form and formless. It never ends and it is eternal. Everything was backwards, children were adults living simply with their hearts, and adults were children living in the complexity of their minds. When I saw someone cry, I walked on by and didn't stop to comfort or ask what was going on. I knew, understood, and was aware of what was going on, and besides, there was no desire, or emotion. I was in the knowing and aware of everything that was happening. I was aware of what is, and what is not, the being and non-being, illusion and non-illusion.

After I finished studying one day, I went by to see Sean. As usual, I didn't say anything much, but, when I did start talking, I tried not to stop. When I did stop, I lost the desire to talk altogether. We were lying in bed watching television and he asked, "Do you want to watch anything in particular?" Of course, there was no answer; and why did he even take time to ask? It wasn't like he was unaware that I was emotionless, soulless even. We continued to watch television for a while, and, suddenly, I started laughing.

Sean turned to look at me and asked, "What's so funny?"

I replied, "This is a joke! This is all a joke! This is one big playground and nothing means anything." He fell silent and chose to continue watching his show. I closed my eyes and saw myself riding on a motorcycle with my intestines tied to the handle and I was pulling everything out.

The scene was very disturbing so I opened my eyes. After a while, I shut my eyes once more, and again, I was pulling out all my insides while riding on the motorcycle. So, I asked Sean, mainly to gain reassurance that I was not insane, "Have you ever seen yourself pulling out your own intestines in meditation?"

"Why? Are you seeing it right now? Wow! You can be truly scary."

I was dissatisfied with the response, so I persisted, "Well, have you?"

"Yes, but I didn't ride a motorcycle. I rode on Pegasus while pulling it all out."

"How long were you in the non-being?" I asked.

"A year."

"A year? I wonder if I will go that long."

"I don't think you will. You move so fast, it's unbelievable."

I fell into stillness and looked ahead, but I wasn't really looking at anything, just listening to what was going on. I turned on my side to close my eyes.

I was still riding on the motorcycle pulling everything out. Giant and another version of me were sitting nearby, closely watching. My grandfather moved back to watch from behind and I saw the version of me that observed go to join him. From here, I could still see the wall when I looked ahead. Why was that there? I was unsure and didn't put much thought to it. I was in the moment. I didn't think about the past or the future, it had no significance. Besides, there was nothing in me, not even life. Lifeless is a more accurate description.

The following morning, I tried to contact people and return their calls while there was a little desire. I hadn't talked to anyone, or answered text messages, for a long time. After I got my coffee, I made contact with a couple of friends and chatted briefly. However, I could chat for no more than a minute with each person because the desire left me. On some of the calls, I remained silent and didn't even respond. Similarly, I saw my baby nephew kick his feet like he was swimming in a pool, I smiled at how cute it was, but it was brief, less than a second, and then there was nothing, clear, blank. Being around others and interacting with them distracted me from experiencing nothingness, but only momentarily.

Chapter 27: The Awakening

When I closed my eyes to meditate this time, I wasn't riding the motorcycle, and I was no longer pulling out my insides. This made me realize that it must have been over. I lay on the operating table and Giant washed the equipment. Now it was complete. When I looked around the room, I saw that my grandfather had gone back to sit in front of the wall and I was still sitting, observing Giant from behind. I wanted to know what else was out there, so I went to explore.

There was nothing but energy. I flew around to see the beginning and the ending of it and wasn't able to find it. There was no ending, no beginning. It was, is, and will always be, here. This is what Is. There is no sickness, no health, no death, and no life, just Is. All and nothing, it is nothing and it is everything, formless and form.

I went to Sean's house after the meditation and as soon as I walked in, he asked, "Where are you at now?"

I lay down on his bed and remained silent for a few minutes. Finally, I managed to say, "Giant is washing operating equipment in the bucket and all my intestines have been pulled out."

"You are clear. How are your emotions?"

"I'm not feeling anything and think nothing of it. It's part of me now."

We lay in his bed, watching television, and a little while later, I started to laugh. Sean asked, "What's so funny? Do you like this show?"

I slowly replied, "What a joke! This is all a joke."

"Yes, it is. So just enjoy it."

"Don't we have anything to do?"

We decided to go out for dinner after his show was over. He then asked what restaurant I wanted to go to, and of course, I had no desire to reply. I was aware of all the choices and didn't choose. My choice was choice-less. Sean chose the restaurant.

On the way, he asked me to look out for my favorite cars as they drove past, but I didn't move or respond. I was total nothing, clear, air. However, I brought myself to ask Sean why he was still in a relationship with me because, after all, I had nothing inside.

"I understand because I've been through it. It won't last and you'll have emotions again, but you won't be the same."

The day after was the same. In the morning, I felt little emotion and by the afternoon, I had none. This time, I didn't think anything of it as it was now part of me. When people came and talked to me, I mainly listened. There was nothing, no need or desire. I observed others interacting and talking to one another with smiles, tears, and laughter, and wondered how they had the desire to do those things. When I saw Sean talking and laughing, I wondered where he managed to get the desire because I was desire-less and need-less. I only had knowing and awareness. It didn't matter where I slept, ate, or lived, it was all the same.

After getting my morning coffee, I headed to the library in the same warm beige sweater with green stripes that I'd worn for over a month now; I hurried downstairs to study for a little while before I closed my eyes to meditate. There was no one there except Giant. I observed him from behind as he washed the equipment. I wasn't sure what he was doing and I was curious because he'd been washing the operating equipment for quite a while now. I slowly walked up behind him so that I could see what, and why, he was still cleaning. As I got closer, I saw Giant wearing a sweater exactly like mine. His fingers were also like mine, wearing the same faded pink nail color. His hands didn't look like a giant's hands any more, but exactly like mine. It seemed strange, so I walked around to the front and saw myself looking back at me as I washed the equipment.

A surge of bliss overtook my entire being and I cried out with joy, "It was me all along. There is no one else!"

I looked around with deep, deep bliss and saw that my grandfather was also me. "It was me all along. I Am, I Am, I Am!" All parts of Me sang, rejoiced, and celebrated, "I Am, I Am, I Am. I Am the Eternal Love! I Am the Eternal Beloved!"

I looked up to the sky and saw the beautiful light shining down on me and I opened my arms wide welcoming Myself. "I Am, I Am, I Am!"

I saw the journey that I'd taken and realized how precious and beautiful the journey was. No matter how many lives it has taken me, or who I had been, I was always being Me. The overwhelming unconditional love filled my heart and soul and I realized how I could, and would, be, or do, anything for my Eternal Self. There was no one that I could not be and nothing that I could not do for the love of Myself. I Am nothing and I Am everything, I Am all That Is. This is the love of all love, the bliss of all bliss, and the joy of all joy, the Eternal Unconditional Love.

I noticed that the wall was coming my way. It crept forward and pushed me back to nothing, emptiness, an open space.

Then I opened my eyes. I continued to lie on the sofa, in awe, filled with the deepest surprise and love. I couldn't believe what I had just experienced. I gathered up all my belongings and walked up the stairs of the library feeling great happiness. It was as if I now knew the greatest secret. Before I headed out, I looked around the library quickly to see everyone and wondered if they remembered who they were. I wondered if they remembered that they were Eternal Beloved. I then stepped outside the library and felt a surge of true joy that ran through my entire being, and, right at that moment, I knew I was whole. I was one with everything. I felt the song of praise rejoice from all around and within me. Everything was awake with me: the skies, the ground, the trees, and the animals sang the song of all songs. I wasn't a stranger to anyone or anything. I was the song of all songs, the praise of all praises. This was what the singing and praising was about, the Oneness of who I was.

As I walked to my car, I continued to hear the beautiful and blissful laughter and the music of it surged through my whole being. I stood in front of a tree, yet, I was not standing in front of a tree, but in front of my beautiful Self. Unable to wait to share the news, I called Sean and asked to go over. "I want to tell you something," I said.

"Tell me. Tell me what's going on," he urged.

"I can't. There are no words to describe the indescribable. There's no way to describe the phenomenal. It has to be experienced and lived," I responded. I was still a little shaky from joy as I drove to see Sean. No matter how incomparable the experience was, the insecurity about forgetting it remained in the back of my head.

When I arrived, I asked if we could go upstairs and talk. I sat on the bed and Sean lay down, ready to listen. He hastily asked, "Tell me. What are you going to tell me?"

"There are no words in this world to describe what I've just experienced. There is nothing that can be compared."

He eagerly pressed, "Tell me. Tell me."

"You already know," I responded.

He further pushed, "Tell me so you and I can hear it."

As difficult as it was to find words to describe, I tried to honor his request.

"Are you connecting to everything in this room right now?" he asked.

"Yes. There is no separation. There is only One." After a pause, I asked, "Do you think I will forget this experience?"

"What do you think? Can you ever?" he asked.

"It seems impossible," I said, but somehow I was still a little afraid that I might.

At that very instant, I felt the earth shake. I felt like I was falling over and I held on tightly to Sean's blanket. Sean said, "What's wrong?"

I looked at him for a few seconds and asked, "Did you feel that?"

"Feel what?" he enthusiastically questioned.

"The earth shook so hard, like your house was tipping over?"

"No," he responded.

Right then, I realized that I would never forget who I was again. When the earth shook, it also shook something inside of me that will never leave. The earth shaking, and the moving experiences of being awakened to Myself, will never leave me. "I am awake!" I exclaimed.

"It's about time," he sarcastically replied.

"Why didn't you tell me? Did you know it was going to happen?"

"Yes, but I didn't know it was going to be this fast. You are fast."

I sat for a moment, absorbing the blissfulness of being awakened, then Sean said, "Now you need to balance and write a book."

"Balance?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Write a book? How can I tell people through a book? Would they believe that they are perfection, song of all songs? Would they believe that they are All That Is? Would they believe that they are so much more, that who they are is an Eternal Beloved?"

Sean reassured, "People will benefit from it if that's what they choose."

"I know," I said. "I will share it. I feel so calm now that I finally recognize myself. I never ever knew that I would arrive at such a place. This is so huge. I can understand now why I was so afraid of it. It was the hardest, hardest, hardest thing to go through."

"Or it could be so easy," said Sean.

"I wonder how many lifetimes it took me to come to this point. I'm thinking about four or five lifetimes."

"Try seven," Sean pointed out.

"Shut up!"

"What're you going to do now?"

"I'm not sure. I know I don't have a desire to do therapy. I have to figure it out. I saw that I was going to write a book, but it has to come to me. I don't know how to start and I've never written before."

"It will come."

I could never have known that questioning life at a young age would drive me so intensely to search for answers about life's mysteries in my adulthood. Most of all, I never knew that I had such courage and strength. I went through the enormous trials and tribulations along the way so many times that I wanted to give up and run, but I forged on. I searched for heaven and tried to run far from hell, but came to realize that both were inside of me all along. Similarly, I had a desire to understand everything about life and had looked everywhere for answers, not knowing that they already existed within myself.

I now live the life of an awakened person, choosing to enjoy and embrace the circumstances in front of me, aware that I create them to experience Myself. It doesn't matter whether I am angry, sad, happy, or confused, the utmost important thing is to enjoy my own being-ness, and to recognize that everything and everyone are filled with wondrous and incomparable beauty.

Everywhere I go, I recognize beauty and chaos in the perfection of being. Just like the sun that shines, I am a reflection, reflecting continuously, never ending. When I look at everyone and everything, all I see is Myself; and when I look at Myself, all I see is everyone and everything. I am always home and have never left. Love has always been here and will be eternally. I Am. This is what is, the form and formless, all and nothing, illusion and non-illusion, the eternal perfection and unconditional love of who I Am.

Namaste!

Acknowledgements

For the rest of my being and through eternity, I'd like to offer my gratitude to my late grandfather, who had helped raise me in my younger years, and guided me in meditation in my adult life, so I could come to realize myself beyond impermanence. I am lost to find words to describe how deeply I appreciate his love and kindness. I sincerely love you, dear grandfather. Thank you for showing me that who I truly am is unconditional love.

I'd like to thank other worldly guides: Vishnu, Shiva, Krishna, Giant, Ganesh, Buddha, and Jesus, for leading me to the truth of who I was, and helped me to face the person I ran from, for many years: myself.

I'd like to thank Sean and Santi for being with me through thick and thin. You both bring the deepest joy and love into my life. I love you both sincerely. Santi, I can't thank you enough for giving the experiences I enjoy most, being a mother to a loving, gentle, kind, and happy son like you.

I'd like to thank my father and late mother for giving experiences to grow into myself. I'd like to thank my sister and brother in-law for being my family. I'd also like to thank my beautiful niece, Ava and my nephews: Ben, Saylom, and Logan, for being who they are, loving. You guys have helped me tremendously in this journey as well.

I'd like to thank Bob, Margie, and Steve Weiler, for being part of my family. Thank you for your love and support. Thanks for always looking after Santi and loving him kindly.

I'd like to thank Claire Ferdinando, my editor, for her help with the book. Thank you for guiding me to write clearly without changing my voice.

Finally, I'd like to pat myself on the back, for having tremendous courage and bravery to step into the unknown, and endured such an enormous transformation in order to realize myself. I could never forget the experiences of knowing myself, and will never forget who I am again. For this, I truly, deeply love myself as I am.

