Opening the Mind to the Power of Mystical Experiences
RECENTLY, I WAS A GUEST ON A RADIO TALK SHOW IN Cleveland. Listeners called in from their homes, offices, car phones, and pay phones. Many of them were very supportive as they shared their personal experiences with me, with the talk show host, and with the other program listeners. Others were less kind. One lady was very angry.
“Don’t you know it’s a sin?” she hissed.
I assumed that she was referring to the concept of reincarnation. She wasn’t.
“Hypnosis is a sin,” she went on. “Jesus said it’s sinful. Devils can enter your body!”
I knew that Jesus hadn’t said anything about hypnosis. The word hadn’t been in usage then. Hypnosis wasn’t used as a therapeutic tool until at least the eighteenth century, around the time of Mesmer. However, I take every question and comment seriously. Perhaps she was referring to some similar state of altered consciousness, or focused concentration, even if the actual word hypnosis hadn’t yet been coined.
I thought for a moment or two.
“If hypnosis is a sin,” I ventured, “why does the Archdiocese of Miami send us nuns, priests, and employees for hypnosis?”
Granted, these people were not being sent to us for regression therapy. But for over a decade we had been using hypnosis to help them to stop smoking, to lose weight, or to lessen stress.
The woman was silent for a few seconds as she pondered this new piece of information. Then she spoke up again, without conceding an inch.
“I don’t know about Miami,” she confidently went on, “but it’s a sin in Cleveland!”
The show host looked over at me, barely suppressing a laugh. We had just been introduced to the concept of regional sin.
Why was the lady in Cleveland so angry? She was afraid because the idea of hypnosis was a new one for her, and it had threatened her concept of the way things ought to be. I had challenged her view of reality, her understanding of the world. I had scared her. At least she was honest.
When I tell this story at my workshops, it always gets a big laugh. But some of that laughter is the laughter of self-recognition, recognition of having one’s view of reality, one’s understanding of the world, challenged by a new idea or concept. And that idea might turn out to be a very important one. In fact, probably all of us have come up against at least one such concept in our lifetime, although it might be a different one for each of us. And all of us have benefited from new and threatening ideas that were presented at one time or another in history.
History is the best teacher of the growth that can be gained if we can overcome our fear of certain new ideas. Some of these ideas have opened vast new paths in science, economics, politics, literature, and the arts. Some of them have accessed new geographies and remapped space. Ideas have greatly expanded the inner boundaries of what our ancestors could achieve, feel, know, and understand.
In 1633, Galileo was tried by the Inquisition for proposing a theory, based on his direct scientific experience and observation with a telescope of his own creation, that the earth rotated on its own axis around the sun. The sun only appeared to rotate around the earth. Thus Galileo refuted the long-held theory of the geocentric universe.
Heresy! said the Church, and Galileo was locked up in a tower. In order to be released, this brilliant scientist, who had become a professor of mathematics at the prestigious University of Pisa at the age of twenty-five, was forced to recant. Only then was he set free.
Isaac Newton, who was born on the day of Galileo’s death in 1642, availed himself of the Pisan’s work to develop his own theory of a mechanistic universe, one that worked through physical forces and without divine intervention.
Newton’s work was accepted, and humanity’s perception of the working of the universe was forever changed. Despite the Church’s best efforts, Galileo’s work was eventually accepted and highly praised. Today, every school child reads about him, not only because of the importance of his scientific work, but also for the way he demonstrated that people find the truth by going within and trusting their own thoughts and experiences, not by relying on what other people tell them is true. Galileo’s work opened the way to new vistas in science, religion, and intellectual and cultural history. His work changed the way we all view reality.
For the lady in Cleveland, the acceptance of the idea that hypnosis can heal might be equally dramatic. It might be a key that opens the door to many types of growth for her personally. Many of us may someday stumble across an idea that serves the same purpose in our own lives. Earlier in this book, I talked about the role of the mind in preparing ourselves for the regression experience, but sometimes the mind plays more than a minor role in past life regression. Sometimes, during therapy, we discover it is a central player in the healing process. No matter how prepared we are, we may discover that an opening of our minds and the transformation of fears and limitations into empowerment and joy are the central lessons.
For many of us, the regression experience includes the realization that something you were told when you were young, and perhaps have been struggling with, just isn’t true.
The uncomfortable belief may be a religious teaching, or it may be an idea about the nature of the universe, or it may concern science or perhaps something else entirely. No matter what it is, as a result of your regression experience you may find that this belief has interfered with your own experience of truth. You may also discover that this belief somehow interferes, perhaps in the smallest, most subtle way, with your personal growth and power or capacity for joy. As a result of releasing this contradictory belief, the old way of looking and thinking about things goes away.
How did you acquire this limiting belief in the first place? The person who told you might have been wrong. Or, you might have accepted what you were taught when you were quite young without thinking it through yourself or having your own confirming experiences. But that does not change the truth. Truth is absolute, and truth, like love, is constant.
When you accept the truth, life’s possibilities seem to expand. The lesson for some people is to open up to truth and love.
Anita was a forty-two-year-old housewife from a strong Italian Catholic cultural and religious background. When she came to me “just to see what comes up,” she was severely depressed and taking medication for this depression. Anita exhibited the usual symptoms of a clinical depression—dysphoric mood, disordered sleep, feelings of hopelessness and despair, and a lack of energy. This condition usually indicates a feeling of powerlessness, and this word certainly described Anita. She felt oppressed by her family, her ritualistically religious background, and especially by the way these two forces seemed to dictate her role in life.
In our initial interview, Anita behaved very deferentially and timidly, but at the same time she did manage to confess that she felt claustrophobic and stuck. She was particularly depressed about her relationship with her father, who persisted in behaving in a demanding and authoritarian way toward his adult daughter. Anita resented the limitations made by her father’s demands on her life, but at the same time she felt guilty about her own anger.
Anita felt unable to confront her father and remedy the situation because of the strict filial obedience her Catholicism demanded. She was afraid that if she challenged his treatment of her, she would no longer be able to consider herself a good Catholic.
Because Anita was a deeply religious woman, the prospect of rejecting or distancing herself “from God” in any way was extremely distressing. The strain between her need for her religion and her need to fulfill her own needs had created a psychological trigger for an inherited biological disposition toward depression, which was exacerbated by her relationship with her father. And, on top of that, Anita was very disturbed that her religion did not accept reincarnation, a concept she believed in quite strongly and that had brought her to my office.
Although I had no specific expectations for the session, it would not have been unusual for Anita to have entered a lifetime that addressed power. It might have been one in which she abused power, resulting in her current timidness and depressive submission to authority, or it might have been one that mirrored or somehow elucidated either the current “powerless” situation or her experience with her father.
However, as we began the regression, an unusual thing happened. When she opened the door to the past, Anita did not enter a past life. Instead, she went to a place that seemed to be between lives. It appeared to be a gardenlike place filled with much wisdom. It pulsed with purple and golden light, and it was filled with many wise guides. Suddenly, from that place, this withdrawn and deferential woman began to teach me profound truths about love and wisdom.
“When you want to comfort someone, don’t listen to their words; the words may be misleading or wrong,” Anita calmly advised me. “Go straight to their heart, straight to their hurt. Their words may be pushing you away, but they still need comforting.”
When I heard these words, I was amused. Other patients, accessing a similar place, had echoed these same thoughts. This woman, who was not a scholar, a theologian, a philosopher, or psychologist, was nevertheless teaching me something very important about human nature.
Anita had more to say. She went on to utter another beautiful thought fragment from the between-lives state:
“. . . An alignment of love from the mind to love from the heart. Then we’re in harmony, in balance.”
Anita had just uttered something very close to a classic esoteric definition of wisdom, which involves the blending of the mind and heart. Here was a woman who, without any background or training in this philosophy, had spontaneously begun teaching wisdom.
When Anita returned from her relaxed, altered state, she was deeply affected by her mystical experience. Some very interesting changes resulted. The powerlessness she felt began to diminish, replaced by a feeling of personal empowerment and strength. Her depression gradually lifted and has not recurred. Now that she has had her own experience of truth, she feels less oppressed by her perception of traditional Catholic values. She is more confident about redefining her relationship with her father, a task that she has undertaken with gusto. She feels more love toward him now because her regression experience allowed her to understand deeply and personally the important part love plays in grace.
She is also able to see her father more clearly as a person with his own fears and limitations. He has become life-sized, and she has forgiven him.
Anita recently confided to me that her experience with accessing truth directly has resulted in an unexpected “bonus.” She has discovered that she has some healing abilities. For instance, she has found that her children’s fevers respond to her touch. She has met with some well-known healers and feels that she is at the very beginning of a long, wonderful, and exciting path.
Born with congenital heart defects, a young boy required open-heart surgery at ages three months, two and one-half years, and again at five years. The boy nearly died several times during the operations, and his doctors did not expect him to survive. When he was eight years old, he revealed to his mother that while still unconscious after one of the surgeries, he had been visited in the intensive care unit by “eight Chinese guys” who conveyed information about his recovery. The boy observed that one of the Chinese men “had a sword that he was always twirling around.” This man frequently cut off his beard with the sword, but the beard grew back almost immediately. The boy described all eight “Chinese guys” in detail.
In researching her son’s startling story, his mother found the physical and philosophical representation of her son’s “eight Chinese guys.” They are the Pa Hsien or Eight Immortals, Taoist representations of historical figures who have attained immortality. As her son described, one of these is Lu Tung-Pin, the patron saint of barbers, who was granted a magic sword as a reward for overcoming ten temptations.
The boy claims that he is still visited by the “eight Chinese guys,” who continue to provide him with information. This is his direct mystical experience of truth and guidance, which he accepts completely, joyfully, and unquestioningly and which provides him with comfort in traumatic and frightening moments. Unencumbered with an adult’s mental filter of what is “right” and “wrong” to think and believe, this child is able to accept both a direct source of guidance and a direct experience of spirituality. Unlike his very curious and well-intentioned mother, he has no need to research the facts.
I recently had a patient from Georgia. Beth was a woman in her early fifties who ran a real estate business out of her home. She had been separated from her extremely controlling husband, who had been having an affair. At the same time, she recognized that she was overinvolved with her adult children’s lives. As a result of the separation from her husband, which was a positive step for Beth personally, she had taken on her daughter’s and son’s problems in relationships and careers as if they were her own. Beth felt the need to overcompensate for her husband’s aloofness to the children, and this added responsibility compounded her other problems, causing her to feel depressed and overwhelmed.
Beth was unfamiliar with esoteric literature. She had read Many Lives, Many Masters, but little else about psychic phenomena, past lives, or related subjects. Most of all, she was concerned about her relationships and alleviating her feelings of sadness and hopelessness.
In an hypnotic state, Beth began to relate an episode that made me recall what I had read about Edgar Cayce, the legendary medium and seer.
Beth found herself in a magical garden or estate filled with beautiful rolling lawns and hillsides and dotted with unusual-looking crystalline structures or buildings. Soon she stopped in front of a large and particularly beautiful building that was inlaid with marble.
At this point, a wise guide wearing a white robe joined her. Together they ascended the staircase that led to the building. Beth had the feeling that these steps were vaguely familiar. Once inside, she discovered that this building had many rooms in it, like a library.
Her guide showed her a large room and led her to a particular shelf, where she found a book that had her name on the spine. She opened it to a page that had the circumstances of her current lifetime written on it. Beth found that if she turned back the pages in the book, she could read about her past lifetimes, and she did so. I watched her scan the book with her eyes closed. She seemed to be experiencing and absorbing quite a bit, but she did not feel the need to share this knowledge with me. Beth was told that other pages in the book held her future lifetimes, but, in very loving tones, her guide asked her not to look at those pages. In the book, Beth also found what she called her soul name. After an hour’s “visit,” she reluctantly returned.
The depressed and saddened woman who had entered my office had disappeared. She began to reassure me about how beautiful and loving this experience was, and her demeanor showed me that she was full of hope, that there was nothing left of her fear.
She related that she was told she had been to this place before, but that the time hadn’t been right. That was why the steps seemed familiar. In the book, she read why she had chosen to experience her current lifetime. Her current troubles and obstacles were not random or accidental but had been designed to accelerate her spiritual progress. These challenges, her guide told her, would teach her about love, jealousy, and anger. It was in the difficult lifetimes that the most growth and progress were achieved. Easy lifetimes, she was told, were more like a “rest.”
Like Anita, Beth was apparently having a mystical experience. She had gone to the place where souls rest, reflect, and regenerate between one lifetime and another, a place that is described in great detail in Life Between Life, by Joel L. Whitton, M.D., Ph.D., and Joe Fisher. In this place, a soul may appear before a few guides, review the lifetime that has just taken place, and decide what lifetime to experience next.
As she spoke, it was clear to me that Beth didn’t know exactly what book or records she was reading. She was not conscious that she was going through the esoteric life review process. She was simply receiving the answers she needed, which, in this case, were not based on past relationships but on spiritual lessons. Now I saw that the real question Beth had been asking when she came to see me was, “Why did I choose this difficult lifetime?”
Through this unusual regression experience, Beth had found her answer. She had also gained a greater perspective and a special understanding of spirituality.
It is true that overcoming obstacles and difficulties accelerates spiritual progress. The most serious lifetime difficulties, like severe psychiatric illness or physical disability, may be signs of life progress, not regress. In my opinion, it is often the very strongest souls who have chosen to shoulder these burdens because they provide great opportunities for growth. If a lifetime can be likened to a year in school, then lifetimes such as these can be likened to a year in graduate school. This is probably why difficult lifetimes are more frequently recalled during regressions. The easier lifetimes, the “rest” periods, are usually not as significant.
Beth had achieved a new serenity and power in her own life and the ability to pursue future growth. Her mental perception of reality had deeply changed, and her perception of her own potential and ability to experience joy had expanded dramatically.
Sometimes, overcoming our fear to communicate new ideas to the world is what brings us joy. My first experience with a vivid past life recollection occurred during a series of acupressure massage treatments for chronic back and neck pain.
A few months before Many Lives, Many Masters was published, I went to an acupressure (shiatsu) therapist because of this recurrent pain. The sessions were conducted in silence, and I used this quiet time to meditate. An hour into my third session, I had reached a very deep state of relaxation. As the therapist was working on my feet, I was startled by an awareness of a scene from another time. I was awake, not sleeping. I knew where my body was, but I was watching and reexperiencing a movie beyond my mind.
In this scene, I was taller and thinner, with a small, dark, pointed beard. Wearing a multicolored robe, I was standing on an outside level of a strange building, examining the plants. Looking into the eyes of this thin man, I knew that I was this person. I felt his emotions. I could see through his eyes. I did not know if this was fantasy or not, but I kept watching, observing, witnessing.
It was an ancient time. The man was a priest, a powerful member of the religious hierarchy. The building was distinctly geometric, flat on the top with a larger wide bottom and sloping sides. There were seven or eight levels, with plants growing on and over the sides. Wide stairs connected the levels at certain points. I saw myself examining the plants and thought, “These plants seem tropical, but they’re not plants found in Miami.” Many were large and green, and I had never seen them before. Gradually, I became aware of a word in my mind: ziggurat. I did not know what this word meant.
I looked again at the priest, flipping back and forth from his perspective and vision to an outside, detached, overall perspective. I became aware of his life and that his earlier idealism and spirituality had given way to material values as he ascended to a position of great power and authority. He even had the ear of the royal family. Instead of using his position to promote spiritual values, brotherhood, and peacefulness in his people, he used his power for greed, sex, and to obtain even more power. I felt sad. What a waste. All those years of idealistic purpose, study, and struggle thrown away for powerful but mundane longings.
The priest died as an old man, never recapturing the virtues and idealism of his youth. He had to leave behind his wealth, power, position, and body. I again felt a great sadness. A great opportunity had been wasted.
Later that evening, I remembered the word again: ziggurat. I researched it in the encyclopedia. Ziggurat is the name for temples of the same geometric shape that I had visualized, temples from the Babylonian-Assyrian era. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon is an example of a ziggurat. I was shocked! I could not remember ever studying this.
A few years after this experience, I had organized a four-day regression training workshop in Boca Raton. About thirty therapists, mostly psychiatrists and psychologists from all over the country, attended. We worked for eight to twelve hours each day as all attending regressed each other and were regressed in turn. A closed system like this one, full of bright people and highly charged with energy, can become very intense, and that intensity affected me.
It affected me so much, in fact, that on the second night I woke up in the middle of a vivid dream. Once I was awake, the dream further unfolded as I continued to maintain a deep hypnagogic state.
This dream was one that tapped a past life memory. In that lifetime, I appeared as a prisoner somewhere in Europe during the Middle Ages. I was held captive in what looked like a dungeon. The room was underground and made of stone. I was chained to the wall by one arm, and I was being tortured for my beliefs, particularly for teaching about reincarnation, which was not accepted in this Catholic country. My torturer’s heart was not in his task, but he followed his orders. After several days of this torture, I died.
When the dream ended, I was still in the hypnagogic state. In this highly creative state, I remembered the lifetime I had experienced several years earlier when I was a powerful priest at the ziggurat in the ancient Near East and had abused my power for material gratification. And then a voice came to me.
“When you had the chance to teach the truth, you didn’t,” the voice said gently and lovingly. “Then, when you didn’t have the chance, you did. In that lifetime, you died for this belief when you didn’t need to. You could have just as easily and successfully taught about love. At that moment, it wasn’t right to force the issue. This time,” the voice went on just as gently, addressing my current lifetime, “get it right.”
At that moment, I understood that part of my life’s purpose was that of transforming fear into love and wisdom. I could not be afraid to teach.
Caught in the rut of everyday life, we are all sometimes so consumed with worry and anxiety, so concerned with our status, our exteriors, with what others think of us, that we forget our spiritual selves, our absolute truth, our inner power. We worry so much about our reputations and positions, about being manipulated by others for their “gain” and our “loss,” about appearing stupid, that we sometimes lose the courage to be spiritual. We become too fearful to know and to experience our own love and power.
Times are changing. Scientists with bold new ideas are no longer being imprisoned the way Galileo was. The struggle now is more internal and personal. The boundary between intellectual concept and direct mystical experience is blurring.
Recently, some physicists at a prominent university contacted me. They were working with a Chinese Taoist master to see if they could discover a way to map, explain, and replicate the art of Qi Gong, which promotes healing through movements, meditation, and energy work. This was a marriage of Eastern mysticism and Western science. I was invited there to explain the past life regression process, which is an essential component of the Qi Gong healing modality. With my arrival these open-minded physicists began to address the idea of reincarnation as well.
Many such dialogues are now occurring throughout the country. Physicists and psychiatrists are becoming the mystics of the nineties. We are confirming what prior mystics intuitively knew: that we are all divine beings. We have known this for thousands of years, but we have forgotten. And to know our power and return home, we have to remember what is really true. We have to remember the way.