Ghost Dancing by Rex Patrick Haire, Ph.D. - HTML preview

Introduction

I believe in the existence of a Supreme Being, that consciousness survives death, that each of us has an unlimited immortal soul, that disembodied spirits may communicate with and/or enter a human host, that there are limitless dimensions of existence, each with its unique inhabitants, and that communication between individuals living in different planes can occur when conditions allow. My beliefs are based on the sworn accounts of serious investigators of so-called paranormal phenomena and on my personal experiences and those of my former wife Marjorie Anne Haire (now Maryam El Gamel) over a period of fifteen years. During that time, we experienced so many strange events that paranormal became normal for us and we enjoyed having close relationships with numerous individuals who live in alternate dimensions. A complete account of those contacts can be found in the five volumes of Faeries, Angels, Indians and Aliens. This book is a summary of contacts we had with the spirits of indigenous people who died in North America years ago. Those contacts occurred because Marjorie allowed those spirits (and many others) to enter her body and then “stepped aside”, allowing them to express themselves conversationally and artistically.

I hope you will enjoy Ghost Dancing. We certainly did!

Rex Patrick Haire, Ph.D.

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Acknowledgments

First, last, and always, I thank the Creator Of All That Exists for inspiring me to write this and other books about His plans and His deeds. I generally refer to God as Creator, I AM, Breath, or Father.

I am certain that I AM arranged and blessed the union between Marjie and me for our benefit and the benefit of many others, not all of whom were human. Marjie’s loving, generous nature made the events described in these books possible and she deserves the thanks and praise of all who read them. Without the training she received from her guardian angel Alta Sha, Marjie would not have become an extraordinarily gifted channel through whom interdimensional entities could freely express themselves to humans. I am eternally grateful to the Indian spirits, the angels, the extraterrestrials and the faeries who channeled through her and still bless our lives. I am grateful for several human friends who also came to know and love those entities, thereby helping us along our spiritual path. Finally, I wish to thank my son Ben for his steadfast support in all things as I completed this last book.

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Ghost Dancing

Chapter One: Finding The Light I was devastated when cancer took Terresa, my beloved, forty-four year old wife, in February, 1993. My belief in God had helped me survive other major losses and I knew from experience that helping others helped me to cope with grief. I had a lot of time for other projects after her death, so I decided to open a new office devoted exclusively to psychotherapy and prayed for God’s help.

Things that seemed like answers quickly began to happen. I received an invitation to attend a seminar in which several prominent hypnotherapists would discuss the use of hypnosis in the treatment of traumatized clients. I had always been interested in hypnotherapy but had not concentrated on it as a treatment technique and welcomed the opportunity to learn from several practitioners. At the conference, I met an experienced hypnotist who agreed to let me observe her methods with three of her voluntary clients in her home office. I liked her induction methods and each of them had very interesting trance experiences. I also noticed the newly published book, Regression Therapy, a Handbook for Professionals by Winafred B. Lucas, Ph.D., which was perfect for my needs, for it contained detailed descriptions of the methods and results obtained by a number of prominent hypnotherapists.

My plans were further enhanced when I was asked to evaluate a patient with suicidal intent, partially caused by previously suppressed memories of being sexually abused by her father beginning at four years of age and continuing until her teens. She was gang raped at age 18, had been physically and mentally abused by two prior husbands, had lost two premature babies only hours after they were born, had survived a house fire set by a prior husband who made sure all his possessions but not hers had been removed, had been seduced by her obstetrician, and was 7

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being verbally abused by her current spouse. It was no wonder that she was manifesting symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

In our first meeting Marjie responded very well to relaxation suggestions, leading me to believe she was a good candidate for hypnotherapy. After several days of inpatient therapy, a trial visit to her home and husband was attempted. Unfortunately, he verbally abused her, resulting in renewed suicidal thoughts. A compassionate Deputy Sheriff talked her out of shooting herself and returned her to the psychiatric unit. She was placed in a safe room under suicidal watch.

She had new symptoms resembling an identity disorder and I was asked to evaluate her again. Upon entering the room, I was told by an entity speaking in a girl’s child-like voice that she had set Marjie aside because she was too distressed to answer any more questions. I agreed not to ask questions and instead gave Marjie the relaxation suggestions that had worked for her in the past. She responded well and was able to rest.

Although her behavior suggested multiple personality, I was not convinced. The childlike entity continued to manifest in a protective manner when Marjie was under stress and occasionally gave the staff verbal suggestions or notes written in a childlike scrawl. Instead of denying the reality of the entity, the treating psychiatrist adopted a tolerant, wait and see approach, which I appreciated.

Marjie agreed to another meeting with me and easily entered a deep trance. I instructed her to enter a hallway containing several closed doors and to find the one that would lead to very beneficial experience. When it was located I asked her to describe it.

“It’s a big wooden door with intricate carvings all over it. The doorknob and hinges are made of pure gold. It’s beautiful!”

“Admire it for a moment. When you’re ready, open it and enter.”

“I’m afraid to.”

“Wait until you feel calm enough to open it. Remember, there’s a good experience waiting for you behind that door.”

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A few seconds later she said, “Alright, I’m ready now.”

“Go in as slowly as you like and tell me what you see.”

With tears of joy she exclaimed, “It’s a paradise! I’m standing on a hill looking over a beautiful valley. The grass is so green! There are flowers and trees. At the end of the valley, there’s a gorgeous Light surrounded by a rainbow. I want to go to that Light. I know where this is! This is heaven!”

I was convinced that God was answering my prayers and couldn’t stop the grateful tears that flowed from my own eyes. I thought, The therapist isn’t supposed to cry. I struggled to swallow the lump in my throat and said, “Look for a path that will lead you to the Light.”

“A stone path off to my right leads down into the valley. There’s a stream running beside it. Can I go?”

“Certainly.”

“Children are playing leapfrog on the grass. They’re running and jumping and rolling down the hill, having a wonderful time! I wish I could play with them.”

“You can if you want to.”

“No, I might get my pretty white dress dirty. I always wanted to have a dress like this. It has ruffles and bows all over. I’m wearing shiny white shoes and white socks with lace on them. I’m going down the path next to a border of trees, getting closer to the Light.

I’m here! This is God’s Light! I’ve never felt such love and acceptance!”

“Don’t try to talk. Just enjoy what’s happening. You can tell me about it later.”

After several seconds she said, “I’m ready to come back now.”

“Find the path that leads back to the door and follow it.”

“There are the children again. Do you think I could play with them?”

“I think you need to play very much. It would be good for you to enjoy yourself for a change. This is heaven, you know.”

She laughed and said, “This is fun!” Several seconds passed.

“Okay, I’m ready to come back.”

“I will count from one to ten, and with each number you will feel 9

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yourself becoming a little more alert until you are fully awake and aware of your body and your surroundings in this room. You will feel refreshed and wonderful.”

Happy tears filled her eyes as she emerged from the trance. She remarked, “I’ve never seen a doctor cry before.” I handed her a box of tissues and took one for myself.

I said, “I often cry when I see beautiful things happening to others. I feel blessed to have witnessed your trip to heaven. I wasn’t expecting anything so awesome.”

She beamed. “It was so real! I never felt anything like the love that came from that Light. Thank you so much.”

“There’s no need to thank me. All I did was to lead you to a hallway of doors. You did the rest and God supplied what you needed. It was an answer to prayer, wasn’t it?”

“Yes! I never felt such total acceptance. He didn’t care anything about my faults and mistakes. He loved me just as I am.”

“Isn’t it great to know you don’t have to be perfect to receive such love, to know that God wants you to be happy and to love yourself the way He does? Do you think you can do that?”

“I can try.”

“Good. I want you to go and think about everything that happened and let it sink in. I think you’ll start to feel much better.”

“Thank you again. Do you mind if I give you a hug?” We enjoyed a brief embrace.

By the time Marjie was ready to go home, I was convinced that the child was an entirely separate individual. Marjie, who was blonde and blue eyed thought so too, partly because she perceived her as being a child of around 8 years old with flaming orange hair and green eyes. She named her Little One.

Because Marjie was such a good candidate for hypnotherapy, she agreed to my offer to treat her without charge. In our first appointment, Little One quickly manifested, requiring proof that my therapy would not be too stressful. She readily accepted my offer to demonstrate how I would help her overcome one of her own fears. She said she didn’t like snakes, so I took her on an imaginary visit to a zoo where she was allowed to hold a snake and 10

discover that she had nothing to fear and actually could enjoy playing with it. Little One approved of my method and was very happy that I treated her as a real and separate individual.

Our sessions often began with Little One playing humorous word games with me. Marjie often described Little One’s comical

“stunts”, such as riding a tricycle under water. Though they might seem silly or nonsensical their relevance would often be revealed in normal waking experiences. Little One’s escapades sometimes referred to future events that affected me as well as Marjie. We became a team, and Little One was providing helpful information to both of us.

For example, in one early trance session Little One escorted Marjie to a cemetery where she was shown a sunken grave in front of a simple, upright headstone. A breeze blew away the words inscribed on it before Marjie could read them, but in their place symbols appeared which Marjie described to me and later drew:

“They’re in a row from left to right. The first one is a pair of vertical, parallel lines. A 6 and a 9 touching each other come next, followed by an infinity sign. Then comes a number 3 with an extra long tail on the bottom and after that there’s a straight line leaning to the right with a small circle attached near its top. Then there’s something that looks like a shooting star followed by a single eye.

Above the row of marks, there’s a large, open rose on a stem that has two leaves. There’s another eye in the center of the rose. I don’t know what any of this means.”

“Ask Little One what it means.”

“She says it’s a secret and we’ll find out later.”

In another session Marjie said, “I see Little One. She’s squatting down and drawing a picture in the dirt with a stick. The first part is three crescent moons. They represent seasons. Next is a stick figure of a man with his arms raised and just below him she’s drawing a stick figure of a horse. I guess that means he’s going to travel. Now she’s making a group of circles. Three of them sit side by side with a fourth one under them and a line below it. There’s another circle below the line. The circles represent spirits. Now she’s drawing a circle with rays coming from it, like a child’s 11

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drawing of the sun. Next come two peaks side by side. Now she’s drawing the stick man again with his arms stretched out toward the mountains. It’s the same man as before but somehow he’s different.

Last she is drawing many little circles fading into the distance. They stand for thousands of people. That’s all.” We discovered much later that the thousands of people were probably Native American spirits and the changed man was me.

Because so many serendipitous events had occurred leading up to meeting and working with Marjie, we both believed it was God’s will that we begin living together. We had sessions almost daily, which accelerated her improvement, and Little One was always close at hand. A few months passed before Little One revealed that her true name is Perithnea (Per ith’ ne a) and that she is a genuine faery (her spellings). She said faeries’ job was to bring happiness into the universe and to individuals, and that she had chosen Marjie’s name from the Book of Suffering. Much later she revealed that she had chosen my name as well. True to her purpose, Perithnea often did things that made us laugh. She said she could adopt any form that she chose, but she preferred to appear to Marjie as an 8 year old child. On several occasions, she appeared as a tiny but very bright speck of Light. If Marjie needed my support but hadn’t asked for it, Perithnea would let me know. When Marjie was incapacitated and I wasn’t available, she would answer the phone to schedule an appointment or do household chores. She was a dear companion whose company I always welcomed.

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Chapter Two: Guardian Angels Marjie and I had dealt with past traumas through several trance sessions before she asked to have one devoted to spiritual growth.

After saying my usual prayer for I AM’s assistance, I induced the trance and led Marjie into the Light, whereupon she said, “A man is here. He’s old and not very tall. He has the most loving and kind expression I have ever seen. His eyes see right through me. He knows everything there is to know about me and he loves me completely.”

“Is it someone you know?”

“I have never seen him before but I feel as if I have always known him. He says he is my guard and my guide, an angel of God!

He was sent by the Creator to watch over and protect me, but it was by his own choice.” Tears flowed from her eyes as she continued,

“He won’t tell me his name because it’s not important. He is here only to serve I AM and the credit for any blessings I receive should go to Him. He wants me to travel with him. There are things he wants to show me.”

“Then go. You’ll be safe with him. Tell me what you see.”

“We’re flying through space! We’re going so fast! There are stars all around us. This is incredible! We have stopped. We’re in a room.

He says I must wait here while he gets permission for me to enter the next one. The room is very beautiful. The walls seem to be made of stone. They feel like pearl, but they’re full of swirling colors that keep changing. I could watch them for hours.

“He’s back. He says my name is in the book and we are allowed to enter. We’re passing through huge doors that are made of the same substance as the walls.” She gasped, awed by what lay before her. “I see two long lines of guards facing each other. They are what the Bible calls Hosts. They’re magnificent, big, muscular 13

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and powerful looking. Their swords aren’t made of metal but of Light. They’re not speaking, but I feel welcomed. As I pass between them, they reach out and touch me, gently urging me forward.

“We have come to a stairway. The steps are clear like glass but they’re not glass. They have no seams where they join, as if they have been carved out of solid crystal. At the top of the stairs, I see this incredibly bright Light! My guide says it won’t blind me. It’s pure and completely good. The Light is God! I am before the Throne!

“I’m kneeling before Him. He speaks to me, but without words.

He loves me just as I am. His hand is reaching out to touch my head!

He says I am His child. I’ve never felt more loved! His name is I AM. My guard is kneeling beside me. I am so unworthy of this! God says I am accepted.” My eyes filled with grateful tears.

“The angel is bringing me back. He says he is my guardian and that all of us have at least one. He has always watched over me. It’s time to make himself known. When I need help I can call on him and the Hosts, too… That’s all.” I counted her up.

In another session she said, “I see my angel. He is looking at me with love. He’s raising his right hand toward my face. There are claws on his hand like a bear’s and he’s drawing them down the left side of my face and neck. It isn’t painful, but I can tell they’re leaving marks.”

Alarmed by the red marks that appeared on her unbroken skin, I commanded, “Come back to me right now!” Her face and manner changed into an expression of supreme calm; her eyes met mine with a penetrating stare that expressed absolute confidence. This was not Marjie. Irritated by this uninvited presence, I demanded,

“Who are you?”

An amused, masculine voice answered, “Ahh! This one is full of doubt! I am her guard and a messenger of I AM.”

“If you are her guard, why did you put claws to her throat?”

“No harm was done. It is something she will remember, a sign to let her know I am near. Have you ever known me to harm her?”

“I thought you might be an impostor.”

“I serve only I AM. I chose to protect her, just as your guardians 14

have chosen to protect you.”

“Guardians? Do I have more than one?”

“You have three. They surround you now and always. They are your constant companions and are devoted to keeping you safe.”

“Why so many?”

“The path you have chosen can be dangerous.”

“My scientific training taught me to doubt what I can’t perceive with my senses, and I haven’t seen you or my own guards. You have come to me only through Marjie.”

He repeated words I had said to Marjie in an earlier session.

“Spirit needs no proof of its existence. It simply is. She was brought to you so that you could find your way. You have been seeking spiritual growth, but in the wrong way. Your Light was growing dim. You should seek to know your own angels. They care deeply for you.”

“How can I do that?”

“You must seek them within yourself.” He withdrew. I wasn’t sure I knew how to follow his advice.

After several almost daily trance sessions Marjie said, “My angel finally told me his name is Alta Sha. He said it means loving eyes that see.”

“It’s a beautiful name. Knowing it makes me feel closer to him.”

When Alta Sha asked me how I imagined Perithnea to look when I viewed her with my mind’s eye. I answered, “I picture her as a small creature, mostly of Light, with wings.”

“She is very much as Marjorie sees her. She is made of Light, but Light can be very solid, though not in the usual way that you think of something solid. I AM’s Light is pure and nothing can penetrate it.”

“When I attempt healing I visualize my hands emitting a brilliant, golden Light you can’t see through.”

“That is very similar.”

While acting as my guide in a personal trance session, Alta Sha helped me to visualize my guardian angels and told me to name them. With my mind’s eye, I perceived a young family of American Indians. I named the father Bright Eagle, the mother Morning Star, 15

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and their young son Watching Wolf. Each one possessed traits I had always attempted to express through my own actions. Alta Sha said they had assumed the forms I could most easily accept. He told me to look deeply into the eyes of Bright Eagle and to see only love there. As I did that, Bright Eagle’s eyes changed into those of a wolf and then a golden eagle. Alta Sha suggested that I practice viewing them with my mind’s eye, and the next time I looked into Bright Eagle’s eyes, I perceived Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce’! Like eagles and wolves, Chief Joseph had embodied love, wisdom, courage and devotion to his people, qualities I greatly admired.

Alta Sha told me he had chosen to become a guardian angel after dying at the age of 56. In that lifetime, he was a tribe member of a group of Indians who lived near the tallest waterfall on Earth in Venezuela’s La Gran Sabana Region. The the Pemon natives of that region call it Parekupa-Meru, which means waterfall of the deepest places, but white men named it Angel Falls because Jimmie Angel, an American pilot, “discovered” it in 1933.

Alta Sha said that if we visited his tribe, they would recognize the portrait Marjie had drawn of him. We would be received as honored guests and should plan to stay with the Indians for five days, during which we would hear the songs he used to sing. We should take an extra travel bag in which we would bring back seven coins, a cape, and special sand which belonged to him when he lived there.

I asked about the customs of his people. “Much of the area we inhabited is protected. We traded with other tribes but avoided contact with so-called civilization. We did not use metal. We had weaving, but not of cloth as you know it. Each family cultivated a small garden of plants native to that area. We ate their leaves and roots. We only ate forest animals on feast days. For music, we had wooden flutes that made a pleasant sound.”

Alta Sha said he had been very fond of his mother and the cakes she sweetened with sugar cane. He was very interested in spiritual matters from childhood and devoted his life to serving the Creator.

He worshiped God in a temple made of stones held together by adobe and the thick vegetation that covered it. Until he died, he 16

believed that God could only be found there. He chose to become Pearl’s guard and guide after his body’s death.

“Why do you call Marjie Pearl?”

“She is like a precious pearl. God is the oyster shell and you are the lining in which she nestles.”

Alta Sha often advised me to explore certain topics with Marjie during hypnosis sessions and gave us guidance in spiritual and sometimes material matters. He said I should keep notes about our sessions and other important events because there was too much too remember and one day I would use them to write a bestselling book.

If he began to channel when Marjie was involved in a task such as knitting, Alta Sha would continue the activity but would perform it more efficiently than she could. When I asked how he could be so proficient at activities he could not have experienced when living as a Venezuelan native, he replied, “Whatever Alta Sha needs to perform I AM’s work is provided. There is no need to struggle or search; I reach and it is there. This is true for all who do His work.” On another occasion he said, “Man is unable to conceive of I AM as He truly is. There is no limit to His abilities to bless man in any way that He chooses. Man (through his religious dogma) attempts to limit That Which Cannot be Limited. He is the Source of many rich blessings, including myself. All these blessings are waiting for those who will accept them.”

Through dreams, visions, hypnosis sessions and arranged events, Alta Sha greatly improved Marjie’s self esteem, self confidence, and coping skills. For example, during a trance session Marjie said, “My guardian angel is ahead of me, moving through a thick, gray fog. He wants me to follow him down an ancient spiral stairway made of stone. There are parallel grooves in the stone wall beside me at shoulder height. He says the grooves will lead me to God, heaven, and eternity. If I place my fingers in the grooves as I walk down the steps, I will be making a commitment to serve I AM

forever. I’m asking if I touch them will I come back to here and now, or will I go to heaven for good? He won’t tell. He says it’s a test of faith. I don’t know what to do!” She began to cry. “Pat, you know I 17

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love you more than anyone, but I have to do it.”

“You should always put God first.”

“What if I can’t come back?”

“I will grieve for you, but if it’s God’s will, it’s for the best. One way or another, I’m sure that someday we’ll be together again.

We’ll always be on the same team.”

“I’m putting my fingers into the grooves and walking down the stairs. He’s looking up at me and says, You will be with I AM.”

Thinking she might die, I placed my hand on her arm. I was greatly relieved when she almost immediately said, “I’m in the Light! I’m not just in it, I’m part of it! It feels like every pore of my body is opening up to this Light. I have pleased Him. I made the ultimate choice to be with Him above all else and now I’m a part of Him. I’m kneeling. My guardian angel is kneeling beside me.

“Sparks of ideas are constantly popping out of I AM. My guard says I can take one with me. I can keep it or give it to someone else.”

She gestured as if holding a small object in her cupped hand. “I’m going to keep this one. It’s so cute!.. I’m ready to come back now.”

She emerged from the trance. Awed by her encounter with God, we embraced. I asked what thought she held but she couldn’t remember.

Alta Sha trained Marjie to become an extraordinary channel who could willingly and instantly step aside to allow entities from other dimensions to use her body as if it were their own, but she could refuse, postpone, or end the channeling at will. Sometimes she was fully aware of what transpired when she channeled and sometimes her consciousness was entirely focused elsewhere, with no memory of the content. When channeling, dramatic changes in her posture, gait, gestures, facial expressions, energy level, strength, stamina, knowledge, motor skills, voice, speech patterns, vocabulary, and personal tastes were very convincing evidence that a completely independent individual was using her body. When her training was completed, Alta Sha said Marjie was one of only four people on Earth who channeled with complete purity.

Unless Marjie was exhausted or ill, it was common for several individuals to channel on a given day. During our visits with 18

friends, channeling entities often conversed with them, frequently accompanied by paranormal physical events. Electrical appliances such as light bulbs or ceiling fans might turn on spontaneously or function erratically; objects might appear or disappear, etc. Some entities did household chores, created artifacts, assembled puzzles, took walks, bathed, watched television, went shopping and even drove our car. Some were curious children who asked all sorts of questions. They often knew what I had been doing when Marjie was not with me and sometimes accurately described the activities of people who were more than a hundred miles away. Several of them were aware of the activities of entities who channeled but normally lived in parallel dimensions.

Sometimes lonely or distressed spirits who were attracted to Marjie’s beautiful spiritual Light would secretly enter her body.

The sort of changes mentioned above usually alerted us to their presence or a familiar channeling entity might inform us. When properly guided, most such hitchhiking spirits would gratefully join deceased loved ones in the spiritual realm. The great majority of channeling entities were quite benevolent and we grew to love them. Some remained in her body for long periods of time and channeled frequently, while others channeled rarely. A few did not want to leave but were having an adverse effect on Marjie and required a good deal more persuasion.

In a session devoted to Marjie’s spiritual growth, I suggested she enter a field of beautiful flowers and to describe it. “It’s filled with tulips and violets. I’m sitting in a patch of tulips, waiting for someone to come. Alta Sha wants me to follow him toward a narrow beam of white Light that’s shining down from high above us. The Light is so intense it looks solid and has sharp edges. He’s nudging me to step into it. I’m going in. Now I’m in a corridor that has shiny walls. A being with two arms and two legs is guiding me, but its Light is so bright I can’t see its features.”

“Have you seen this being before?”

“Yes! I was very little, about five I think. It came to my window and then it was in my bedroom. I thought it was the sandman who puts sand in your eyes so you’ll sleep. In the morning, I told my 19

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family I saw the sandman, but they didn’t believe me. They said it was my imagination, but I know it wasn’t. I know it’s not human but I’m not afraid of it. It’s magnificent! It loves me very much. It has the protective, nurturing instincts of a good mother. She is leading me through the corridor. It curves around in a big circle.

We have entered a small room. She’s holding me in her arms like you would cradle a baby and she’s gently rocking me.” She blissfully continued, “I asked what her name is but she says I wouldn’t be able to say it. It’s a number, but it’s not an ordinary number. It measures the distance and time from the moment she was created by I AM.”

“Just enjoy being rocked until you have received all the love you need from her.”

A minute or two later, Marjie asked to be counted up. It had been a very moving experience for both of us. Because of her loving, nurturing actions we named the entity Light Mother, but soon shortened it to Mother. She became a frequent and extremely important personage to us whose power was beyond belief.

More sessions revealed that when Marjie’s father began molesting her, the ETs had often transported Marjie to the physical headquarters of a vast intergalactic alliance we named the Station, where she received the physical and emotional help she desperately needed but did not receive from her human family.

When memories of those interventions surfaced, Marjie realized that visits with the ETs were the happiest times of her childhood.

She would cry when returned to her human family. She often told me that she wanted to go live permanently with her ET family.

After numerous sessions in which Light Mother’s past and current beneficial actions were revealed, Alta Sha told Marjie it was time for her to see Mother’s true form. Sensing that it would be an unpleasant sight, Marjie initially resisted Alta Sha’s urging. When she finally saw it she burst into tears and withdrew, loudly complaining that Mother’s form reminded her of a giant spider!

Her long, hairless, cylindrical body had two identical heads, four arms and four legs! Her identical, somewhat triangular faces were broader at the top. Their only features were a pair of solid black, 20

almond-shaped eyes whose broad ends were oriented toward the mid line, similar to the popular image of a small gray ET. Instead of fingers and toes, her arms and legs had mitten-like extremities.

Mother’s revelation had occurred when I was reading a book about Native American religious beliefs. I said to Marjie, “Several tribes believed that Great Grandmother Spider wove the web of heaven upon which the stars were placed, gave birth to all living things on Earth and loves them like a mother loves her children. It seems possible that their ancestors had contacts with a being like Light Mother.”

Marjie replied, “Mother is stroking your face right now. She says you have taken a step closer to her.”

In another session Alta Sha escorted Marjie to a gathering of Light Mothers who were worshiping at the Throne of I AM. “It’s awesome! There must be thousands of them here! Many Hosts (God’s army, who carry swords of Light) are worshiping with them. Mother is beckoning me to join them. I want to go to my Lord, but I can’t, Pat! An invisible barrier is stopping me.”

“Why is the barrier there?”

“They are too beautiful. I don’t belong with them, I feel naked and ugly. They can see right through me. I’m embarrassed.”

“Forget your physical appearance and see only the beauty of your spiritual Light. Can you see it?”

“Yes.”

“The Mothers are only interested in your Light. Mother wouldn’t ask you to join them if you weren’t supposed to be there.”

“I’m going forward.” After a few moments of worship she said,

“Mother says I have done enough.” She emerged from the trance and said, “It was my doubt that placed the barrier before me.”

I replied, “If God thinks we’re good enough to worship Him, who are we to say He is wrong?”

Because of her limitless capabilities, I asked Alta Sha if Light Mother is an Archangel. He said yes, but I was wrong about the gender, for Mother is actually the masculine Archangel Metatron!

Metatron does not object to being called Mother in appreciation of the gentle nurturing Marjie received from him.

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I did some research into religious beliefs about the Archangel Metatron and learned that the Zohar, (a collection of Jewish mystical writings), assert that Enoch was 365 years old when he ascended into heaven and was transformed into the Archangel Metatron, who sits in the presence of God, records the celestial secrets, and shares them with those worthy to receive them. Some scholars say Metatron is the patron angel of children; others say he is the King of Angels who reigns over the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Metatron often supervised and/or participated in the numerous medical treatments that Marjie received from the Alliance medical staff. Alta Sha said that although Marjie’s physical body was present with me during such procedures, most of her etheric body was with the ETs who were treating her. I often witnessed the physical, mental, and emotional effects of their procedures. The ETs generally waited until human physicians had tried and failed to cure a disease before they intervened, and when they did their treatments worked. However, they would not cure ailments which were supposed to occur because of the Life Plan Marjie had designed for herself before birth.

Sensations of touch and visual imagery informed me that my body was also being affected by interdimensional beings. On one occasion, when Marjie was receiving an ET treatment, I felt dull pain and probing sensations in the right hemisphere of my brain that were too strong to ignore. Although somewhat anxious about it, I knew that Mother, whom I trusted completely, was in charge. I also believed that God would protect me, so I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sensations. After several seconds of probing, it felt as if my brain had somehow expanded beyond my skull. When the probing stopped I opened my eyes and saw Marjie’s head rhythmically swaying from side to side, indicating that Mother/Metatron was channeling. I gazed into her eyes and swayed in unison with her, feeling her compassion for Marjie and me. I mentally thanked Mother/Metatron for the huge honor of working with him. It later occurred to me that the doubling of her limbs and head might be due to the complete balance of male and female energies within one body.

22

In another session Marjie was transported to the Station’s medical unit: “I see Perithnea riding on Mother’s back. Mother is putting me on a table. She gave me something that’s making me sleepy. I feel numb all over. She’s looking at me very closely and she’s examining you, too.” I was holding Marjie’s hand and again felt strong probing sensations in my brain. Marjie used her free hand to move mine away and said, “It feels like your fingers are going right through me. It hurts.” I thought the intense energy surging through my body was responsible and withdrew my hand to an inch or so above her skin while still projecting healing Light through it. Marjie said, “I feel really intense heat.” I raised my hand to about 6 inches above her skin and slowly moved it up and down her arm, feeling the energy pulsing between us. She protested, “It’s still hot!”

When I imagined my hand turning to ice and sent cooling energy to her arm she said, “It’s getting cooler, but not much.” I then held both hands on opposite sides of her arm without touching it, visualized it turning to ice, and instructed her, “Imagine your arm being cooled by a mountain stream.”

“Mother says this is good play for us. My arm is starting to feel numb from the cold.”

“Your arm will return to a normal temperature. It’s no longer being cooled.”

“It feels good now.” She laughed. “Mother is tickling me. She says I have been taught many bad things and if I want, I can be free of them. I can become a pure vessel for the work of I AM.”

“Do you understand you will be a different person without these beliefs? Is that okay with you?”

“Yes. I want this! I don’t need them and I want to be rid of them!”

“Then they will be eliminated with the help of Mother and I AM.”

“She’s going to remove some of the false and ugly beliefs my parents taught me. She’s making a game of this. She’s reaching into my chest and pulling these awful looking things out, one by one.

She throws them to the ground and they shatter into a thousand pieces. It sounds like glass breaking.” Marjie flinched each time 23

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Mother destroyed an ugly belief and then said, “That’s all for now.

Mother says she loves you. It’s time for her to go.”

Grateful tears again filled my eyes and I said, “I love you too, Mother.”

“I’m ready to come back.”

I began to count Marjie up but leaving Mother was so heart rending that I cried. Marjie said, “I’m still under.”

I choked out, “You’ll be out of it soon. Mother is still here. I can feel her touch. I want to commune with her for a little while.” I felt Mother’s light touches to my right and left eyelids as she wiped my tears away. I knew she didn’t want me to be sad but was so deeply moved by the love this magnificent being was expressing for me I couldn’t stop crying. After absorbing that love for a few more seconds, I regained my composure and finished the count.

Alta Sha said my belief that Metatron’s probing had created stronger connections between the left and right hemispheres of my brain was correct and that I had also received large amounts of subconscious information that would become conscious when needed.

We were devastated when Perithnea announced it was time for her to leave because Marjie was strong enough to cope without her.

We couldn’t imagine life without her and tearfully begged her to stay. She said she would have to consult the Faery Rule Book. A few seconds later she said if we wanted her to stay we would have to adopt her, which we were eager to do. All that was required was to hold her hand and declare our intent. When we finished she said,

“Now you’re stuck with me forever.” What a relief that was.

Later that day Alta Sha said, “There is great joy in heaven. You received love and you gave love. You took another large step.” His words evoked an intense and confusing emotion that caused me to sob uncontrollably for several minutes. Alta Sha patiently waited for the flood to subside, handing me one tissue after another. When I finally stopped crying he said, “All tears spilled for I AM are treasured and kept in heaven because they are love and they become a river. Marjie’s love also sheds such tears.” He gently touched the drops on my cheek. “I am happy for you. So is Marjie’s 24

Light Mother, who cries with you.”

He briefly closed his eyes as if listening and said, “I am allowed to share details of this river. There are many, many beings who cry these tears. Each different being has tears of a slightly different color and each color is preserved in the river. I drink from this river.

The current is very strong but very gentle. The tears form into columns which fall back on themselves, creating a mist of all the colors. Seek this river in the darkness within.”

Holding an image of that exquisite scene in my mind’s eye, I inhaled the pure love within the fountains’ colored mists and heard a loud, high pitched ringing inside my head. “Is the ringing I hear the pitch you have spoken of when you say my pitch is very high?

It sounds like a million crickets singing at once.”

“I also hear this singing. These are the combined voices of all the multitudes who sing praises to God.”

“I don’t hear any voices or words.”

“Sometimes voices and words can be heard if you listen very closely. The sound is made from many different languages. She tires. I AM’s Light will surround you and keep you warm.” He withdrew.

We were still learning about Marjie’s ET experiences when an unfamiliar male began to channel through her, speaking as if not yet comfortable with English and turning his head from left to right as if looking at a wide display. He confirmed my guess that he was the man Marjie had seen in prior ET contacts. Mother had introduced Marjie to Nucleus 8 when she was four years old. He was stunned by Marjie’s beautiful spiritual Light and eagerly agreed to become her mentor and protector. He said Marjie was the most attentive student he had ever had and named her Star One.

He had worried that she might injure her neck because she constantly looked up at him when hand in hand, he escorted her from place to place.

Because he received unprecedented orders to contact me, an Earthling, Nucleus 8 thought I must be an important person. He knew from reviewing my file that I was an honorable person. He also knew I enjoyed being brought aboard a craft when I was a pre-25

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teen, but was frightened by movements made by a small gray and had grabbed and forcefully shaken him. Therefore, I had not been physically contacted again until now, but my activities had been closely monitored. I had no memory of the incident and apologized, but was assured that wasn’t necessary.

After a few more conversations Nucleus 8 asked us to give him a nickname and was delighted to be called Uncle Nuke, which was eventually shortened to just Nuke or 8. He revealed that he was a human/ET hybrid who had been born in Egypt 4717 Earth years ago and was expected to live for 8000 years. Marjie’s sketch of him revealed a mostly human looking male whose neck was larger than usual (because it contained two brain stems). He had a very pale complexion, white hair, solidly black eyes, and a small mouth. He later said he had six digits on all extremities, an extra molar on the left side of his jaw and was the proud possessor of three testicles.

He was 6’7” tall, weighed 255 pounds, and is rather handsome.

Nuke is able to monitor simultaneous events taking place in six dimensions (planes of existence). When he looks at a person he perceives the Spiritual Light emanating from them, which reveals their level of physical, emotional, and spiritual well being. He has to look through the Light to see the physical form within it.

Spiritual Light is the primary energy source for all technology possessed by the vast alliance of interdimensional civilizations in which Nucleus 8 holds a position of very great authority. The primary interest of the Alliance is to preserve and enhance the expression of Spiritual Light. Through the mastery of Spiritual Light, they can create new species, enhance the welfare of existing ones and create balanced ecosystems for entire planets. Once a formerly “dead” planet’s ecosystem has been perfected, their general policy is to allow natural evolution to occur without interference. However, they will intervene when the survival of an entire civilization is at risk.

Expecting cataclysms on Earth to happen in the not too distant future, the Alliance has been collecting genetic samples from all species on our planet in order to insure their survival on another planet having an engineered ecosystem in which they can thrive.

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As head of security for the Alliance, it was Nuke’s job to help select humans (and other intelligent life forms) to be transported to the New Earth before the disaster occurs. Basic qualifications included moral integrity and willingness to live in harmony with all other life forms. Because many Native Americans have such qualifications, I thought some of them were likely candidates, and Alta Sha said I was right.

At the beginning of Nuke’s channeling, the Alliance contained 80,000 galaxies within its multidimensional boundaries. A few years later his Alliance merged with the Red Star Alliance, which was five times larger. The merged organization was named the United Alliance Federation (UAF). Nucleus 8 retained his position as Supreme Lord of Security. Within another Earth year, a new, disc-shaped headquarters was constructed. It has a diameter of approximately 100 miles and at its center it is about 15 miles from top to bottom. UAF headquarters contains an ecosystem and infrastructure capable of supporting the great variety of species residing there. Their technology is so advanced that it would seem supernatural to most people. The System (comparable to a huge computer) which maintains this complexity is a fully conscious entity with a full range of emotions and is capable of creating any material thing that is requested. For example, the decor of personal quarters, the clothing one wears, the food one desires, etc. can be created instantly by one’s personal mini-system.

The prime principles of the UAF are the preservation of all species within suitable environments, the support of every individual’s talents and his or her chosen role in society, the elimination of warfare, poverty and disease, the creation of new life and acceptance of the Creator’s ultimate authority. Alliance membership has been rejected by the major governments of Earth.

World leaders have not been willing to sacrifice their ability to wage war in exchange for advanced technology, environmental restoration, elimination of pollution, hunger, disease, and poverty and the establishment of an economy based on merit and social benefit instead of greed. Instead, the armed forces of the U.S.A.

have made war on ETs and their craft; on rare occasions they have 27

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disabled UFOs. Nucleus 8 attended a meeting with George W. Bush and members of his cabinet. They rejected his offer of Alliance membership. He also told them where Osama bin Laden was hiding, but, apparently warned by a traitor, he left his reinforced cave shortly before it was destroyed by B-52 bombers. A chemtrail forming a giant 8 appeared in the sky above the targeted area and was shown on national television.

A member of the Alliance’s governing board of twelve named Mishaka greatly admired Indians and often wore clothing similar to the kind used before white men arrived in North America. He also physically appeared to selected natives. His earthly counterpart became an important channeling entity whose influence will be revealed later.

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Chapter Three: Sacred Peaks, Sacred Spirits In one of our early trance sessions Marjie said, “I am looking at a round table where five magnificent beings are sitting. They are powerful and wise holy men. My angel (Alta Sha) is here. I feel unworthy to be with them but he wants me to sit beside him. To my left is an awesome-looking, large man with eyes that can see right through me. He has flowing white hair, a prominent nose, and big hands. He is opening one of his hands. It’s full of jewels of different colors that shine with light that comes from inside of them.

Without speaking, he tells me they are the jewels in the crown of Christ! He says you are a true disciple, a willing one, and one of them belongs to you! My guard says I AM decrees that the next step is Genesis.”

Feelings of gratitude and humility filled my eyes with tears and the lump in my throat rendered me speechless. When I was able to talk I asked, “What does he mean by Genesis?”

Alta Sha answered, “What does man say it means?”

“Genesis means the beginning, the start of something.”

“You have answered your own question. It is the first page of the first book. Prepare to learn.”

I had no inkling that a prime location for the new beginning would be the gorgeous Spanish Peaks near Trinidad, Colorado, where I had lived for several years in the early 1970’s. The Spanish Peaks, also known as the Breasts of the Earth, are huge, inactive volcanoes that stand side by side between the Sangre de Cristo Range of the Rocky Mountains to their west and I-25 to their east.

At slightly over 13,600 feet, the West Peak’s summit is around a thousand feet higher than the East Peak’s. Considered sacred by many Indian tribes, they also served as prominent landmarks for pioneers. When I told her how beautiful that part of Colorado is, 29

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Marjie eagerly agreed that we should vacation there in the spring of 1993.we

After unloading our luggage into a rented cabin at Stonewall, we drove directly to the West Peak on scenic Colorado 12. We took a rugged National Forest Service road to the summit of Cordova Pass and parked at an elevation of 11,248 feet. We wore winter coats to ward off the cold breeze and started walking on a trail toward a high meadow where a magnificent view of the snow capped Sangre de Cristo Range and the plain below them was waiting. After hiking a few yards, Marjie rubbed her temples, and said, “My head hurts. I feel dizzy.”

“The air’s so thin up here it can make you dizzy and give you a headache, but that usually goes away pretty quickly if you take it easy. We’ll wait here until you feel better.”

“I don’t want to go any farther. There’s something scary up there.”

“What is it?”

“A lot of spirits. Can’t you hear all the noise they’re making?”

“What do you hear?”

“Singing and drums beating. It’s so loud it hurts my ears. Are you sure you can’t hear that?”

“All I hear is the wind in the trees, but I know Indians used to worship these mountains. You must be picking up their traces. You have nothing to fear if you ask for God’s protection. Maybe we were led to come here just so you would contact their spirits.”

“Okay, I’ll go if you think it’ll be alright. I feel better now.”

When we had reached the edge of the meadow, Marjie burst into tears. I put my arm around her and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s so loud! It sounds like thousands of people are chanting and playing drums. It’s like being at a carnival. I must really be nuts!”

“You’re not nuts. You’re just hearing the sounds of ancient ceremonies. This meadow is an ideal place for a rendezvous.”

“I see them. They’re happy, dancing and celebrating. The noise is louder up at the top of the meadow.” As we walked in that direction, I envied her ability to hear those sounds. We had not gone much farther when she said, “I’m tired. I need to rest.” She 30

stretched out on the grass, resting her head on a convenient rock. I lay beside her, enjoying the azure sky, the trees sighing in the mild breeze, and the vast panorama of valleys and mountains.

My attention was drawn to the raucous croaking of five ravens happily swooping, dipping and hovering in the updraft at the western edge of the meadow. I said, “Look at those ravens over there. Ravens usually avoid people, but those are acting like they want us to notice them. Many Indians thought ravens were messengers from the spirit world. I wonder if some of those Indian spirits got inside of them.”

Marjie replied, “I think they’re trying to tell us something.” As if to confirm our thoughts, one of them flew within a few feet and hovered, looking us over.

I said, “Aho! How are you today? I wish I could fly with you.”

It dipped a wing and rejoined the others.

Marjie said, “I feel better now. My head’s stopped throbbing.”

“Good! Let’s go up to the top of the meadow.”

We thoroughly enjoyed seeing wildflowers here and there and patches of snow lingering in the shadows under the trees.

Delighted, Marjie gathered handfuls of snow. A little farther along she sat down on a slab of lichen-patched granite near a copse of aspens and low brush and began to examine the stones lying there.

I walked to the top of the meadow hoping to find another spectacular view to the east, but Marjie shouted, “Pat! Come and look at this!” When I joined her she pointed to a partially buried, hand-sized, black rock and traced her index finger around two evenly spaced protrusions on its surface, saying, “It looks like somebody carved the infinity symbol on it. Something drew me to this spot. I knew I was supposed to be looking for something, but I didn’t know what it was until I saw this rock. I know there are human bones here that are so old they’re covered by dirt and grass.”

I wondered if this was the resting place of an ancient Indian and said, “Remember the sunken grave and the tombstone with the infinity sign and other symbols carved on it that Perithnea showed you? Maybe it represented this place. I wonder if there are other 31

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rocks up here with markings on them like the other symbols on the tombstone. Why don’t we look for them.” Our search led us to a stone with marks resembling the 69 and to another with parallel lines.

It was late afternoon when we sat down to rest. As if wanting to be noticed, a pair of grey camp robber birds perched in a nearby bush and began to coo like doves, causing me to wonder if they also were inhabited by Indian spirits. When we headed back to the car the talkative camp robbers stayed with us all the way. We thoroughly enjoyed the scenic drive back to Stonewall. That night the babbling of a rushing brook right beside the cabin lulled us to sleep.

In the morning we drove to the top of Cordova pass again, this time approaching it from the opposite direction on a road that passed by the property where I had built a cabin many years before.

It was early afternoon we arrived at the trail head and hiked directly to the location of the infinity stone. We spread a blanket on the ground beside the camp robber bush. As we sat on it, Marjie asked me to count her down, which I did.

She said, “I see a young man and a woman. He has made a crown of flowers for her hair. They loved and played together at this same spot. Because their relationship was forbidden by their people, whose spirits are all around us, they had to meet secretly.

His father was Ten Bears, an important man who had killed many bears. She was shunned because she had hunted with a weapon only men were allowed to use. If they were seen together his family would lose honor, but their love for each other was so strong they couldn’t stay apart. One day, he came here to meet her, but she was dead. Her spirit had flown away. The claw marks on the left side of her head and neck were made by the bear that killed her. He loved her so much he couldn’t bear to live without her and set his own spirit free. Now they fly together in the bodies of eagles and often come here.”

“I suppose the bones under the ground here are theirs. Will he tell you the name of his tribe?”

“He’s telling me but I don’t understand what he’s saying. He 32

says they did not live here. They lived below and came here to worship and celebrate.”

“What does he look like? How is he dressed?”

“He’s wearing a wide head band that covers his forehead down to his eyebrows. His eyes are deep set and his cheeks are very prominent. Their faces are fading away.

“Now I’m being shown a beaded necklace. It’s a choker, the kind Indians wear. Why am I seeing this? My guard says it belongs to Doug (a pseudonym). He says Doug must be told what I have seen.

More Indian spirits are gathering around me. Alta Sha says these spirits are very ancient. They have been waiting for the moment when they can leave the mountain and begin to do their work. I AM

wants me to be their vessel, but I’m afraid!” She began to cry. “My guard asks if I am willing to do what I AM asks of me.”

“You know that I AM will not ask you to do anything that would harm you.”

“Yes, but there are five of them! My guard is asking me again if I am willing to do the work of I AM. I have my doubts, but yes, I will. Alta Sha is stretching his arms around all of us and squeezing us together. Now they’re inside me and it’s really uncomfortable. I feel stuffed!”

“Is that all you need to do?”

“Yes.” She was still crying when I counted her up and hugged her. “I must be losing my mind! This is crazy! I’ve really gone over the edge now!”

“You’re not crazy. This is real. I AM has chosen you to be their vessel. He considers you worthy to transport this precious cargo.

It’s quite an honor, a real blessing.”

“It felt so strange when they entered. I feel like I’m about to burst. How can this be normal?”

“It isn’t normal because you aren’t normal, you’re exceptional.

You have been given the amazing ability to let spirits enter you in order to do God’s work. You wrote in your journal that we were united because there is a great work we’re supposed to do. Now it’s beginning. You just didn’t expect it to be anything like this.” Her tears quickly stopped flowing and we headed for the car.

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I thought it might be possible to move to the area, so we met with a friendly realtor at his office in Cuchara. Upon hearing about our encounter with Indian spirits in the high meadow, he said he wasn’t at all surprised. He said he was a history buff and knew that various tribes such as Apaches, Utes and Tarahumaras used to have pow wows there. Marjie asked, “What was the name of that last tribe you mentioned?”

“Tarahumaras.”

“Can you spell that for me on this piece of paper?” She looked surprised when she saw what he wrote.

I said, “I’ve never heard of that tribe.”

“They were a very large tribe and still are. They mostly live south of the Rio Grande in what’s called the Copper Canyon country. For hundreds of years, they came up here to worship. They have held on to their old ways and still live in caves in canyons that are even bigger than the Grand Canyon. You need a jeep to get down inside them. If you ever go there, you’ll enjoy it.”

“That must be at least five hundred miles from here.”

“It’s closer to a thousand, and they didn’t have horses. Indians were always big travelers and especially the Tarahumara. They’re famous for being able to run long distances.”

On our way to the car Marjie said, “I thought I would faint when he spelled Tarahumara. When you asked me what was the name of the brave’s tribe, I saw those same letters except for the ara part after the m. I didn’t mention it to you because I had never heard of that tribe and thought I was just making the letters up.”

“When the warrior said his people lived below, I guess he meant south of here. Maybe we should go there. I’d love to visit with Indians who live in the traditional way. I’m also curious to know what Doug’s choker has to do with these spirits.”

Alta Sha said Doug had more connections with Indians than he realized and that some of the spirits inside Marjie were going to enter him. Marjie complained of feeling like an overloaded bus and was eager to let some of the passengers off as soon as possible, so I called Doug to arrange a meeting. When I told him why, he said he had been to a few pow-wows, had made friends with several 34

performers, and that a famous dancer had given him a choker. He said he enjoyed the company of Indians more than being with white people. I repeated what Alta Sha had told me about the Indian spirits and he agreed to meet with us in a few days.

About an hour after Marjie and I had started our eastward trek toward home I said, “I think we should exchange rings to show that we are committed each other.”

She answered, “I’m glad you brought it up. I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing but I was afraid to tell you.”

“I think this is the right time to do it.”

“So do I. Take me someplace where I can see lots of Indians. It doesn’t matter what kind; I just want to be around them.”

“We could detour to Anadarko, Oklahoma, which claims to be the Indian Capitol of the U.S.A. The Hall of Fame of Famous American Indians is there. I always thought it would be an interesting place to visit, but was usually in a hurry to get to the mountains or to get back home. It’ll probably add a hundred miles or more to our trip.”

“If you don’t mind, that’s where I want to go.”

I was still driving when Marjie woke from a nap and said, “I dreamed about you and me dancing barefoot in the dust and then about a bear that put his claws on my neck.”

“Maybe, in another lifetime, we were the couple who died in the meadow.” She nodded her head.

It was nearly ten p.m. when we arrived in Anadarko. Although many signs around town said a big celebration was happening the following day, we easily obtained a motel room at a reasonable price.

As soon as we had settled in Marjie said, “I need to do some trance work before we go to sleep.” I counted her down. “I see Little One dancing inside a circle of Indians. One person at a time dances to show their worthiness to the gods. She moves with slow, jerky steps. She throws her head back and jerks it forward and makes thrusting, stabbing movements as if she’s killing something with a spear. She dances in a spiral, moving toward the center. While she dances the other Indians put more and more clothing and 35

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decorations on her until she finally falls down from exhaustion. My angel is picking her up and is carrying her outside the circle. He says the ancient spirits inside me are Tarahumaras. Their people have been searching for them. They must look or they will never find. The ancient ones knew the spiral was a path that had to be traveled. The dance was done by warriors and was always done in secret, but now it must be seen by others. He says I AM loves this dance. When we dance, I AM dances with our souls. Our minds are blank; our spirit guides each step; we dance to exhaustion.

“Oh Pat, I see God dancing! He’s a brilliant Light, swirling this way and that. It’s warm, caressing, and joyful, and I am dancing within it!

“Now I see a cliff. There’s a cave in its side and my angel is standing in the opening. He has a woven, basket-like thing attached to his hand. Men are gathered in groups on the flat ground below the cliff. Little One is on top of the cliff. There are balls at her feet about the size of a softball. They look like they’re made of stone.

She uses her toes to push a ball over the side of the cliff and it falls in front of the cave. With one motion, my guard uses the basket thing to catch the ball and throws it as far as possible over the heads of the men standing at the foot of the cliff. Everyone tries to catch the ball. Whoever gets to it first runs with it, kicking it forward. If the front runner begins to fall back, the next man in line takes his place to keep the ball rolling along the path. Other groups of men also have a ball that they kick along as they race the first group to the finish line. The group that finishes in first place is spiritually elevated above the others and is honored by their tribe. That is all for now.”

While Marjie made a sketch of stick figures playing the ball game, I wondered, If the modern Tarahumaras are the people who need to see the warrior dance again, who will do it and when and where will it happen?

In the morning we enjoyed looking at the beautiful Indian artifacts and the histories and portraits of renowned Indian leaders in the Hall of Fame. I was pleased to know that the first one admitted was Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce’.

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Several buildings around town were tribal headquarters, which explained why Anadarko was called the Indian Capitol of the U.S.A. Signs directed us to a tourist attraction south of town that featured replicas of different types of Indian dwellings and traditionally dressed Indian greeters spoke about the customs of the tribes who used them. The impressive gift shop displayed a wide array of Indian artifacts and carried all the supplies needed for making jewelry, leather items, fancy dancer costumes and so forth.

I was drawn to the well executed portrait of an Indian man wearing a wide headband like the Tarahumara warrior Marjie had seen in the meadow. At a showcase of handcrafted jewelry, I noticed a matched pair of rings that were perfect fits! The silver bands were divided into three small rectangles on their upper surfaces that contained tiny bits of turquoise. I couldn’t help thinking, Ask and you shall receive. I bought them and said, “Let’s go outside and give them to each other.”

It felt as if thousands of Indian spirits were watching from the large meadow below us as we stood on a high deck beside the store.

I said, “The vows we say here are real because we are making them to I AM as well as to each other. He brought us together and He knows what is in our hearts, no matter what anyone else may think.

We don’t need the approval of others to know that we have bonded.”

Marjie answered, “I feel that way too.”

“Father, thank You for bringing us together. I promise to remain faithful and loyal to Your daughter Marjie and to You. I am yours, Marjie. I love you.” Marjie then vowed to love me forever as we exchanged rings. I said, “Now we are one.” We kissed.

On the morning of September 30, 1993, we met with Doug in the motel restaurant where we had spent the night. He was lounging in a booth with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out on the bench seat. We barely knew him, so his failure to stand or even sit up when we greeted him struck me as rude and excessively nonchalant in light of our reason for meeting and caused me to wonder why he had been chosen to host sacred Indian spirits.

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Nevertheless I was determined to follow I AM’s plan and ignored my impulse to walk away. We repeated everything we had learned about the Tarahumara spirits, the secret warrior dance, and Doug’s choker. He agreed to accept the Tarahumara spirits and we went to our room.

Doug asked to be hypnotized. Before starting, I asked I AM to provide an experience that would assist us. Doug responded quickly to my induction suggestions and said, “I am surrounded by a group of shining white figures. I’m lying on my back but I’m not on a bed, I’m levitating!” Afraid, he shouted, “What do you want?”

I said, “They won’t harm you; they’re here for your benefit.”

I noticed that Marjie was also entranced. With her eyes closed, she said, “They’re here to heal you.”

Calm again, Doug said, “They’re doing a healing ceremony. I feel healing energy flowing through me. It feels good!” After several seconds of silence he described a scene very much like the one I had envisioned when Marjie and I exchanged rings. “They have taken me to a high cliff. I am overlooking a vast plain. It’s full of Indian dwellings of all kinds. I see Indians everywhere, thousands and thousands of them!” Doug continued, “They insist that I put on a feathered cape and stand before the people below.

They’re telling me that I am to unite them, to bring them all together. How can I do this? There are so many! They’re showing me two Indians slapping their forearms together and grasping each other near their elbows. This is repeating thousands of times! The noise their forearms make is like thunder! I hear the words, Two at a time. ”

Marjie abruptly opened her eyes and stood up. Alta Sha said to me, “It is time. Do not touch her or him during the transfer. Only they must touch.” I nodded. Hands extended, Marjie stepped toward Doug; though his eyes were still closed, he easily grasped them. The instant they touched Doug jumped up as if catapulted from his chair. In her own voice, Marjie said, “Take them.”

His eyes still closed, Doug said, “But there are so many!”

“How many will you take?” she asked.

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“All of them.”

Marjie and Doug trembled with the spiritual energy that also tingled in my spine. As if linked by more than hands, their bodies jointly swayed with each transfer; when finished, Doug’s eyes popped open. He wore an expression of tenderness so unlike his usual manner that I thought one of the exchanged spirits was channeling as he gently caressed Marjie’s cheeks with both hands and said, “Thank you.” They embraced.

“It’s safe to touch me now,” she said to me.

“That was really something,” I exclaimed, giving them a hug.

To Marjie Doug said, “Man! Did you feel that energy?”

Marjie laughed. “Each time one left me I felt a surge of energy travel down my arms and into your hands. I feel fifty pounds lighter.”

“It almost knocked me off my feet when they entered, one right after another. How many did you count?”

“Four. How many did you feel?” she asked.

“That sounds right. Weren’t those beings of Light that surrounded me magnificent?”

“Yes. I don’t know how or why, but even with my eyes closed I saw everything that was happening in your trance. I saw them healing you and putting that beautiful cape on you. The sound of all those arms slapping together was so loud!”

As tears filled his eyes Doug said, “I need to go outside for a smoke and think about this.” He stepped onto the balcony. We packed our bags for the trip home. When he was ready to talk, we agreed to meet in a few days to discuss any new developments.

Driving homeward, I wondered why the fifth Tarahumara stayed within Marjie.

39

Chapter Four: Old One’s Sacred Objects It wasn’t long before the fifth’s plans were revealed. I had just arrived at home when Marjie said, “Look what I made!” The exquisite dream catcher’s wooden rim was covered with white rabbit fur; at its top and on opposite sides, three grey scallop shells formed an equilateral triangle. From each of the two lower shells, a tail of white fur hung. One of the tails was twice as long as the other and each was decorated with a red bead near its midpoint. The string webbing inside the hoop formed a central circle from which ten elongated triangles of string stretched to the rim like rays from the sun. Five black beads were positioned at equal intervals on the central circle. A small grey scallop shell was attached to the circle at the two o’clock position and from it dangled two short strings of white yarn, each decorated with a red bead and a small scallop shell at its end.

Marjie said, “This was all the Indian’s idea. I’d never think of making this. I couldn’t tie those knots. He used my fingers.”

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Terresa helped too.” (Terresa, my deceased wife, enjoyed needlework and made stuffed rabbit dolls, so her leftover supplies were stashed in various places around the house.)

“Terresa! What did she do?”

“He said he needed five black beads. I knew I had seen some around here and searched everywhere but I couldn’t find them. I was wondering where to look next when Terresa told me to look in the button box in the closet and there they were, exactly five of them. She told me where to find the shells, too.”

“Amazing. Why did the Indian want you to make it?”

“It’s for his people. It’s a symbol. He wants it to be seen by others.”

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“Are you sure he’s one of the five who joined you?”

“Yes. He’s the one who looks very old and wise and is very gentle. He was chanting while we were working. I like him a lot.”

“Do you remember the cryptogram Little One showed us that had four dots above a line and one below? I think the dots represent the five spirits, and he’s the one that was separated from the others.”

Marjie named the Tarahumara who remained with her Old One and he soon used her body create another artifact. Using long leather strings he tied together the ends of six half inch thick by eight inch long twigs to make a hexagonal frame. Doubled leather strings dangled from the joined twigs and small hawk bells were attached to their ends. A circular shield of soft leather with a ten inch diameter was suspended inside the frame and various items were glued to it or painted on it as follows.

On our most recent trip to the Spanish Peaks, Old One had told Marjie to keep the headless but otherwise intact skeleton of a small snake on the ground. Twenty one of the snake’s tiny vertebrae were glued in a line paralleling the curved top of the shield. Under them were painted upward slanted arrow feathers. Both feathers were divided into five red segments on a teal background. Three snake vertebrae were glued to the shield at the three, six, and nine o’clock positions. Three black crow tracks were painted in the center of the shield, the middle one slightly higher than the others.

They were separated by two little snake ribs that curved away from each other. Between the feathers and the crow tracks was a centered black eagle talon.

A hemisphere painted navy blue was placed in the lower right third of the shield. In white, at the top center of the hemisphere was a full moon and on both sides of it, also in white, were a half moon, quarter moon, and eighth moon. Those on the left were like mirror images of those on the right. Directly below the full moon was a small orange sphere, half of which extended below the blue hemisphere, with a band of the same blue color outlining its lower edge.

A red thunderbird with outspread wings was painted on the 42

lower left third of the shield, its triangular heart a deep blue. Its wings and tail each had five feathers.

The symbols that had appeared on the tombstone Perithnea had shown Marjie in an early session circled the edge of the shield, some of them superimposed on the three designs described above. The infinity sign, the 69, the upward slanted stick with a circle at its top, the two parallel lines, and the numeral 3 were all painted black.

Although the bones on the shield suggested death, the colored feathers, the thunderbird, and the mirrored phases of the moon all suggested rebirth. The phases of the moon apparently indicated the passage of time, and the orange color of the sphere under a blue sky might represent the red moon, which happens when a full moon is completely eclipsed by Earth’s shadow. The red moon turned out to be very important to Tanner, another Indian spirit that had not yet entered Marjie. In retrospect, the groupings of five and three objects on the shield appear to represent the three groups of five Native American spirits that Marjie and I would work with before our spiritual adventures with them would be over. Old One apparently knew our destinies in advance.

A few days after the shield was completed Marjie said, “Old One wanted me to write for him today but when I tried to do it, nothing would come.”

“Maybe he’ll tell you what to write if we have a session.”

Entranced, she said, “I see him very clearly. He’s very old and short and has long gray hair that hangs down to the middle of his back. He doesn’t have a shirt on. His pants and moccasins are made of soft leather. His pants have fringes of fur and feathers. He’s dancing in circles, halfway crouching. He does a long skip, spins around in place, then skips again and spins around in the opposite direction, doing this in a big circle and spiraling in toward the center of the circle. He’s at the center. He spins in a full circle, then jumps forward in a crouch with his arms out in front as if holding a spear. He stands still for a few seconds before doing another spin and jump. He does it six times, facing in a different direction each time he stops. He wants me to draw this dance on paper.

“Now he’s standing up and facing me. He’s showing me a 43

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pattern drawn on his chest in black paint. He wants me to make the same pattern on your chest.”

I took off my shirt, wondering if the design signified spiritual connections between me and the Indian spirits, and felt honored to be chosen. The design extended from the top of my chest to just above my navel and consisted of five pairs of eyes arranged in a column with a single vertical line between the left and right eyes where their noses would normally be. The eyebrows turned down at an oblique angle toward the middle line. When finished Marjie said, “Old One is delighted. He is speaking in his own language. I don’t understand his words well enough to write them, but I’m getting images of what he means, which goes like this: Once Earth Mother nurse soul. Tears. Sadness. Taken. Heart stabbed. Passed away.

Wait. Long journey. Separation. Meet. Talk. Join. Unite. Peaceful. Joyous.

Explosion of delight!”

Old One gave Marjie a mental image of a decorated staff which would be his next project. Through Marjie, he told me to find a long walking stick that had personal significance. The only one like that had been used by Terresa, so I chose it. Marjie said, “He wants you to purify it by slightly scorching it over a small fire.” When that was done Marjie said, “He wants you to make a line from top to bottom on the stick that goes around and around it in a spiral.” I used a hot nail to make an indelible line. I then carved a notch at the top of the staff until it resembled a snake’s head and used the same hot nail to make the eyes and a mouth.

Old One then told us to collect wild animal pelts, clean soil, the ashes of something precious, black feathers, hawk feathers, hawk bells and animal bones if human bones weren’t available. I thought it might take some time to get the pelts, but it happened quite easily.

I was driving to work in freezing weather wondering how we could collect all these things when I spotted a hawk’s wing waving in a stiff breeze beside the highway and parked. The frozen carcass was freshly killed, so I put it in the trunk, knowing it would not thaw out before I could take it home. On my way home after work, I noticed the frozen body of a mink on the shoulder of a rural highway! This was so unlikely that I had to laugh. I had never seen 44

a mink in the wild, and this one’s fur was perfectly preserved. A few miles farther, the frozen carcass of a raccoon was lying right in the middle of the road! Could all of this happen by chance? I don’t think so. Alta Sha had said several times, “When when you are following I AM’s plan, things happen easily.”

There was more evidence of a plan when Marjie and I went to the university library to gather information about tanning hides. To find the book we needed, we had to look through hundreds of alphabetized cards in long cabinet boxes. The cards gave us the information needed to find the shelved book. I looked for a card about hides while Marjie did her own search. Seconds later she said, “I found it.”

“How did you do that so fast?”

“Alta Sha went directly to the right box and with one flip of his finger, turned to the right card.” It was the only book in the library about do it yourself tanning. Alta Sha had told me that whenever he needed information about a particular topic, it was provided by I AM.

We cleaned the hides and soaked them for many days. I boiled the raccoon’s bare carcass, stripped the bones of flesh, and let them dry. Meanwhile, Marjie added items to the walking stick such as leather strips to which crow feathers were attached with beads, and wrapped rabbit fur around the hand hold.

When the pelts were ready, Marjie made a pouch from the mink’s fur. Following Alta Sha’s suggestion, we obtained a little relatively clean soil from a nearby cemetery and put a small amount of it into the pouch. For the ashes of something precious, we burned photos of deceased loved ones and put the remains in another pouch she had made from rabbit fur. We used beads to attach a few hawk feathers to the leather strings that closed the pouches. She also made a couple of small moccasins a baby might wear from rabbit fur.

The items Old One wanted to be on the staff were arranged from the bottom up as follows: crow feathers, a string of hawk bells, the rabbit pouch, a cluster of raccoon bones, the mink pouch, the rabbit fur handhold, more crow feathers, two small moccasins with 45

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feather streamers, long strings with rabbit fur tufts, another string of hawk bells, and more crow feathers.

Each of the three artifacts we had made appeared to symbolize basic spiritual truths. Reading from the bottom up, the sacred staff symbolized death and rebirth as one traveled the spirit’s upward spiral path to eventual reunion with I AM. The symbols on the leather shield also represented upward progression. The dream catcher’s circles and its inner web of strings symbolized the inter-relatedness of all creation; its triangle of scallop shells represents a portal leading to other dimensions; the five black beads stand for the group of Indian spirits who had joined us. The two red beads and scallop shells in the center represented Marjie and me as we helped the spirits follow their sacred path.

Following Alta Sha’s advice, Marjie and I were married the second time in the eyes of man on April 2, 1994, at the First Unity Church in Cordova, Tennessee. Our spiritual connection with Native Americans was expressed through our garments by fringe, feathers, beads and hawk bells on our clothing and the picture of a wolf couple attached to the back of my white shirt. Old One’s three artifacts were displayed on a stand I had made for them in accordance with his wish that they be seen.

Marjie perceived that the four Tarahumara spirits within Doug were listening when he sang a song he composed for the occasion and played his guitar. We said the vows we had composed and exchanged rings. After a small reception at the church, a few of Marjie’s classmates (she was in training to become a nurse’s aide) expressed a lot of interest in Old One’s artifacts. They seemed genuinely moved by my explanation of how they came to be and what I thought they represented.

Several weeks had gone by since the transfer of spirits to Doug.

I was surprised and dismayed when he told me he had no interest at all in helping them to accomplish their spiritual tasks. His indifference surprised me in light of the powerful spiritual vision he had when they entered and his claim to have a strong affinity for Native Americans. When I told Marjie about my concerns for the Tarahumara spirits she said, “Alta Sha wants to speak to you 46

about this.” I began the countdown but had only reached the number three when Alta Sha greeted me with his usual nod, which I returned. I was surprised by the tears glistening in his eyes, a startling contrast to his normally serene manner. He said,

“You should give up the burden for Doug that you carry in your heart. It is not necessary for you to carry this burden. Your path and Doug’s path are not the same. The steps that you must take are not his.”

Suddenly overcome by a deep sadness, I began to weep.

Struggling through my tears, I choked out, “Until just now I didn’t realize how concerned I am for the Tarahumaras he carries. They are precious to me, and his lack of interest in them seems sacrilegious. I’ve been afraid they might become trapped in him and unable to reach their goal.”

“I AM does not make errors. These spirits do not depend upon Doug for their existence. You must remember that Doug is not an intelligent man. He will not be allowed to prevent these spirits from doing the work which I AM intends. For the present, Doug is the perfect vessel for them. If he kept his eyes only on I AM he could not contain them.”

“Why not?”

“Because he would become dysfunctional. One of them left Doug last evening and is now with me. He is in need of a new vessel.”

I waited for him to request my assistance, but then realized Alta Sha would not pressure me to accept that responsibility. I therefore smiled and said, “Are you looking for volunteers?”

“Are you willing to do this?”

“Of course. I’d be honored.”

“Your church teaches the importance of being open, receptive and willing. This is all that is required of you to receive him.”

I closed my eyes and silently prayed that God would make me a worthy vessel. A vivid red color appeared behind my eyelids and I felt an unusual fullness in my head. I opened my eyes. “Is it over?”

“It has been completed.”

Tears of gratitude and humility filled my eyes; I gave thanks to 47

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I AM for allowing me to serve Him in this manner. Alta Sha said,

“This one is a very gentle spirit. He is a healer. He will remain with you for a time. The transfer had to be simple so that your precious ego would not interfere.”

I laughed. “Yes, we must have our precious egos,”

“Your ego truly is precious. Someday you will release it.”

“Release it? Does that mean my ego has an existence of its own?”

Smiling gently, he said, “We are here to learn, are we not?”

“Yes.”

“Then we will learn together. It is time for me to release her.” I firmly grasped his extended hand and for a few moments we gazed with brotherly love into each other’s eyes. He withdrew.

I was startled by Marjie’s grimace of pain and anxiously asked,

“What’s happening?”

“I’m hearing a very loud, reverberating noise. It’s so loud it’s hurting my head.”

“Do you want me to count you up?”

“Yes.” At the count of three she said, “The sound is even louder.”

I gently touched her forehead. “Fill yourself with Light. Instead of fighting it, follow the sound to wherever it leads you.”

“It’s right here in this room.”

“Is Old One causing this?”

“No.”

“Does the sound bring any images into your mind?”

“Yes. I see two arms and hands being slapped together in an Indian handshake. This is being repeated over and over by thousands of arms, causing the sound. It’s making my head hurt even more. Make it stop! Count me up!”

“Okay. One, two, three, four, beginning to come out of it. When you reach eight, you will understand the message and your mind will clear of the sound. Five, six, when you reach ten all will be normal again. Seven, eight, message understood, nine, ten, feeling normal.”

“That’s better. The noise is gone now.”

“How’s your head?”

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“A little sore, but it’s passing away.”

I told her about receiving the healing spirit.

She replied, “Now I know why I saw Old One followed by all the arms slapping together.”

“That’s what happened when Doug received the spirits. Now that it’s happened again I wonder if, instead of him, you and I will help the joyous reunion of spirits happen.”

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Chapter Five: Other Lifetimes When Marjie and I searched for the cause of her frequent headaches through hypnosis, she visited several lifetimes. In one, she was a male wolf killed by a human’s blow to his head when he attempted to steal food for his starving family. In another, she was a male stone age healer who was struck in the head by a rock thrown from an active volcano. In yet another, she was shunned by Neanderthal tribesmen because she was “cursed” with blue eyes, blonde hair, and a relatively delicate physique. She therefore had to violate a tribal taboo by hunting in order to survive. She died during one of her frequent, blinding headaches in the arms of a mate who had

“deformities” like hers.

She described another lifetime. “I am male. I am tall and strong and handsome. I wear feathers in my hair and I am dressed like a Native American. I am respected by my people, known to be a strong warrior and a good hunter. My tribe is hunting buffalo with another friendly tribe. Hunting together, we have more success.

“I have wounded a large buffalo and have tracked it over a hill to where it has fallen, away from the main herd and the other hunters. I see a hunter from the other tribe thrusting his spear into the buffalo. He does not know I am watching. I will allow him to claim it as his own. It will be better for the good will of our tribes if I do not boast that I killed it.

“When he told everyone around our campfire that night that he had killed the big buffalo, I said nothing. The next day a member of my tribe who knew what really happened heaped honor upon me for my generosity and humility. I received even more respect from my people.

“Although I was known as a brave warrior, I despised fighting 51

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and killing. When there was a dispute with another tribe over hunting grounds I counseled for peace but it was decided that we would fight. I fought. I have been struck with a club on the left side of my head. I am dying.”

To counter the upsetting emotions associated with so many tragic lifetimes, I instructed Marjie to search for happy ones. Her shoulders and head moved as if adjusting to currents of air. She said, “I am the eagle, flying. I see mountains below me. I’m flying over them into a beautiful valley where a river flows. I see a village.

I hear the tinkle of bells calling me. I light in a tree. There are many people here.”

“How are they dressed?”

“They wear skins and furs. I hear the bells again. I am moving to a closer perch. A beautiful white Light is shining down on me from above. The people see me. They seem afraid, in awe of me.

They are squatting down. One is walking forward with his arm outstretched. There is a protective skin on it. He is holding hawk bells in his hand. I know the bells are for me. I fly to his arm and light on the fur. It feels good.”

“Look into his eyes. Tell me who you see in them.”

“It’s Alta Sha! He is telling me to study this vision. The bells are a bridge and a signal for me. They are mine to keep. It is finished.”

Her eyes popped open. “That was so real! I can still hear those bells ringing! Can’t you hear them?”

“No.”

“Am I going crazy? I must be hallucinating!”

“You’re not hallucinating. Alta Sha is making sure you won’t forget their sound. He said they will be a bridge and to study the vision.”

“He says the sound of the bells will diminish until they’re no longer audible. He says to enjoy their sound. I have earned them.”

Seeking a lifetime in which she received the parental love that she was not given in this one, Marjie said, “There’s water here. It laps at my feet.”

“Describe the scene.”

“High cliffs behind me, very near. I don’t think this is the ocean.”

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“What are you wearing?”

“I don’t know; there are no shoes on my feet.”

“Why are you at this water?”

“I need to travel. I have to go through the water to get to my destination.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’ve got everything I need.”

“Why don’t you proceed and tell me what happens.”

“It’s cool but I don’t really feel the water on my skin, like there’s no barrier. There’s another one here like me, next to me on my right, so I don’t have to take this trip alone.”

“What is your destination?”

“Land. Not the land I was on before, another one.”

“Why are you going there?”

“Something’s pulling. I just have to go.”

“Proceed.”

“It’s not as big as I thought. I could have walked around the edge.”

“Have you reached the other bank?”

“Yeah, but I won’t come to the top of the water... I’m in a tunnel.

Now I’m out of the water.”

“Are you in a cave?”

“I think so. It’s real soft. It smells good.”

“Who else is there?”

“Whoever was with me is still in the water. I’m in here by myself. It smells good in here. Smells safe.”

“Have you been here before?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Proceed.”

“There’s an animal here, like a beaver or something. No, it’s not a beaver. It has a beak instead of a mouth.”

“What do you feel toward this creature?”

“Curiosity. I’m like it, but I’m not.”

“Why do you say you’re like it?”

“I know I’m shaped like it, but I don’t think like it.”

“I want you to go even more deeply relaxed as I count down 53

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from five to one. Let yourself drift backwards in time to when you were born.”

“I’m very small. Sucking, nuzzling. There are others beside me.

They’re warm, so warm! I’m lying against heat. Soft heat. Getting everything I need. Alta Sha says to stop.”

“Very well, are you ready to come back?” She nodded. I counted her up. “You felt what it was like to be a baby platypus, didn’t you?

You really liked it. You had brothers and sisters and you were all together, warm and cuddly and everything was provided. Was that real?”

“It felt real.”

“Why do you think you needed to experience that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about what has been bothering you this week.”

“Give me some time to think it over.”

“I don’t want to pressure you. Just enjoy what you experienced.”

“It was just great! Just kick back and suck it in. Whew! It gives me shivers. I liked that! And that fur against my face; it was so warm. I felt little bodies on either side of me. They were warm and smelled so good! It gives me chills.”

“The beauty of this experience is, in that family you received what you did not receive in your human family.”

“Yes!”

“This was a real experience. It’s not something you dreamed up.

It really happened. Alta Sha said it did. You’re not stuck with only one family to remember.”

“I didn’t know to call them a family.”

“You were probably sucking on your mother’s breast right after you were born.”

“I didn’t know anything but sensation. I could feel my little feet and claws and they were really neat. Oh man, what a rush!” Marjie had neither heard of nor seen a picture of a platypus before the session.

In another lifetime Marjie was a young Native American living with her mother and brother; in another she was the altruistic daughter of a wealthy man who adored her. She and I had been 54

mates in several lifetimes.

Through explorations of my own other lives I experienced being a dolphin, a polar bear, a lion, and an eagle. In a few, I was also a Native American. On one occasion, I attempted to visualize the face of Bright Eagle, one of my guardian angels, but instead received an image of the famous Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce’ people. After a few moments, I realized that Joseph and I were manifestations of the same Oversoul. I felt Joseph’s spirit within me and understood why I have grieved so deeply over the damage we humans have caused to Mother Earth, over the needless human suffering caused by greed, and over the persistent feeling that I had lost my true family. My lifelong interest in Native Americans, my spiritual bond with the Rocky Mountains, and my despair over the genocidal treatment of Native Americans by European invaders now made complete sense. My love of Earth was his love; my love of humanity was his love; my love of peace and harmony was his love, and my loathing of violence was his loathing. Instead of resisting it, I released Chief Joseph’s deep, wracking grief and sobbed for an hour or more. When my tears finally subsided, a crescendo of spiritual energy flowed through my body and I received an image of myself wearing a full war bonnet and colorfully decorated buckskins while brilliant white Light radiated from my body. I knelt, and almost touching the floor with my head, I extended my arms like wings and became a soaring eagle with streams of golden Light flowing from my feathers and knew my spirit name was Gold Eagle. As the vision gradually faded, I was a changed man. Sharing Joseph’s sorrow had been intensely painful but the whole experience was a great blessing. I knew why I had always felt ill at ease in today’s superficial, materialistic culture. My efforts to help Marjie were also helping me.

At times her channeling, regressions and visions caused Marjie to doubt her sanity and I would remind her of the evidence that proved otherwise. I would point out that no matter where they have lived on Earth, indigenous people have actively sought communication with the spirit world; for them a vision has often had more personal significance than ordinary physical experience.

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Our trance work was showing us that our minds are not confined to the boundaries and rules of a single human identity. Through altered states of consciousness, we could explore an unlimited range of spiritual experiences, knowing we were surrounded by loving entities who rejoiced with every step we took toward enlightenment.

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Chapter Six: Looking For Wachitique While waiting to speak to a travel agent about visiting Mexico I saw a picture of a Tarahumara woman on the cover of a brochure about tours to the Copper Canyon Country! The information in the booklet convinced me that we could drive there and that I AM was still guiding our steps. All we had to do was to plan the trip, which we quickly did. In a few weeks, we would head south.

Meanwhile I was treating a delinquent male teenager with hypnotherapy. Guided by his subconscious mind, he said, “I’m getting a flash of someone… an old Indian.” He drew a stick man holding a staff at his side. “This Indian has red and white paint around his mouth and is holding this spear.”

The boy had no physical way of knowing that Marjie and I had recently finished making Old One’s spirit staff or that Alta Sha had told me one of the Tarahumara spirits had colored paint around his mouth. The uncanny similarity to our experiences caused me to ask,

“Are you sure he’s holding a spear?”

“It looks like a spear, but it has some kind of feathers at the tip instead of a point.”

“What color are the feathers?”

“Black.”

“Are there other colors?”

“Some feathers are red and there are other things hanging on it.

He’s dancing with his staff, moving it in a rhythm.”

Wanting to impress the boy with the results of his inner search, I revealed the similarities between his vision and our experiences, including a detailed description of Old One’s staff. He replied, “The mink pouch holding soil symbolizes rebirth. The black feathers at the top symbolize death but also represent the spirit flying away…

Wait. I’m getting more images. The old Indian I see 57

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is a medicine man. His name is White Wolf. I didn’t know Indians could be named after animals. He was the seer for his village and helped the people find places to live where they would be safe. He spent many skins to obtain a completely black hawk from another tribe. He would release it in the morning. He could see the surrounding countryside through the hawk’s eyes and would warn the people of any danger that approached. In the evening, the hawk would return to him. He wore a leather cuff on his arm where the hawk would land.”

“Where did he live?’

He drew two mesas separated by a valley. “They lived on the cliff sides of this valley. A stream flowed through it. Trees grew beside it.”

“Was anything attached to the hawk’s feet?”

“Yes. There’s a bell on its right leg… These people lived somewhere in the southwest, maybe in Arizona, in pueblos on the sides of cliffs. There are temples on both sides of the valley entrance, up high. Behind them, there are houses on the cliff walls and some dwellings on top of the cliff.”

“There are many cliff dwellings in the southwest but your description fits those at Mesa Verde’ National Park.”

“Mesa Verde’! That’s it! There’s a museum there. At one time, they had mummies of an Indian woman and her baby in it. The child fell from a cliff and the mother grieved so much that she decided to join him by diving off the cliff. They were discovered sometime in the late ‘30s. Someone stole them. They were removed from the museum around 1973.”

“Have you ever been to Mesa Verde’?”

“I never even heard of it until today. There’s more. I see a young boy lying on a ledge above the main cave. He has been there for days without food or water seeking a vision. He’s almost dead. He’s telling the others that he has seen the old man dying and that it’s his time to become the new medicine man of the village.

“I see a stone shaped somewhat like a rectangle. There are words carved on it but I can’t quite make them out. There’s a design in the lower right corner but I can’t see it clearly. It’s a sun or maybe a rose 58

with a design in the center of it. The ground in front of the stone is sunken, like a caved-in grave. They put the stone out in the flat land before the entrance to the valley and put the old man on top of it when he died. They allowed the vultures to eat his flesh so his spirit could return to nature. It was near a place in the desert where the stream that runs through the valley begins to run dry.”

His visions were so similar to the information we had received during Marjie’s trance sessions that spiritual chills ran up and down my spine. I said, “Our meeting each other is not an accident.

I wish we could talk more about these things now but our time is up and your ride will be waiting. We’ll continue this when you come back.”

We were scheduling his next appointment at the receptionist’s desk when he exclaimed, “Get me something to write on! I’m getting some words that are for your wife. I don’t know what they mean but they’re important.” He wrote:

Eko Eko Asalara

Eko Eko Zomolok

Eko Eko Cerenos

Eko Eko Aradiia

I thought those might be the names of Indians who had lived at Mesa Verde’ long ago and thought it was important for us to go there, too. As soon as I arrived at home, I shared the boy’s visions and his note with Marjie. Upon reading the names, she said, “I feel pain inside when I look at them.”

“I think there’s a spiritual connection between White Wolf and the Old One. Their beliefs and lifestyles were probably very similar.

Perhaps Old One and White Wolf are incarnations of the same Oversoul. That would explain their similarities.”

We agreed it was time for a session. As soon as Marjie was entranced, Perithnea said, “Hello, Father Bright!”

“Hello, Daughter Bright! We haven’t heard from you in a while.

What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been playing a lot on my swing, swinging back and forth and from side to side, like a pendulum. I have some books I want to show you at the book place. Will you go with me?”

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“Okay.” I visualized the plane of books. “I’m there.”

“Pick any book you like, but you can only choose books that have already been planted.”

The concept of planted books made me smile. I said, “I want to look at a book about healing.”

“It hasn’t been planted yet.”

“Then I want to see a book about memories.”

“It hasn’t been planted yet.”

“Show me a book about how faeries grow.”

“Sorry, but that one’s not planted either.”

“Where are all the books that haven’t been planted?”

“They’re just floating around. You can’t access them right now.

They’re rolled up into a ball so if they fall down they won’t be bent and will just bounce back. You get one more chance.”

“Okay. Get me a book about Indians.”

With a big smile she said, “Here’s a book about them you can see. The cover has a buffalo on it. I’m opening it up. The first page has a feather on it.”

I chuckled, “That’s very appropriate for a book about Indians.”

“The second page has a feather on it, too. What do you think is on the third page?”

I laughed. “Another feather?”

“No, this one has a buffalo on it.”

I kept laughing. “What else could it possibly be?”

“The next page has names.”

As if just told my entire family had been murdered, I was overwhelmed with grief. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I whispered, “These are the names of dead Indians, aren’t they.”

“Yes. The underlined ones are special. They are the ones who are coming back.” Conflicting emotions of sadness and happiness enveloped me and she continued, “Alta Sha says for me to turn the page. He doesn’t want you to grieve like this. The next page is blank but it’s special, too. It has ears and it can hear the answer to any question. It’ll answer any question you have about Indians.”

With calmer emotions I asked, “Who should I look for among the Tarahumaras that will understand why we are there?”

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“That’s two questions and the book will only answer one.”

“Who should I try to meet among the Tarahumaras?”

“This book is really happy with that question. It’s flapping so much I can’t look in it or even put my hand on the right page. Settle down! Finally!” She moved Marjie’s hands as if examining the page from all angles. “I’m not sure how to say this word.”

“Can you spell it for me?”

“Yes. It’s W A C H I T I Q U E.”

I wrote it down and tried to pronounce it. “Wa shee tee qu.”

“No, the last part is pronounced tchoo.”

I repeated “Washeetchoo” several times, thanked the book and asked Perithnea, “Are there other books we need to see?”

“No, we can come back now.”

I searched our local libraries for more information about the Tarahumara Indians, learning that they were once a very large tribe who successfully withdrew into the Copper Canyon country to avoid the rule of invading Spaniards. That area of Mexico consists of several canyons spread over an area five times larger than our Grand Canyon. Unless we received detailed directions of where to search, finding a single Indian in the two or three days we would have to spend there seemed impossible, but we had often received help in unexpected ways before, so we trusted I AM to lead us. Alta Sha said he was very happy to place the beautiful steps I AM had created before us and to leave my doubts behind; everyone we asked for help along the way would be prepared in advance for our encounter.

We needed a vehicle suitable for camping out and bought a used Toyota van. Marjie made curtains for its rear windows from brightly striped material like the kind favored by southwestern tribes. I removed the back bench seat and we installed a foam rubber mattress. Marjie expected me to be angry with her when a hit and run driver dented the sliding door when she was inside a store. She was surprised and relieved when I didn’t blame her at all, the opposite of past experiences with other spouses. The door still worked but didn’t completely seal. There wasn’t time to get it fixed before our scheduled departure date.

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I was happy to be starting another traveling adventure. We got on I-40, heading west until time to turn south through Texas. At Lake Eufaula, Oklahoma, a red-tailed hawk flew straight up in front of us before diving straight back down to its original perch in a tree beside the highway, a good omen. A little farther west the median strip and shoulders of I-40 were covered for several miles with a glorious mixture of wildflowers. The steps Alta Sha had placed before us were indeed beautiful.

Late that afternoon Marjie requested a trance session. She said,

“I see Perithnea. She’s riding a bicycle. I’m on a bicycle too, but I’m riding in a basket in front of the handlebars. I’m facing forward and can’t see who’s pedaling. Perithnea is riding in circles, making a spiral that gets bigger and bigger until she’s too tired to go any farther. She’s so tired she’s starting to fall! I caught her. She says this represents a dance Indians do to the point of exhaustion.”

We spent the first night of our journey beside giant boulders and a few trees in a quiet and peaceful park near Fort Davis, Texas. For brunch, we stopped at Marfa, a little town made famous by the mysterious moving lights sometimes seen in the distant desert at night. Although a large sign just outside town advertised their existence, the teenage waitress who served us had never heard of the Marfa Lights! As if remarking about our faith in divine guidance, the word GODBOLD was painted on a grain elevator near the café where we ate. (Godbold was the last name of a college student who attended our lecture about this journey months later at the University of Tennessee in Martin!) Finding our way to Creel, a small town in the state of Chihuahua from which tours into the canyons often begin, was an adventure in itself. Whenever we needed help of any kind, people who spoke English were on hand to assist us. When our van got stuck in some deep sand at a turnout, a pickup truck full of Mexicans came to the rescue a few minutes later. They would not accept payment for their good deed.

Our first night in Mexico was spent in a large roadside park overlooking a canyon. Judging from the trash scattered around, it was a popular spot, but we had it to ourselves for a little while.

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After supper, we were enjoying a campfire made from dead wood gathered from under the plentiful pines. The silence and ghostly moonlight illuminating the canyon created a peaceful scene that was suddenly disturbed by the arrival of a car full of loud talking men. A screen of trees prevented them and us from seeing each other. They seemed to have a drinking party planned and I thought they might be angry to discover gringos on their remote turf. I wondered if we should leave before things got out of hand when a pine knot in our fire exploded like a gunshot. After some brief, fearful shouts, they roared away. I gave thanks again for what seemed like Divine Intervention. Our campsite remained peaceful the rest of the night.

We arrived in Creel early in the morning and drove through town looking for lodging. We were delighted to find an old tourist camp with a large main house and individual cabins on about two acres of lawn and trees. Like a big petting zoo, rabbits, chickens and goats roamed freely about; a few white tailed deer were corralled behind a tall fence that was no barrier for the little animals. The place didn’t look open yet so we parked inside the compound and walked among the animals while waiting for signs of activity in the large house/office. Before long, a cordial young man emerged from it, greeted us in very good English, and told us his name was Federico Garcia. He said a cabin was available for a few days and asked us to join him for breakfast in a dining cabin where an Indian-looking woman who didn’t speak English served us delicious oatmeal prepared on a wood burning stove. We followed him to the main house to register and met his wife, who was also very friendly. They said they had attended university in the United States, which explained their excellent English. When told we were looking for an Indian named Wachitique, Federico said he knew some American missionaries who had spent a lot of time working with the Indians and might have heard of him. He left for work and his wife gave us directions to the missionaries’ home and a bank where we could exchange dollars for pesos.

After unloading our luggage in the rented cabin we headed for the bank. The town’s main street was busy with pedestrians and 63

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traffic and lined with interesting shops we planned to explore. The teller at the bank said that we had come at the right time because the Creel branch would be eliminated at the end of the month.

Fortunately, we knew that new pesos were equal in value to a hundred old pesos because the teller tried to give us a shopping bag full of old pesos for two hundred dollars. The new ones I insisted on easily fit into my billfold.

The train station, hospital, school, trading post and Catholic Church were adjacent to the town square. After a brief look around, we drove up a mountain to the missionary’s home, but no one was there. Not knowing how to proceed, we went back to the cabin. I was very frustrated with the lack of direction and asked for Alta Sha’s advice. Marjie stepped aside to let him answer. He said,

“Mingle with the people. Become one with them.”

My eagerness to get into the back country and find the traditionals made this hard to accept, but I tried my best. We returned to town and explored the plaza and the Main Street shops on foot. The trading post was full of handmade Tarahumara goods including woven garments, goatskin drums, carved wooden masks, dolls dressed in traditional clothing and the softball-sized oak balls that are kicked forward in long distance foot races. We bought a carved mask, a drum, a map of the canyon country, and Richard D. Fisher’s book, Mexico’s Copper Canyon, which contains many colorful pictures of the people and their homeland.

Fisher arranged for a group of Tarahumara racers to run in several grueling marathons in the U.S.A. which they easily won while wearing their traditional sandals instead of the specially designed racing shoes offered to them. The Tarahumara winner of a one hundred mile race against highly trained young Americans was 52 years old!

Fisher’s book contains an essay about the traditional Indians written by Father Verplancken, a Catholic priest who devoted his life to helping the Tarahumara through education, health care and commerce. He wrote that the Raramuri, (the Indians’ name for themselves) are true Christians because they actually practice the golden rule instead of paying it lip service. I thought after 40 years 64

of contact with the Tarahumara Father Verplancken might know Wachitique, so I walked across the plaza to the parish house where he was saying goodbye to some other Americans. When they left I introduced myself and asked for a few minutes of his time. He was about to leave for a distant city, but his manner was welcoming. I quickly asked if he had ever heard of a Tarahumara named Wachitique, but he had not. I was sorry we didn’t have more time to talk, but it wasn’t meant to be.

Outside of the train station, Raramuri women were sitting on the pavement weaving cloth belts on finger looms. I would have preferred a purely native design, but they all contained the word Chihuahua, the name of the local state, and I bought one anyway.

We browsed through some shops, bought a couple of oranges, and returned to the cabin for lunch. Federico was there and volunteered to escort us back to the missionary’s house to be certain we had gone to the right one.

The missionary still wasn’t at home, but we had a pleasant conversation with his wife. She didn’t know Wachitique and did not know when her husband would return. Not knowing what else to do, we went back to the cabin. I was really getting frustrated with our lack of progress. “We seem close to finding out where Wachitique is, but who knows how long it will take? I feel like a carrot is being dangled just out of reach for us to follow. The canyon country is huge. There three main canyons and a couple of smaller ones cover hundreds of square miles. If we don’t get specific directions, we could search for months. A whole day has nearly passed without any progress. Alta Sha said every one we meet has been prepared for the contact, so why doesn’t anyone have answers? This is beginning to feel like a wild goose chase.”

Marjie said, “Maybe we should take the train to the next town and start from there. Isn’t that where a lot of people go to visit Copper Canyon?”

“Yes, but we would have to hire someone to take us in, and we don’t even know where to look. We might receive some guidance when we get there, but what if we don’t? We would have to spend the night there and wait for a train to bring us back tomorrow, and 65

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lose another day.”

After supper at the cabin I asked Marjie if she would have a session so that I could speak to Alta Sha, and she agreed. He said,

“What is it you seek?”

I was certain that he already knew what was bothering me, so his question only angered me. “Why are we suddenly running up against all these obstacles and getting nowhere? Where is the guide you said we would find? How can I ask someone to guide us if I don’t know where to go? I don’t know whether to take the train to the next town or go down in the canyons in our van. We could be searching for days!”

“All the steps have been prepared for you although they are not the ones you imagined. You have free will. You can turn back now if you choose.”

“That’s insulting! I didn’t come fifteen hundred miles to do I AM’s work just to turn back without accomplishing anything! I didn’t come here to be a tourist; all I want to do is to find Wachitique, to do whatever it is we are supposed to do, and be on our way.”

“And when you find Wachitique what will you do?”

“I have no idea what we are supposed to do!”

“What do you hope will transpire?”

“I hope that I will meet a friend and together we will do whatever I AM wants us to do.”

“Perhaps you should allow the steps of I AM to unfold as they have been planned and stop trying to plan them yourself. Are you willing to take the steps I AM has planned for you? Why do you turn that which was intended to be a beautiful experience into a struggle? It is not necessary for you to reply. I already know why you do this.”

“I don’t understand why everything has to be such a mystery. It only adds to my anxiety and prevents me from enjoying myself as much as I could.”

“There is no need for you to worry. Whatever choices you make will be taken into account so that the plan is accomplished. I suggest that you go and act like a tourist.”

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“Okay. I’ll try to relax and let things unfold according to I AM’s plan.”

“Alleluia.”

“Alleluia.”

Could finding Wachitique be that easy? I had imagined all kinds of scenarios with the Raramuri, most of which included a friendly group gathering around a campfire. Being in a foreign country, not speaking the language, not knowing how much I should pay for anything, not knowing what was safe to eat or drink and not having a definite destination was much less structure than I was used to. I liked for things to be planned and organized. I was accustomed to finding practical solutions to challenging situations and it was hard for me to give up my do it yourself habits. It took a major adjustment on my part to Let go and let God.

Marjie emerged from the trance and said, “I’ve been feeling pressured to come up with answers for you and I don’t have them.

It’s making me nervous. I’ve just been going on my gut feelings and common sense. I wish you could calm down. I don’t like being in the middle.”

“I don’t mean to put you in the middle and I don’t expect you to have all the answers. I just want to be sure that our decisions are being led by Spirit and not by our own hunches, which I don’t trust.

It wasn’t common sense that told us to come here; common sense would have said not to come with so little information. Alta Sha says not to worry, everything has been planned, so I’m just going to chill. How about a drink?”

Creel was a very peaceful place with lots of friendly, smiling people and we did some more exploring. Back at the cabin we looked more closely at our souvenirs. The drum was about 20

inches in diameter and about six inches deep, with nearly white sheepskin stretched over both sides. One side was decorated with painted red designs. A rattlesnake circled the perimeter, nearly biting its own tail. In the center was an open cross shape with different phases of the moon within its four arms and stars in the gaps between the cross’s arms. It made a deep, booming sound when struck with the stuffed, cloth covered head of the drumstick 67

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that came with it.

The carved, life sized face of a Raramuri reminded us of the warrior Marjie had seen in the Spanish Peak meadow; he also wore a wide headband. The face resembled the Raramuri man pictured on the cover of Fisher’s book.

In the morning we woke to the charming sound of tinkling bells and the soft bleats of goats grazing beside the cabin. The domestic goats, rabbits and deer were so tame it was like being in a petting zoo.

We went back to the missionary’s house, but he was still gone.

His wife directed us to the home of a tour guide who might know how to find Wachitique and there we were told he was at the trading post. When we arrived there I urgently needed a pit stop and headed straight across the plaza toward the train station, which contained the only public restroom in town. My path took me by a traditionally dressed Raramuri man who was gazing at the trading post doors as if undecided about entering. He was around 5’3” tall and movie star handsome with brown skin and black hair. He wore a cape-like white blouse and a simple white skirt that came to his knees. Upon reaching him, I paused, smiled, bowed slightly, and held my cupped hands toward him in a gesture of sharing. He smiled back, revealing bright white teeth.

Back at the car I found Marjie talking with the guide, a friendly, slender man of average height who appeared to be in his mid 30s and spoke with a genuine Irish brogue! He had never heard of anyone named Wachitique, but said we could easily drive our van the fifty miles or so to the tiny village of La Bufa in Batopilas Canyon, where many of the traditional Raramuri still lived. He said a retired American Airlines pilot named Jeff Candler had been living there for many years and might be able to help us. He also suggested that we question the Trading Post manager, since many of the traditionals brought handcrafts to be sold there.

We followed him into the store and took our place in line. I was holding the Tarahumara picture book behind my back. Marjie tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the Tarahumara I had previously greeted standing behind me. She said, “He wants to see 68

your book.” I gladly handed it to him. As he looked through the pages, he said something in Spanish to our guide, who said, “The man on the cover is a good friend of his, and he knows some of the other people in it, too. His name is Ignacio Rodriguez. He’s from La Bufa and is a friend of Jeff Candler. His wife recently had a baby and he walked here to get some things they need.”

“Tell him if he likes, we’ll give him a ride back to La Bufa and he can be our guide.”

Enthused with our offer, Ignacio smiled and spoke to our guide.

“He needs to buy some condensed milk, a pan for boiling water and a few other things for the baby. He will meet you back here in an hour but if you don’t see him, just ask for Nacho. He’s pretty well known around here because he’s a good fiddle player.” Nacho left to do his shopping.

The Irishman said if we had car trouble to have someone bring him a note and he would come and get us. He would be sure to get the note because everybody in Creel knew him. The store manager had never heard of Wachitique, and neither had Nacho.

I asked the guide why he was limping. “I broke three bones in my ankle several weeks ago. I’m just now getting around without a cast. It still hurts some.”

“We’ve had some success in helping people heal by projecting energy through our hands. Would you like for us to try that with you?”

“Sure. I’ll try anything that could help. What do you want me to do?” Marjie told him to sit in his car facing us. Our hands surrounded but did not touch his ankle. I prayed for healing Light and we all felt warm energy flowing into his ankle. After a couple of minutes, he said, “It already feels better.”

I said, “Great. I’m glad we could do you a favor after everything you’ve done for us. We really appreciate your help and the offer of rescue. We certainly didn’t expect to have a traditional Tarahumara guide.”

An hour later Nacho was waiting at the plaza holding a mesh shopping bag with several items in it. Although he had to sit on the floor of the van using our luggage as a back rest, his smiles showed 69

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he was very happy to have a ride home. On the way out of town, he asked me to stop at a combination bar/liquor store, where he bought a bottle of red wine for celebrating the baby’s birth.

Just outside of town we saw several people fishing and eating on the mountainside shore of a clear water reservoir bordered by evergreens. A sign reported that it was one of many beneficial projects championed by Father Verplancken. He had also been the driving force behind the creation of the school and hospital in Creel.

After twenty miles or so the paved highway deteriorated into dusty but well maintained gravel. Small houses of stone or logs dotted sparsely inhabited pastures mixed with broad leaf and evergreen trees. About a half hour later we passed through a small sawmill town where some of the pedestrians were clearly drunk. I was glad to put that place behind us. The road ascended onto a plateau of heavily logged evergreens and changed to an inches deep, powdery dust that seeped into every possible opening, including the leaking seal around the sliding door, but Nacho didn’t complain. He followed our suggestion and stuffed a rag into the gap.

According to Dr. Fisher, who sponsored the Tarahumara men who entered marathon races in the U.S.A., their own word for themselves is Raramuri, which means Children of God. When Nacho said his people were suffering because of a long drought, I answered that we were also Niños de Dios and would pray for rain.

Nacho told us the Spanish and Raramuri names of various birds and plants. If Marjie recognized one, she would tell him the corresponding English word but there were many unfamiliar ones.

My very limited Spanish prevented me from asking for details about his family and lifestyle, but we did learn that his baby was only a few weeks old and that he had other children. He was fascinated with our new, unused teakettle and its spring loaded spout cap that would open when a trigger was pressed. He showed us his new aluminum pot and said what it cost, which was a lot more than it would in the states. I said to Marjie, “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to give him the teapot when we get to La Bufa.” She agreed it would be fun to do that.

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We stopped to stretch our legs and admire the panoramic view at the rim of of Batopilas Canyon, where Marjie and Nacho posed like old friends while I took pictures of them. At about 5’6”, she was a head taller than him.

The narrow, winding, unpaved road to the bottom of Batopilas Canyon is justifiably described as one of the most scenic in North America. Huge vertical cliffs of white stone line the canyon’s upper borders and the steep slopes of talus at their bases are crisscrossed with trails that seem fit only for goats, but are used by the running Raramuri. The steep road dropped thousands of feet in only two or three miles. It had no guardrails to prevent vehicles from plunging off the precipitous edges and was too narrow for more than one vehicle at a time. Occasional turnouts allowed opposing traffic to pass by, sometimes requiring backing up to the nearest one. The occasional presence of ancient trucks that were stacked so high with overhanging bales of hay it seemed a slight push would topple them added to the danger. I held my breath as they negotiated outwardly slanting curves beside shear drop-offs, wondering about the condition of their brakes and semi-bald tires. A runaway truck could easily catapult us to the canyon floor.

About halfway to the bottom we came to a wider than usual spot where a small stone house had an adjacent corral holding a dozen or more goats. I wondered if the loose burros we had seen grazing beside the road or standing in the middle of it belonged to the residents.

After navigating several more hairpin turns we reached the Batopilas River, which was flowing through a narrow gorge about thirty feet below the roadway. Drought had reduced it to a creek rushing over small waterfalls and rapids. Its unnatural turquoise color was due to toxic chemicals leached from the tailings of abandoned copper and silver mines. I hoped the Indians had other sources of water. A sign on the opposite bank read La Bufa, and to get there we had to cross a one-lane, wooden bridge without guard rails featuring a rather large hole in one of the main planks. I didn’t like the looks of it but overloaded hay trucks had safely crossed, so our Toyota van would too. We followed the river downstream for 71

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about a half mile to the leveled top of a mine tailing mountain where Nacho told us to stop. Across the parking area stood a modern house with several smiling people on its porch. Nacho learned from them that Jeff was at home and led us up a steep, winding path through a thick stand of scrub oaks, cacti, and other prickly plants, his rapid pace difficult to match in the sun’s heat.

We enjoyed cheerful bird songs and pungent plant scents. The short trail ended at the foot of a long staircase that ended at the entrance to a flat topped, concrete building which merged into the cliff behind it. Nacho yelled a greeting and Jeff, a tall, moderately obese white man in his late sixties, stepped onto the landing. In Spanish, Nacho explained why we were there and Jeff, clearly glad to have visitors, urged us to join him.

Introductions were made as we entered his modest home. I commented that it was much cooler inside than outside. Jeff said the thick concrete walls were responsible; it was built like a bunker and had been a jail when the mines were operating. He had bought it for a song fifteen years previously and was very happy with his comfortable, indestructible, no maintenance home. A generator supplied electricity for lights, appliances, and his two way radio, allowing him to offer us cold drinks. Jeff and I had beer, Marjie had iced tea, and Nacho drank a coke. In another delightful synchronicity, Jeff said he grew up in the southwestern United States and that his parents were friends of the white ranchers who stumbled across the pueblo ruins at Mesa Verde’ before it became a national park. He had always been fascinated with Indian cultures and lived among the Raramuri because they tried to maintain their traditional lifestyle. He disliked cities and traveled to Creel only when the need for supplies required it, but was upset because the outside world was intruding more and more. “I hate to see what’s happening here. The whole canyon is going downhill.

We don’t get as many migrating birds as we used to. Thousands of parrots used to come up here in the summer but every year there are less and less. It hasn’t rained in four months and this is normally our rainy season. When that’s over we get almost no rain at all for the rest of the year.”

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He asked why we had come to the canyon. We told him about being contacted by the Tarahumara spirits, making artifacts that the Old One wanted to be seen and about the guidance we had received from Alta Sha. I said, “We came hoping to find the pure Tarahumara who still live in the old way.”

“Well, you’ve found ‘em. You’re right in the middle of the few remaining traditionals. They don’t get any purer than the ones who live in this area. They taught me a lot about plants and what they’re good for. I had bad ulcers until they told me to drink aloe vera juice mixed with tomato juice, and it cured them. I used to go to all the celebrations in the villages around here and they got to where they trusted me. I’ve seen a lot of ceremonies they don’t normally let white people see. I’m sorry to say it, but they’re losing their culture.

They don’t perform many of the old ceremonies any more. I want to write down everything I have learned about them before it gets lost.”

“We’ve been told to look for someone named Wachitique. He might be a shaman or a medicine man.”

“I don’t think there are any shamans left. The last one I know of died a few months ago.” Jeff asked Nacho if there were any shamans left. He answered no. “Nacho has been my neighbor for many years. He lives in a cave across the river and down the canyon a little ways. He’s a first class fiddle player and is in demand whenever there’s a ceremony.

“That name you mentioned doesn’t sound like a Tarahumara word to me. Write it down on this piece of paper.” I did. “That’s your problem. It wouldn’t be spelled like that down here. They would leave out the T sound and would spell it like this.” He wrote Guachochi. “It’s not a man’s name; it’s the name of a village. It’s right above us on top of the mountain. It means place of the goats.

You’re in the heart of goat country.” Marjie and I felt a jolt of spiritual energy that raised goose bumps.

I said, “There’s no way we would have found this place without guidance. We’ve been looking for a man who doesn’t exist but were led to the right place anyway. All we have to do now is figure out what we’re supposed to do here.”

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“Are you planning to stay in the canyon overnight?”

“Yes, if we can find a good place to camp.”

“There’s a real pretty spot next to some cottonwoods and a little creek about a mile down this road where it’s wide enough to set up camp. If you like, we can talk some more tomorrow.” Nacho had finished his coke and was ready to go home. We thanked Jeff for his generous hospitality and for correcting our mistake.

As Nacho was removing his overloaded shopping bag from the van we smiled and gave him him a brightly colored canvas tote bag and the whistling tea kettle. I knew the Raramuri word for sharing and said, “Korima. Muchas gracias!” Marjie hugged him and said,

“Thank you so much!” He gave us another one of his million dollar smiles, put all his possessions except the tea kettle in his new bag, thanked us, and started walking toward home. When passing by the onlookers on the porch of the modern house, he held the kettle up for all to see and shouted his happy news to them. It was good to know our gifts were so appreciated and wished we could have done more.

On the way to the campsite we saw a few small houses perched near the canyon’s rim above us but no people. We were glad that three large cottonwood trees sheltered the roadside campsite. I had forgotten to bring the display stand for Old One’s artifacts, but, as if anticipating our need, a large nail projected at shoulder height from each trunk. I hanged the dream catcher, shield, and sacred staff out right away.

A brook splashed and gurgled in a deep ravine below us. A couple of green parrots greeted us with shrill cries as they emerged from its depths, circled above our heads, and dove back into the gorge at breakneck speed. They reminded me of the camp robber pair that had followed us in the meadow where Marjie had received the Tarahumara spirits. (Pairs of oddly behaving birds joined us several times during the course of our spiritual journeys.) We collected deadwood and stones from the gorge for the campfire we would use to cook our supper. Marjie pointed to the canyon wall above us and said, “I feel eyes watching us. A few minutes ago I saw someone in those big rocks.” Apparently the 74

spectator was hiding, for I couldn’t see anyone. A little while later a brown-skinned young man wearing a western shirt, blue jeans and a cowboy hat came strolling by. He stopped, smiled, said hello and asked if we were going to Batopilas, a downstream village.

After hearing we weren’t, he looked closely at the artifacts, waved goodbye and went on his way.

Dark clouds gathered over the headlands, suggesting it was time to pray for rain. Hoping to be seen by hidden observers, I stood in the middle of the road wearing a white sweatshirt that pictured a colorful image of the Spanish Peaks. I held the sacred staff horizontally above my head with both hands and faced East. I loudly thanked the Great Spirit for the blessings of earth and sky and asked for the rain his people needed for their crops, their livestock, and themselves while turning clockwise to face South, West, North, and East again. I pointed the staff toward the sky and finally at the ground, acknowledging all six directions before holding it vertically at my side. After a brief pause, I placed it back against the tree.

A few minutes later rain sprinkled our campsite but was falling in sheets on the cropland above the canyon, and we thanked I AM

again. Sheltering in the van, we waited for the light rain to stop before walking down the road to a sharp curve that provided a panoramic view of one part of Batopilas Canyon. Small birds serenaded us; a hawk floated on the updraft created by the white cliffs. Suppertime was approaching, so we returned to our camp and started a fire.

I placed a can of beef stew on a hot stone to warm it. Marjie asked to be counted down. Perithnea said, “The people who live around here are very simple. I mean they’re simple in the head.

That’s why they didn’t understand the word Wachitique.”

“Jeff said it was spelled wrong.”

“They didn’t recognize it because they’re uneducated. They spell it Guachochi, but that’s Spanish, not Raramuri. There really is a village named that near here.”

“I guess we should go there to meet more Indians, but it would be a long drive. Too bad we can’t fly. It’s not very far in a straight 75

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line. I don’t mind driving there if that’s what I AM wants us to do.”

“You don’t have to go there. You can write them a message and leave it with Jeff. His housekeeper will help him translate it into Raramuri and he can make sure someone reads it to them.

Guachochi is something the people around here live with. It isn’t so much a village as it is a goat. You drove right through it today.

These people are too simple for their own good. Their religion doesn’t liberate them, it binds them.”

“Maybe us coming here and doing a ceremony with Old One’s staff just before it rained will cause them to question their beliefs and help to liberate their minds. I was expecting to find someone named Wachitique and I’m kind of disappointed that we haven’t actually done that. Perhaps Nacho was a consolation prize. We did get to talk to a traditional in a very pleasant way.”

“There’s something else you have to do here, but you won’t like it.”

“What’s that?”

“When the people who live around here have gone to sleep, you have to let go of the spirits who came with you. This is their home.

They have come back.”

Grief suddenly filled my eyes with tears and constricted my throat but I managed to say, “I didn’t know we would leave them here.”

“Don’t cry. You’re going to have even more fun down the road, or is it up the road? More Indian spirits are going to join you. They aren’t quiet like the ones you’re leaving here; these guys are tough!

There’ll be a lot of action with them around.”

I struggled to stop crying. “What will happen to the spirits when we release them? Will they enter another person’s body?’

“Not right away.”

Looking for a reason to hang on to them, I asked, “Who’ll show us how to make the things we didn’t finish if Old One is gone?”

“Terresa helped Marjie before. She’ll still be around.” She withdrew.

Marjie also grieved. I embraced her, repeated Perithnea’s comforting words, and reminded her that Alta Sha had taught us 76

to love with an open hand, which meant setting our beloved spirit companions free. When darkness fell we walked hand in hand toward the curve offering the widest view of the canyon. A few silvery clouds floated above us, remnants of the front that had brought precious rain. I was pleasantly surprised to hear, “You are holding the hand of Alta Sha, my friend.”

“Good evening. I apologize for my irritability yesterday.”

“You have taken the steps in total darkness which I AM made for you. He is very pleased with His son.”

“It was a valuable lesson in patience. I hope I have learned how to walk in His steps even when I have no idea of exactly where they will lead or why.”

I saw a tiny light on the other side of the vast canyon. “Is that a fire in a Raramuri dwelling?”

“We should take another look to see if it is.”

“Is it time to release the spirits?”

“We should wait until the people have retired for the night.”

“How will we know when they have retired?”

“Their fires will go out.”

I was enjoying the privilege of holding an angel’s hand in so beautiful a place. A clatter of loose stones upon the canyon wall beside us caused us to stop and look for its source. I saw nothing.

Alta Sha raised a halting hand toward it and loudly commanded,

“Go!”

Because of his intensity I thought a cougar or wolf might be stalking us and asked, “What’s up there?”

“I did not mean to frighten you. It was only a curious small spirit.”

We resumed walking. The light of a family’s fire could still be seen on the far side of the canyon. When we stopped at the overlook I felt energy flowing through my body and said, “Spirit is very strong here.”

“It is indeed very strong.”

“I hope the rains will return.”

“The land is very sacred and the people are strong. The rain will come and the people will survive.”

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“I am grateful for that. Alleluia!” The fire soon went out. “It seems our friends have gone to bed.”

“Yes. It is time. I will need your help to release them. Are you ready?”

“Yes. What do you want me to do?”

“Do as I do. When the wind rises again we will release them.”

As if on cue, the breeze freshened. Imitating him, I raised my outstretched arms slightly above my head and felt spiritual energy building within my body. So did Marjie, but Alta Sha said, “She is resisting. I need your help.”

I said to her, “I know how much you love Old One and will miss him, but if you truly love someone, you must be willing to let them go where they will. You have brought Old One home and his spirit wants to fly. It is time to let him go. You will meet again in spirit.”

As if gently saying goodbye, the energy of the Raramuri within me slowly flowed from my feet into my legs, my upper body, and my arms and hands before leaving through my fingertips. As we lowered our arms, weeping Marjie struggled to say, “I saw them fly straight across the canyon into a cave. I miss him already.”

“I will too, but if we hadn’t let them go they wouldn’t be able to help their people.”

“I know, but I still miss Old One! He gave so much to me! I won’t hear him singing anymore.” I couldn’t speak due to the lump in my throat.

We hugged until we were calm and began walking back to our campsite. I asked Alta Sha, “How will the spirits help their people?”

“They will wait until it is time to reincarnate. Their spirits will once again inhabit two of their people. They have much to teach.”

“Perhaps one of them will enter Nacho’s baby.”

“Perhaps.”

Being camped at the side of an unfamiliar road, not speaking the language, cows meandering by in the middle of the night, a large dog sniffing around our van, and a nosebleed due to the altitude kept me awake in spite of my mental and physical fatigue, so I went for a walk. I communed with I AM’s glorious creation, humbled to know we had been led to accomplish an important mission in spite 78

of my ignorance and misconceptions. I had not left my doubt behind as Alta Sha had told me to do, and the consequences had been negative thoughts and unnecessary anxiety. The walk calmed me and I finally fell sleep.

At dawn another overloaded hay truck groaned by, waking us.

After a quick breakfast, we drove to Jeff’s place to tell him about releasing the shaman spirits and to give him the letter to the Raramuri Perithnea had suggested, which follows: April 19, 1994.

To God’s Children of Guachochi, from two more of God’s Children from Martin, Tennessee:

Today we brought into your holy land two of your ancient spirits. These spirits joined us on the sacred Juahatolla Peaks in Colorado, U.S.A., where your ancestors used to worship and where the spirits of your ancestors still worship. They told us of the Raramuri. With the help of God, I AM, we have released them here on this night to rejoin you in spirit. One taught us to make the medicine stick. One is a great healer. These spirits are almost ready to be born again among you in the flesh to help your people survive. You are a very special people. Many other tribes have great respect for your purity and your love of the old ways. Many of them would like to talk with you and to know you as brothers, even those in Tennessee, like the Cherokee. Although we are white by our skin, we are Indians in our hearts. We love the Earth and all that dwells in it. We respect the spirit in all things and in you. We wish to live in harmony and peace with all people and to care for our sacred Mother, the Earth. There are many, many spirits in heaven and on Earth who know what is in your hearts. Continue to pray for the Great Spirit to heal the land and to restore the proper balance between the people and the Earth. Every tear you shed for God and His creations is preserved in a beautiful river of all colors which bursts upward in fountains of joy and creativity and love. May the songs of God forever sing in your hearts and spirits.

Alleluia. Both of us had signed it.

Jeff promised to get it translated and read to the people of 79

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Guachochi. He didn’t ask for it, but I gave him more than enough money for expenses. He spoke about his desire to understand the Raramuri customs in detail and his disappointment that with few exceptions, no one had expressed much interest in thoroughly documenting their culture. He had seen a new dance at each of the many ceremonies he had attended and knew there were other secret dances. We described the dance Old One had said must be seen again.

When we told him about Alta Sha, who had once lived near Angel Falls, he said he had flown over it many times when working for American Airlines! After our brief visit we said a final goodbye.

The drive out of the canyon required as much concentration as the descent. Three buzzards soaring above the canyon caught our attention, as did a pair of gray birds with white tipped tails perching in a roadside bush. At the goat farm, I cautiously drove through a small herd tended by a beautiful young girl about twelve years old with a dazzling smile who ran toward us to pick up a couple of baby kids at the roadside. Gesturing with the camera, Marjie got permission to take her picture. Smiling her thanks, Marjie gave the girl a length of red ribbon which was gratefully received. We laughed at the antics of young kids jumping and kicking with joy as we slowly drove toward the nearby stone house; a man and woman standing at the roadside asked us in Spanish to stop. We waited as the woman ran into the house and returned with precisely sewn brown male and female stuffed dolls that were dressed in detailed and colorful Raramuri garments, including earrings and a necklace on the female. We readily paid the price she quoted, happy to help them prosper. Everyone smiled and said thanks before we left.

A short distance away we were stopped by a burro in the middle of the road who completely ignored my horn blowing. I had to drive uncomfortably close to the cliff’s edge to get around this stubborn obstacle.

When driving the road required less concentration, Perithnea said, “That nice man is going to make sure the letter you wrote gets read to the Indians. He won’t be able to help himself. He’s working 80

on the translation right now.”

“I hope the spirits we left here will teach him more about using plants for healing.”

“They will.”

We passed by a small Raramuri man casually walking down a steep hill with a log on his shoulder that was about ten feet long and ten inches in diameter. I thought, Alta Sha wasn’t kidding when he said these people are strong.

Eager to spend the night in the good old U.S.A., we headed for El Paso. Every bush in the Mexican flat lands seemed to have its own windblown plastic bag. We were grateful for the entertaining ravens that flew beside us for considerable distances and sometimes crossed in front of us. Perhaps they too were inhabited by Indian spirits.

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Chapter Seven: Ancient Spirits After spending the night in Texas we headed for Mesa Verde’

National Park. Marjie said, “I don’t understand why the spirits we set free were waiting for you and me on the Spanish Peaks and why they needed to be transported inside of us back to their homeland.

Spirits aren’t limited by time and space.”

“I think they knew we were going to come and wanted to learn what life is like in the modern world before they reincarnate.

Joining us caused us to grow, too. It made our faith in I AM

stronger and we had a good adventure.”

Late that afternoon we were passing through the arid Navajo Reservation near Four Corners, where the borders of New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado and Utah meet. Distant lightning danced under enormous thunderheads whose brilliant white tops and dark grey bottoms dramatically contrasted with a deep blue sky. Ghostly drapes of hail descended from some. It was easy to understand why their life-giving rain and awesome appearance caused some tribes to consider them gods. Marjie thought the immense, red-walled mesas and buttes soaring up from the desert floor looked creepy, but all I saw was beauty. The lowering sun brilliantly illuminated the snow-covered peaks of the distant San Juan Range, justifying the Shining Mountains description given to them by Native Americans.

The raven flying directly above our windshield kept pace with our 65 mph speed for several seconds before peeling off to our left.

Was it yet another friendly spirit? We stopped at a trading post where we failed to find the magic necklace Perithnea had told us to look for on this trip. I helped an elderly Dine’ woman push her bouncing shopping cart across the wide cracks in the parking lot, happy to be given an opportunity to do a good deed.

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A few miles south of the Colorado border we spotted three ravens chasing a large black hawk, reminding me of the youth’s trance vision of a shaman who befriended one. At Cortez, we checked into the appropriately named Anasazi Motel. Our room provided a stunning view of the Shining Mountains.

Alta Sha had work for Marjie that evening. Immediately after entering the trance she began to tremble and jerk in an alarming manner, causing me to ask, “What’s happening?”

“I’m looking at some really tough looking dudes! They’re so powerful it makes me shiver!”

She stopped shaking when Alta Sha said, “Do not be alarmed; no harm will come to her. She sees the spirits of the ones you call Anasazi. She is feeling the great power of these spirits, who are eager to enter her. Tomorrow, you will travel to the ruins. They are waiting at the one called Cliff Palace. No matter how many others are viewing the ruins, you are to do whatever is necessary to assist them. Do you agree to this?”

“Certainly. That’s why we came here. How can I help them?”

“You have no need of Alta Sha to tell you this. When the time comes you will know. I will protect her from the sight of the other people there. You should show her as many of the ruins tomorrow as possible. It is for her growth. Alleluia.”

“Alleluia.”

No longer entranced, Marjie said, “Those guys were rough looking customers. Talk about power! I don't know if I can hold all of it.”

“I AM won’t ask you to do more than you can tolerate. Perithnea told us to expect this. We better try to get a good night's rest. It looks like we’re gonna have a busy day tomorrow.”

In the morning we joined about ten other people waiting for the first guided tour of Cliff Palace to begin. I admired the view beyond the canyon’s mouth of the desert and the stark buttes in the blue distance as a lone buzzard glided sedately toward them. On the opposite side of the canyon, the Temple of the Sun also provided a clear view of the canyon’s mouth and beyond. Many ruins were visible in caverns under the canyon’s overhanging rim and on top 84

of the mesa.

When our middle aged guide arrived he confirmed that the youth’s vision of the mummified remains of an Anasazi mother and her baby being exhibited in the Park’s museum was true for many years, but due to the desires of living Native Americans they were respectfully moved to a private grave. He also said it was true that a white man had illegally taken the bones from their original resting place. When a witness saw him washing dirt off the bones with a garden hose she had reported him to the authorities. I wondered how much more of the boy’s trance vision would be validated.

We were standing in the midst of the Cliff Palace ruins when Marjie began to tremble. I asked, “What’s going on?”

“They really want to come in right now!”

“Let's find a private spot.”

“They'll just have to wait a while longer. Alta Sha wants us to do the transfer on top of the mesa.” We climbed a ladder to the mesa top and walked to our van. Once inside, Marjie said, “Drive to the next overlook.”

That parking lot was empty, so we had plenty of privacy as we walked through pungent junipers and pinion pines to the beige sandstone of the mesa’s edge. We sat down facing the canyon’s awesome void. I embraced Marjie, who sat between my extended legs, leaning against my chest. A peal of thunder from behind us reminded me of Chief Joseph, whose translated Indian name is Thunder Rolling in the Mountains.

After a few moments of silent contemplation Marjie said, I’m ready to receive them now.” I prayed that their entry would be blessed before I counted her down.

Alta Sha said, “Call to them.”

Using the names given me by the entranced youth, I shouted,

“Eko eko Asalara! Eko eko Cerenos! Eko eko Aradiia! Eko eko Zomolok!” Marjie shivered and jerked as each spirit joined her body. It took less than a minute.

Alta Sha said to me, “There is one other who would enter you.

Will you accept him?”

“I would be honored. What do I have to do?”

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“You will know he is near when you hear the wind. Reach out to him with your heart and accept him.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated. When a breeze sighed in the junipers the color in my mind's eye changed from red to orange to yellow; my legs and arms trembled and I felt powerful surges of spiritual energy run up and down my spine for a few seconds.

Alta Sha said, “The one who entered you is He Rides the Wind, the spirit of the Golden Eagle who was a friend to one of the others.”

Months previously I had experienced a transforming vision of myself within the body of a Golden Eagle, with spiritual Light streaming from my outspread wings Was that a portent of this joining? I said, “I am blessed. Alleluia!”

Alta Sha said, “Alleluia!” and withdrew.

Marjie exclaimed, “That was incredible! Two of them were so eager they dove right into me! The third one is very big and actually very fat; he just strolled in. The last one was small and old and seemed a little reluctant.”

“How do you feel?”

“Full. These guys are really tough! Let's go.”

We stopped at other turnouts to explore pit house ruins on the mesa’s top. At one of them, Marjie said, “A lot of children used to come to this house because the woman who lived here always welcomed them. She was like the neighborhood Kool-Aid mom.

Everyone came here for a treat.” At another she commented,

“Someone died in a fire here. I need to look for something on the ground around here, but I don’t know what it is.” She began to search the vicinity an unusually rapid pace,, saying, “One of the spirits wants me to find certain rocks here.” After looking for another ten or fifteen minutes she said, “Let’s go. I can’t find the right ones. It’s frustrating.”

On our way to the next site I asked, “Will the spirits answer questions about themselves?”

“Yes.”

“Who were their people? When did they live here? Why do they need our help?”

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“They say they are the Utes of the old times. They need to travel with us, but they aren’t telling me where they need to go.”

We continued to the Sun Temple, which contains two large kivas (circular rooms used for sacred rituals) surrounded by many rectangular chambers. At one of the kivas, Marjie said, “It goes much deeper than this. If they would excavate more, they would find the ledge we saw in some of the others.” A little farther along she stopped and began to study the small details of an exterior wall.

“What are you looking for?”

“I'm not sure. It's them. They’re trying to find something.” A couple of minutes passed before she said, “Here it is! See in the mortar? It's a fingerprint. One of them left it here; they helped to build this place!” It pleased me to know that our new companions had lived here during the pinnacle of their culture.

A path led us to the edge of the mesa where I conducted a brief ceremony to celebrate receiving spirits who had once lived there. I thanked I AM for guiding us to this place and for introducing us to His servants. As I shouted each name, I tossed a few kernels of colorful Indian corn into the abyss and felt tingles of spiritual energy. When a breeze whispered in the nearby pines He Rides the Wind stirred within me. Unexpected tears fell as I briefly grieved for the loss of their love for each other and all of nature. I turned back toward Marjie. She said, “The oldest spirit wants me to look for rocks here. He wants white, red, black and yellow ones. They are good for making paint and he uses them in his worship.” It only took a couple of minutes to find what he wanted among the many small rocks scattered around us. Then Marjie said, “He used to sit right here at the edge of the canyon, using his rocks to see into the future.” I pictured him sitting cross-legged and tossing his rocks onto a small hide.

We made our way to the Park museum and were impressed with the artistry of the designs on pottery and other artifacts made by the Anasazi. A short cape of woven yucca fibers covered with black feathers reminded me of the drawing Perithnea had made months previously of a man wearing such a cape while standing before thousands of Indians that he would unite.

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We viewed many more ruins before our mid-afternoon descent from the mesa. The thunderstorm we had heard when the spirits entered us arrived simultaneously, dropping its cargo of precious water. I commented on its convenient timing. Marjie said, “It’s their way of saying farewell. They are leaving the gift of rain for the land, the plants, the animals and the people on it.” It was the second time much needed rain had blessed the arid homelands of our

indigenous spirits.

The next stop was Cortez, Colorado, where we viewed many beautiful necklaces in several gift and pawn shops that lined the main drag, looking for the one Perithnea predicted we would find.

We had not found it when we reached the edge of town and backtracked to the small pawnshop we had skipped. We arrived there only a few minutes before closing time; as soon as we entered Marjie pointed at a display case across the room and said, “There it is.” Unlike the elaborately decorated necklaces we had been viewing, this rather plain one was made of German silver and turquoise. The shopkeeper said it was an old design. He had recently bought it from an elderly Indian who said he had made it many years ago for a woman he greatly admired but was not able to give it to her before she died.

The necklace consisted of three side by side, horseshoe-shaped pendants, each one composed of five shadow-box squash blossoms.

Centered inside each squash blossom was a small round piece of turquoise. Beads of German silver separated the three horseshoes and covered the rest of the necklace. (I had previously noticed an unusually large number of items grouped into three and five elements, such as three flowers, five birds, etc. I eventually understood the significance of these combinations.) We quickly agreed on a very reasonable price. We also bought a large golden eagle alighting on a rock carved from a single piece of cedar and a piece of soft red sandstone carved into the portrait of a warrior in full headdress on one side and a cliff dwelling on the other.

When she put it on Marjie felt the necklace’s powerful energy.

“It feels much heavier than it did when I held it.”

A few minutes later we stopped at a restaurant for supper. A 88

whispering family of Indians at a nearby table kept staring at her as if they knew something about it the necklace. I privately commented about their odd behavior to Marjie, but it was Perithnea who loudly said in her childlike voice, “They sense its power!”

Having heard, the family stopped staring. When we left Marjie said its energy made her uncomfortable and took it off.

The lowering sun created stunning displays of colorful clouds and snow-capped mountains as we drove toward Durango. When we turned south on U.S. 550 at sunset, three huge rays of light speared through a gigantic thundercloud discharging a curtain of orange-gold rain.

We were driving through the Southern Ute Reservation when the rising sun illuminated vivid layers of yellow, purple, pink and white minerals in the sandstone cliffs soaring above a dozen shades of green desert plants graced with bouquets of white flowers. The cloud-gods, dark gray on their bottoms and brilliant white above, floated eastward in the deep blue sky. I said, “I didn’t expect to experience so much beauty in the desert. I AM thinks of everything.” Marjie nodded.

We stopped for fuel at a Love’s Truck Stop east of Amarillo and browsed among the souvenirs. I was strongly attracted to a large portrait of a handsome warrior. Below his kind face was written: Nothing is so strong as gentleness; Nothing is so gentle as real strength.

Standing beside me, Marjie said, “This is the picture the spirits want to have. They really like it.” Thirty years later, it still hangs above the fireplace.

We were back on the highway when Marjie said, “I need to have a session. They want to talk.” Entranced, she rapidly sketched the warriors’ four faces and their names on a single sheet of paper and said, “This one is Aradiia. His name means Travels by Feet. This is his younger brother, Cerenos. His name is Shadow of Feet. This one is Zomolok, which means Dancing Rocks. He was so big that everyone got out of his way like they did when boulders fell from the cliffs. The littlest one is much older than the others. His name is Asalara, which means something like Watches Fire in the Sky. He is a healer; he is saying your name and says he is a spirit doctor like 89

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you.”

“Ask him if they were acquainted with the Tarahumara.”

“Yes. They traded and shared with one another. He is saying the Tarahumara never had to be dunked.”

“What does that mean?”

“If someone among Asalara’s people thought too much of themselves and began to act conceited, their custom was to dunk him in the river before the entire tribe to shame him.”

“Did they build their houses in the cliffs because they had enemies?”

“No. He says that they had few enemies when they were alive.

It was after they had died that their people had enemies. It might have been because the others were pushed into their territory by the white man. Before the white man came, they got along well with their neighbors and shared freely with them.”

“Why did he choose to join you?”

“He says I like to talk and I have a happy mouth. I was also chosen because there are many tears in my heart and because I am opposite to them in my race, coloring, language, and so forth. The old one says they know the truth when they hear it. His people do not care if it comes from a white person, a black person, or an Indian. Color doesn't matter; only truth matters.”

“Does he want us to make things like Old One did?”

“He wants me to work with earth colors and with stones instead of leather and furs. They used colored soil and plants to make their art.”

At Altus, Oklahoma, I pulled into a Phillips 66 station so Marjie could use the restroom while I waited in the car. Upon returning, she said, “That guy in there doesn't know how lucky he is. He was very rude. He didn't even look at me when I asked where the restroom was. He just kept reading his book and told me it was down the hall. I wanted to take my spear and stab him in the heart, but I know it wasn’t my idea. On my way out, I told him I was sorry I had bothered him and would be certain to never do it again and would make sure none of my friends do, either.”

The mental image of Marjie attacking the attendant made me 90

chuckle. I said, “Perithnea wasn’t kidding when she said these guys are tough.”

At a mom and pop motel in a small Oklahoma town we watched a television program about the gender of a fetus being determined by genes. As soon as it ended, Marjie said she had work to do.

Entranced, she relived being 8 years old, proud and happy to be donating her uncontaminated ova to the ETs so that new life could be created. “How many babies did you make that way?”

“I don't know exactly but it was a large number. This is a better way of making babies because it doesn't involve any pain. I knew that babies made this way would be smarter and would have more Light than completely human babies.”

After counting her out of the trance I asked, “What do the Utee spirits think about what you did?”

“It comes as no surprise to them at all.”

“The ETs probably did the same thing with them. They would have been very interested in the genes of people who loved nature and lived in harmony with it, like the ETs keep telling us humans we must do if we want to prevent an ecological disaster.”

We were passing through Arkansas the following day when Perithnea exclaimed, “Hello, Father Bright!”

“Hello, Daughter Bright! What do you think of all these Indian spirits? I wonder what we’re supposed to do with them.”

“I wonder too. At least, we have plenty of room for them. I especially like the one who’s sitting on your shoulder. He knows how to fly very well.”

“Is he from a different tribe than the others?”

“No. It's important that they all be the same kind. He whispers on the wind when it blows real strong.”

“I'll have to listen for his voice. Why were Utees chosen to join us?”

“They were a very strong people but they also loved beautiful things and they loved nature. That’s what people need to know about right now.”

“Will they be speaking to other Utees?”

“No, but they will be teaching the people they contact. I have to 91

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go now.”

A few days after returning home Marjie and I gave a lecture about our adventures in Mexico to a comparative religion class at the local university. We shared what we had learned about Tarahumara culture, displayed items we had bought at the Creel trading post, and described the creation of the Old One’s artifacts.

I stressed that Father Verplancken, the Catholic priest who had served them for over forty years, believed the Tarahumara were true Christians because they actually practiced the teachings of Jesus: They shared whatever they had with those in need, loved others, and loved God. Instead of teaching them religious dogma, Verplancken had focused on providing modern education, access to health care, and economic development to help them adjust to the intrusion of modern technology and Mexican culture. We spoke of the many improbable events that led to our contact with Nacho and the rain that followed our prayerful ceremony. Several students and their instructor complemented our presentation.

On the way home Marjie said, “Alta Sha wants to speak to you.”

He did not wait for a countdown, saying, “Perhaps it is time for us to have another talk. I hope you would also enjoy talking.”

“I always enjoy our talks, even when I don't fully understand the meaning of your words.”

“Your Father is present in everything that you do. He is with you at all times. He desires to please you as you desire to please Him. Don't separate the family. The Tarahumara spirits that you released in the canyon lived about five hundred years ago. The one you held within you was called White Mountain. The one within Marjorie was called Rocks that Slide, similar to what you call slate.

After their deaths, they decided to rest on the mountain where you first encountered them and waited for Marjorie to come. For them, the wait was only a moment.”

“What were they doing while they waited?”

“Becoming more familiar with themselves.”

“What are the names of the three who stayed with Doug?”

“I cannot reveal that while they remain in him. The spirits who have joined you now will remain with you longer than the 92

Tarahumaras did. They have much to teach you. You will be surprised by the things you will learn from them.” After discussing a few other issues he took my hand and said, “We are in the Father, and the Father is in us. Alleluia.”

“Alleluia.”

Like Old One had done, the Utee spirits helped Marjie create several works of art. In the midst of these creations, Marjie said,

“They say they are training my eyes and hands to do more things in the future.” With their help she made larger sketches of their portraits, a necklace of three beaded strands, bead bracelets, and a Kachina painting on a flat piece of wood.

One day Marjie complained she missed Old One and would like to visit him, I reminded her that she knew how to travel out of body to wherever she wanted to go. A few moments after closing her eyes she said, “I'm flying through the canyon. It's very wet. They’ve been getting a lot of rain! There’s the cave they entered… Oops!”

Her eyes popped open.

“What happened?”

“I went to the entrance but was bounced back here. I guess he doesn't want company.”

“I'm sorry you didn’t get to visit. I guess our involvement with him is finished for now. It’s good to know the rains returned like Alta Sha said they would. I miss him too, but I'm sure we’ll be reunited someday. I think our work with these Indian spirits is connected with the New Earth the ETs are preparing for us. I think they will teach the people who are transported there how to take care of it so they won’t repeat the mistakes we have made on Earth.”

When I got home from work the following evening Marjie said,

“I’ve been feeling all day long that the Utee spirits want to talk to me but I haven’t been able to pick up the message. Can we have a session about this?”

“Sure.”

After the countdown she said, “I feel like I’m both myself and something else. The something else is a bird. I am flying, looking at the wall of a cliff where I can see houses. They are like the ones at 93

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Mesa Verde’, but in a different place. I have been here before. I see people. One is a woman with children nearby. The young ones have no clothing on, but an older one is wearing a loincloth. The woman carries a pottery jar with water in it. My master is here. The people like to see me gliding on the wind in front of their dwellings. I have been given food here. I want to go closer to see more details but a barrier is stopping me. I can only see them from a distance.”

“Describe your appearance.”

“I am mostly black, but there are some brown feathers and a lighter color edges the feathers on my breast.”

“Are you a vulture?”

“No. I have talons. I kill my food.”

“Can you find your master?”

“Yes.” She looked quite pleased. “I am going to him. It gives him pleasure to see me.”

“Describe him.”

“He is very old. His hair is gray. He wears a headband. His cheekbones are very prominent and his cheeks are sunken in. There are deep clefts beside his nose and mouth which have the form of a pyramid from the base of his mouth to the ridge of his nose. His eyes are closed and cannot see. When he opens his eyelids his eyes are a milky color that matches the color of his hair. They look odd but are not repulsive. My perch is nearby. I make marks on it with my talons but when I land on the arm of the old one I do not make marks.”

“What name has the old one given you?”

“Utay’oee.” He strongly emphasized the tay sound.

“Can your master see through your eyes?”

“I do not know.”

“Do you know the thoughts of the old one?”

“Yes.”

“Are there thoughts that the old one wishes to share with us?”

Looking confused, she replied, “It is too difficult.”

“Perhaps he would be willing to speak directly to me through the woman.”

Marjie said, “I have been seeing through the bird’s eyes but now 94

I can feel the old one. I have been aware of myself at the same time that I was the bird, and now I feel the same about the old one. He wants to say something.”

He said, “Many people have come to this place seeking great wealth. They have looked on the heights and on the lowlands. They have looked all around, but only I know the resting place of this wealth. Many came and turned away.”

In her own voice Marjie said, “I see a very big U like on a traffic sign.”

He continued, “When you and the woman come here, you will find the stone you seek under a cluster of stones. In your travels, you will move in circles, but will not be retracing your steps exactly.

You will move slightly to the side of the circle.”

“I see the image of a spiral,” Marjie said.

“Is the stone you speak of the one the youth saw in his vision? Is it your resting place?”

“No. Have you ever ridden the wind?”

“Sometimes I do.”

“I speak to the Wind. The girl through whom I speak will understand the meaning of this: In how many days and ten hours from the time the girl’s spirit first contacted me, there will be understanding of the way to find the treasure. Look for the sun.”

“My main interest is not in finding buried treasure but in spiritual growth and in knowing how I can help you accomplish your purposes.”

Marjie answered, “He released the hawk into the air just as he said that last sentence. I am flying above the plain again near the mesa, enjoying the view. I’m getting tired. I need to stop.” I started counting to ten but at five she said, “Oh, wow!”

“What’s happening?”

“Keep counting.” I finished. She said, “I was enjoying being the hawk. I could actually feel my insides changing into the hawk’s body, and I decided I liked it too much. That’s why I told you to keep counting.

“I also found out there never was a river flowing through the canyon of the cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde’. They had to travel to 95

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get their water from a river on the plain below the mesa. The stone can be found on the flat area near the river and is away from the mesa. I got the impression that the old one was deliberately giving us clues that weren’t entirely clear and would give us more in the future. I think the real treasure is knowledge and the spiritual growth to be gained from the search.”

“Solving the mystery would be worth its weight in gold to me.

Just having contact with these spirits is priceless.”

In spite of a sinus headache the following day, Marjie said, “We have work to do. You are to use me to answer any questions you have about anything.”

I counted her down. “I want to know more about the Indian spirit we spoke to last night.”

“Put me down deeper. Push on my shoulder.”

I put one hand on her shoulder and another on her forehead and while counting said, “Picture being at the Mesa. You are breathing the clean air of the mountains and it is helping your sinuses to drain.”

Rides the Wind spoke: “I am aloft. I’m flying above the mesa.

Below are rocks and scrub, covered with dust. I see food.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No, but I cannot pass this up.”

“Then do what you do best.” Marjie’s body moved as if the eagle had captured his prey. I asked, “Did you catch your food?”

“Yes.”

“What did you catch?”

“A snake that makes a buzzing noise. It was strange; I would not have killed it this way if I did not know my master.”

“How would you have killed it?”

“I would have destroyed the head. I know the master wants the head for himself, but the meat is mine to eat.”

“Are you going to eat it now?”

“I will eat it by the master. I am going to him now.”

In her own voice Marjie said, “His wings are very long and strong.”

Rides the Wind said, “I am with my master. He sits facing away 96

from the cave opening toward the dwelling at the back. I sever the head of the snake from its body and fling it toward him. He thanks me and I eat.”

“Did he call your name?”

“Not this time.”

“How did he thank you?”

“With words.”

“Is it possible for me to speak to him directly?”

“Yes.”

“Greetings, seeker of wisdom,” the old one said.

“Greetings to you, wise one.” I respectfully waited for him to speak but he didn’t, so I asked, “What is the meaning of the eagle’s name?”

“Do you mean the significance of the call, or the meaning of the words?”

“The exact meaning of the words.”

“Feathers That Sparkle. ”

“How did you lose your vision?”

“I looked at the sun because I thought it was God. It made me blind. Others said after I lost my sight that my eyes faded.”

“But your visions were clear.”

“Yes, my visions are clear.”

“Are you one of the cliff dwelling people that are called the Anasazi?”

“I am an old Ute, but they do not say it right. We say UTEE! The tee part is always said as a shout, with great pride.”

“Why don’t the modern Utes say it like that?”

“They have become lazy. They have turned what was a matter of pride into shame. When we said our name the proper way people would turn and stare. This became embarrassing and they allowed it to be shortened to Ute.”

“Why can’t modern Utes remember their history?”

“Over the years the ones familiar with the old ways died and little by little knowledge of the past was lost.”

The downstairs telephone rang. When it stopped I heard footsteps in the stairwell and assumed my son Ben had a message 97

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for me. I excused myself and went to the landing to learn who had called but no one was there, so I resumed my seat beside the old Utee. “I apologize for the interruption.”

Mildly irritated, he said, “Why was there an interruption? In my time if young ones had respect; they would never interrupt their elders. No one would walk away from an old one without his permission unless someone was dying or there was war. No other reason was acceptable.”

“My father has recently been acting as if he expects to die soon, and I thought the phone call might be about that.”

“I understand that things are different now than they were then.

I have spoken to many others who sought wisdom and I enjoy doing so.”

“Do you know where any of those others might be found?”

“I have no knowledge of maps.”

“Have you spoken to any modern Utees?”

“Yes.”

“Would any of them be found near Mesa Verde’?”

In her own voice Marjie replied, “He says traveling through the air is somewhat difficult but enjoyable. Sometimes it is hard to make things clear.”

“Explain to him that I would like to know if there is a Ute who could be our guide because he is familiar with the spirit of the old one.”

He answered, “When I prepared to go hunting, I would send scouts out to locate and count and bring back reports of the game.

Can you not do this?”

“Perhaps. Will you share a name with us that modern Utes might recognize if we seek a guide?”

Marjie said, “I’m not getting a clear answer. It’s not coming in words or sounds but in images. I’m being shown the cliffs where he lived. His name has something to do with their color.”

“Will he say his name out loud for you to hear?”

“He says I’ve already been given the name and waved me off.”

She made flying movements and said, “I’m leaving as the bird.

Bring me back.”

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When I reached the count of nine she held up her hand for me to stop. A second later she said, “I lost it.” At ten she was alert but tears filled her eyes. “I was seeing the face of the eagle from the side right in front of me and it is definitely a golden eagle. I saw the twinkle in its eye, the serrations of the feathers, and the details of its beak. It was awesome. It was real, so real!”

The old Utee had seemed to imply that we would find a material treasure of some kind hidden under a stone among a group of stones, and that Marjie would know where to look at a specific time.

I eagerly waited for the revelation.

On a moonless, mid-May night we admired the blinking lights over our pasture made by thousands of fireflies. Perithnea said,

“The places I visit look a lot like that. Do you remember that time when mother saw the little lights that were the thoughts of God?”

“Yes. I remember she was allowed to pick one of them up and keep it, but she decided not to because it might have been intended for someone else.”

“She didn’t know that the thoughts of God can be shared by many people at the same time.”

“If each thought is a light, does it have to divide to be shared?”

“No, because it radiates in all directions at the same time. People don’t understand the mind of God even though he gives them examples, like the bugs’ lights.”

“Have you gone back to visit the Tarahumaras? Did they learn the secret dance of the warriors yet?”

“You have to give them time. You always want everything to happen right now, not yesterday or tomorrow, but right now.” She ran a few steps to illustrate my haste.

I smiled and said, “I know it takes time. I’m supposed to write about the dance Old One showed us, but I’m not sure I remember just how it’s done. Will you show me again?” Going forward, she skipped twice while spinning clockwise and then skipped twice counterclockwise, making the infinity sign. I copied her steps. “Did I do it right?”

“Yes. It’s supposed to be fun.”

One evening Marjie said, “I feel like I’m going to explode if I 99

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don’t do some trance work. I don’t know what’s going to happen but I can feel it building up.” When I finished the countdown she began to cry, exclaiming, “The strings are flowing! The strings are flowing! They’re all falling down!” Sobbing and holding her stomach as if in pain she choked out, “The big skins! The big skins!”

“Do the strings look like fringe?”

“Yes.”

“What are the big skins?”

“I can’t say exactly.” She jerked her feet up and exclaimed, “The snake is striking at me!”

Thinking it was a Utee spirit experience, I asked, “Who is speaking?”

A masculine voice softly answered, “Wahkee chicalla. Tay hay wah tay. Chikalla. Wahkee chikalla. Cheehay wah Utay.” I could not clearly hear the rest of his rhyming words until he shouted,

“Utee!” He placed Marjie’s hand on her chest and tearfully said,

“My heart is sore.”

“Did the snake’s bite cause your death?”

“No.”

Marjie said, “It’s finished.”

I counted her up. “What was that all about?”

“I released what was building up inside of me.”

“Was the Utee spirit mourning?”

“No. I saw the clear image of an Indian’s face in a heart, not like a Valentine heart, but a real human heart. His head was bowed and his expression was one of deep grief. I’m supposed to make a drawing of this.”

“Are you supposed to make a drawing of the skins and fringes, too?”

“That doesn’t come through so strongly.”

“Do you remember the poem? I couldn’t get all the words.”

“No, but the images were very vivid. The snake was striking at me and it felt like it bit me, but I remember thinking that my medicine was strong and it couldn’t harm me, and it left.”

“Why were you holding your hand to your chest?”

“There was an actual physical pain in my heart. I don’t know 100

why the pain was so deep.”

“The Tarahumara Old One spoke about a heart being stabbed.”

When finished with her sketch she said, “This is Asalara.”

“It’s nice to know how he looked when he still had a body.”

Before we began another session for speaking with the Utees I suggested to Marjie that she wear the necklace to see if it would enhance her trance experience. We were looking for it when she said, “I’m already hearing some Indian words.” She put it on and said, “I see five upright beams of wood standing side by side in a straight line. They’re about one foot wide by one foot thick and are carved to look like Indians. Their features are cut squarely to make them fit between the sides of the beams. The grooves are not very deep. Each face is different. They are wearing breast plates and breech cloths. Every cloth has a different kind of flower on it and the borders have designs like squares divided into triangles, rectangles, arrow shapes, and zigzags.”

One of the spirits said, “Wahno hanyay Utee tayhaynay.”

Marjie said, “He’s finished. He was saying something about the black bird that shadows us. I saw a group of people walking away from their homes. Their plants were lying on the ground as if someone had trampled on them and they were crying. A large black raven flew between them toward the sun. Something had ruined their crops and they had to leave. It was very sad.” Apparently enemies had destroyed their crops, forcing them to seek another place to live.

A night wind was sighing in the pines next to the house when Marjie and I held a session devoted to recording the Utee spirits’

voices. Before I finished the countdown her head and shoulders began to move like those of an eagle adjusting to wind currents while focused on its prey. Then Feathers that Sparkle cheerfully whispered, “She flies.”

“Where do you fly?”

“To my friend the old one.”

“Good. I would like to know more about him. What do you see?”

“He is sitting upon the ground. Before him, on a skin are things he holds sacred, snake fangs and colored stones. He places them in 101

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certain positions and they speak to him. He knows their colors by their shapes.”

“What do the stones signify?”

“Red is for everything that lives, flesh, blood, and plants which sustain life. Yellow is the light of the sun, the Creator. White means purity, ice, or water. Black is for transformation, spirit passing from one form into another, death and rebirth. He pours the fangs from his hand onto the skin and reads the future. He motions me to go.

The ceremony is not to be witnessed by others.”

After a few silent seconds he said, “The old one is ready to talk.”

Asalara said to me, “Speak.”

“We are honored that you have chosen to join us. We know you are a wise one who has lived many years and that others came to you to hear your words of wisdom. Soon we will be speaking to a group of young people. I am hoping that you will share your wisdom with them.”

“How will they come to me?”

I showed him the mini recorder I was holding and said, “They do not have to come to you. If you will speak into this I can take your words to them.”

“How can you take my words?”

“This will take in all your words and keep them until I am ready to share them with others. It is something that did not exist when you were still in your body. Your voice will be heard just as I hear it.”

“You want me to speak to the box?”

“Yes.”

With a distasteful expression he said, “Men are like corn and wheat. They grow from the Earth until they burst forth with seed and fruit. They repeat this over and over, never ending. Today, they walk upon the Earth but they do not embrace it. Why are they afraid to embrace the Earth? Every man would be wise to lie on his belly and embrace the Earth.

“You should listen to the old ones for their wisdom, not to those who are young. Who among the young has wisdom?” He pushed the recorder away.

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“Thank you for your words. They are good.” He withdrew.

Marjie said, “The others want to speak, too.”

“Very good. Who wishes to speak next?”

“I am Zomolok. Peenay. Peenay Cheecalla. Doo no washeenay.

Seenay a hay kay. Cheecalla. Utay! He boldly shouted the last word.

Marjie said, “He wants me to seek my own vision.”

“Good. Do whatever is necessary.”

“I’m flying again.” F eathers that Sparkle said, “I am admiring the old one and I am gliding close enough to be admired by him.”

“Why do you admire him?”

“He is very strong but very kind.”

“How did you and the old one become joined?”

A different voice answered. “I am Cerenos. Before the old one lost his sight, he was a scout. He watched over vast stretches of land from the heights for the protection of his people. He lived in a cliff dwelling before his people had to leave. One day, he saw two eagles fighting in the sky. One of the eagles was injured and fell from a great height. Because he saw this, the old one was responsible for the life of the wounded eagle. When he went blind, he learned to prepare hides and after that he was known as Softener of Skins. He wants you to tell others everything that you know about him.”

“Are there other words the old one would like for me to say?”

A different voice asked, “Why do you ask this question?”

“Who am I speaking to?”

“You speak to many.” In what seemed a critical tone of voice he added, “Can you not hear the wind? Have you forgotten how to hear? Can you not feel what needs to be said?” He withdrew. I was deeply hurt by his critical manner as well as his words, which I felt were not justified after all I had done on behalf of all the Utee spirits, even if I couldn’t hear voices in the wind.

Marjie, aware of my distress, said, “I will seek my vision another time.”

“Wasn’t that a vision?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t for me, it was for you.”

“Do you want to be counted up?”

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“Yes.”

After the count I said, “I’m sorry you didn’t have your own vision. We’ll try another time if you like.”

Making it ready to play at the lecture, I deleted extraneous noises from the tape. I knew it would upset Marjie if I fully revealed my emotions, but had to get them off my chest. I said, “I need to go outside until I can calm down. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Marjie said, “I’m sure they meant no offense.”

“I’m going outside to listen to the wind.”

My feelings of resentment were so strong I was tempted to turn my back to these spirits and might have done so if I didn’t believe it was I AM’s will for me to continue with them. I would have to overlook my ego’s injured pride, which was impossible without I AM’s help. I fervently prayed for inner peace.

After several minutes I was calm enough to go back inside.

Marjie said, “When you got angry with the Indian for what he said, it felt like you were angry with me, too. I don’t think I should channel them anymore. I feel like I’m about to fall into a pit of depression again.”

“I love you. I don’t blame you at all. You aren’t responsible for what he said. All you did was to allow him to speak through you.

You are like a telephone. Do you blame the telephone if you get bad news over it? I don’t think we should abandon these spirits and the other plans I AM has for us, but if it will help you, we can stop having sessions until you feel ready to do more.” She agreed.

We were about to go to bed when she said, “Quick, count me down.” I did. With great compassion, Softener of Skins said, “You have wound. Explain this wound.”I could not speak through my sudden deep sobs. I felt ashamed of my psychic inadequacies and grieved for the millions of Native Americans killed by white men who stole their land and destroyed their way of life. He said,“I have heard. Your hands are clean.”

I finally stifled my tears and said, “I know I have been one of you.”

“I have seen this. My brothers are coarse but not callous. They meant no injury by what they said. Is it permitted for the woman to 104

explain in her own voice?”

“Yes.”

Marjie said, “They lived in a place where they heard the wind blow and felt its touch. When you did not answer the spirit’s questions he thought that you could not actually feel or hear it.”

“Of course I can hear the wind, but it doesn’t speak to me in words or thoughts.”

“Their brother Rides the Wind also speaks to them.”

“I can’t help this lack in myself.”

“They now understand this.”

Softener of Skins said, “You are wise. You should heal this wound you feel for yourself and for many. Cerenos would like to speak to you, if you will allow it.”

I appreciated the respect Softener of Skins was showing toward me. “I would be honored.”

Cerenos said, “Thank you for not casting me out. I spoke without care and caused you injury. I meant no harm to you. You are wise. I have learned much from you.”

My tears stopped. “No harm was done. I misunderstood you…

Do you have words to share with the young people of today?”

He also didn’t like speaking to the hand held recorder but said,

“Something I know. There was a time when I sat at the feet of the old ones to hear their words. They have much wisdom. They can see out to what is to be and can tell what was before. The knowledge they gave me is mine forever. It goes with me wherever I travel and no man can take it from me. The greatest honor one can pay them is to ask for their knowledge. Seek wisdom where it can be found. Are you wise?” He pushed the recorder away.

“Thank you.”

Marjie said, “That’s all.” I counted her up. “I’m glad you guys came to an understanding. I hate it when you’re upset with the ones I channel. I feel like it’s my fault when you feel bad.”

“I know you do the channeling out of love and you don’t want anyone to be hurt by it, but I wish my reactions to the others didn’t affect you that way. You’re not responsible for any misunderstandings that happen. You need to learn how to let it run 105

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its course without taking it personally. I love you no matter what messages come through you.”

My grief over the genocide of Native Americans suddenly returned. I allowed my deep weeping to run its course without resistance so that it would be completely expressed. Marjie said, “I don’t want you to be in such pain.”

“When Cerenos asked if I could not feel what needed to be said, all these feelings of loss came to the surface. I’ll be alright once I get this out of my system. I have to do it on my own.” I went downstairs and let the tears flow until I could weep no more before falling into a restful sleep.

Seeking more contact with living Indians, we attended the annual pow-wow at Loretta Lynn’s ranch near Hurricane Mills, Tennessee. We wore the wedding clothes decorated in honor of our connection with the Tarahumaras and our lifetimes as Indians. The back of my white shirt was adorned with feathers and a picture of a wolf couple. My teal colored pants contrasted with my black riding boots with their jingling hawk bells. I also carried the sacred staff we had made for Old One. Marjie’s white dress was decorated with many fringes, turquoise beads and silver conchos.

Upon entering the pow-wow grounds we heard the beat of a tom and Richard Parker singing a beautiful song about saving Mother Earth and restoring the old traditions that sent powerful waves of spiritual energy coursing through us. We told him how much we enjoyed his music. He said, “You really did get my message, didn’t you.” He said he was going to Nashville to have his songs recorded and we wished him luck.

Deliberately walking in the dignified manner I thought Chief Joseph would adopt, I smiled and nodded at everyone we met.

Although many people stared at the sacred staff, no one asked about its meaning, which was mildly disappointing. Nevertheless, it was seen by many, fulfilling the wishes of Rocks That Slide.

We admired the multitude of beautiful handcrafts made from beads, turtle shells, deer hooves, bones, feathers, hides, and wood which were for sale at the edge the dance ground. Marjie was supposed to locate someone by herself that she would talk to, so we 106

parted company.

I continued browsing for several minutes until she gestured for me to join her at the other side of the arena where she was talking with an Indian vendor. The woman was from Oklahoma and was selling lovely jewelry she had made and superbly crafted drums made by her absent husband. As she spoke, she continued to make a decorative ear stud out of silver wire. She told Marjie that water is our mother and is very wise because it existed even before land was created and it can increase one’s psychic abilities. She advised Marjie to fill a glass with water and to drink half of it at bedtime while asking it to reveal its wisdom and to drink the rest in the morning. Marjie didn’t say much about other things they had discussed.

The complexions of the professional dancers varied from dark and rusty to completely white. Some costumes were so intricately made that it would take many minutes to fully examine all of their details, reflecting the great amount of effort, imagination and expense required to create them. Although the fancy dancers’

costumes were spectacular, I preferred those made from natural materials such as naturally colored hides, feathers, antlers, sea and turtle shells, quills, deer hooves and so on.

When the first dance open to everyone was announced Marjie, who was normally self conscious and shy, jumped up from her seat and joined right in. I did not want to hold the staff while dancing and was reluctant to leave it unguarded, so I stayed put, and enjoyed watching her have a good time. At the next open dance, I took part holding the staff. We danced in single file behind the leader to a fast drum beat. When the leader stepped outside the dance ground we thought the dance was over and took our seats, but the others kept following the leader until he re-entered the arena and the drumming stopped. The master of ceremonies said we would have won the prize for making the best impression if we had not dropped out prematurely.

We met a white, blue eyed couple who were dressed in traditional Chippewa fashion. They spoke enthusiastically about the new school on their reservation built with income from the 107

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tribe’s casino but also said the tribe’s members were angry with the I.R.S. for attempting to tax the tribe’s income. He argued that Indian reservations are supposed to be sovereign nations and not subject to taxation by the U.S. government. He said, “They complain about us being too dependent and now that we can be independent they want to take it away from us. Every time Indians start getting ahead, the government finds some way to put us down.”

We also enjoyed speaking to a Navajo artist about his very beautiful paintings of western landscapes. He said the red line painted above the horizon in every one of them was an accurate portrayal of today’s polluted sky. Like me, he remembered when it wasn’t there. After several hours, we left for home, grateful for our latest experience of Indian artistry.

Right after we had gone to bed that night I saw a flash of light near the ceiling and said, “I wonder if our children are around.”

Perithnea answered, “I’ve been around all day but you’ve been too busy to notice.”

“Did you dance at the pow-wow?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you enjoyed it.”

“I did, and I didn’t have to pay to get in! Adam (a male faery we had also adopted) danced too. You should have danced more.”

“I really wanted to do the warrior dance but my boots weren’t good for that and my clothes didn’t seem to fit in with the others. I didn’t want to look foolish.”

“You should do what mother did and just make everybody invisible. That’s how she was able to dance in front of all those people with her blonde hair and blue eyes and wearing her white dress.”

“She looked like an angel in it.”

“Everyone noticed her, and you too.”

“You’re right; I should have danced for Spirit and not worried about what people thought. I should have danced for God.”

“You should have danced for Chief Joseph.”

Unexpected tears filled my eyes. I thought, I shouldn’t have let my white skin stop me. I had as much right to dance as anyone else there. Chief 108

Joseph is inside me, so is Rides the Wind and my guardians are all Indians.

I couldn’t be much more Indian than that.

We were on another outing to Memphis when Marjie asked me to help her find out if she had any Indian ancestors. Still driving, I counted her down. She said, “I’m flying, but not as a bird. I’m holding my arms out like wings. I’m coming to a village of teepees.

I see mine. It has my brother’s hand marks on it; one points up and the other down. There’s a horse painted on it too and it has red, black and yellow bands around the top.”

“What is your name?”

“Little Toes. My mother is Whispers to the Wind. I can tell she’s my mother because of the feeling in my bosom when I look at her. She is beautiful and kind and she stayed beautiful even in her old age.”

“Do you see your father?”

“I don’t think I know who my father is. My brother is the only man in our lodge.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Where is your village located?”

“At a place called Clouds Sit on Rocks. There are mountains nearby.”

“Do you recognize any of the landmarks?”

“It isn’t a place out west we have been to. I see vertical and horizontal lines on an apron-like thing that goes across my lower abdomen and legs.” She used her hands and fingers to gesture.

“The lines are made with white porcupine quills on a russet background. They’re attached to leather that has beadwork on it.

It’s very beautiful.”

After a few silent seconds her birdlike head and shoulder movements indicated Feathers that Sparkle was channeling. He said,

“I am looking down on a village of people who live in mud houses.

My master would like to speak to you.”

I said, “Greetings, wise one. What would you like to talk about?”

“I am bound. I want you to unbind me.”

“What is it that binds you, and how can I help?”

“The past is binding me.”

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“Are you grieving about the past?”

“No.”

“Is it freedom that you want?”

“I am already free. I am a spirit. I am limited because I have no body. I cannot hold things. I cannot speak. I cannot make people comprehend.”

“Do you want us to speak to your people for you?”

“There are no others I wish to speak to. What can I say that will help my people now? They cannot return to the past. They must go forward.”

“In my opinion, the advice that all people need everywhere is to seek the will of I AM in all things and to do His will.”

“So many names for the Great Spirit Who Dwells in the Sun, all meaning the same thing.”

“We should seek the Great Spirit in ourselves and in all living things.”

“I do not disagree.”

Flying again, Feathers that Sparkle made Marjie’s shoulders adjust to the wind currents.

“What do you see?”

“I have flown out toward the flats. Below me, I see a mud house.”

“Whose house is this?”

“I do not know.”

“What else do you see?”

“Something on the ground.”

“Where is this place?”

“The way you would approach, you would see the legs of two walls, one on the right and one on the left.”

“Is there much space between these legs?”

“Not enough to be secure. As you approach, first you see the leg on the right and then you see the leg on the left. Beyond that leg, you would be secure and there is the mud house. There is something on the ground below the mud house.”

Marjie said, “I am finished. I have to draw what the eagle saw.”

Her sketch revealed that the legs he described were the U-shaped 110

sides of a mesa. From above, the right side was longer than the left.

Within the U, there was a sheltered area like a large amphitheater.

An adobe dwelling situated high up on the left cliff was the home of Softener of Skins. It was exciting to think we might actually find it someday.

In another session, Softener of Skins had more words for the students we would soon be lecturing: “The woman has been taught many things: words about my people. She seeks words of wisdom, not words from herself. She knows she would limit the wisdom of the words. I will speak for her.

“The path we travel is one of hope. All peoples need hope. All that she gathered for hope has been a gift from your (Earth) Mother.

Without these things from Mother, there would be no hope. There would be nothing. If you destroy her bosom, you can grow no crops. No life will walk upon it or crawl upon it. The animals of the air receive nourishment from it. When there is no longer nourishment they are unable to fly. You have seen what your modern man has done to the animals of the ground and the animals of the air. They poison them. Their young do not hatch. They go away. They are no more. Her bosom was soft and firm and we walked upon her with our feet. Modern man has made her hard.

He has laid things he has cast away and they injure your feet. Now we cover our feet. Modern man continues to circle like a dog that chases its tail, but there are some who walk upward, slowly. They walk the path of hope. They will take wings of their own and fly.

They learn to set their spirit free. They look for wisdom: It is hope.

It is hope.”

I said, “Thank you for those words. May I ask you a question about the place where you lived?” He nodded. “What was the function of the square tower at Cliff Palace that stands above the surrounding ruins?”

“It was a watch tower. From there, we could see the opening of the canyon from which enemies or traders would approach.”

“Aradiia is afraid of horses. When did your people get horses?”

“We always had ponies. Many generations of our old ones have told of bringing ponies with them when they traveled across the ice 111

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to the new land.”

Softener of Skins also described the gift-giving celebrations his people held at the spring thaw and at the first freeze of winter. On the appointed day, everyone took a prized possession to the ceremonial grounds and placed it in the gift pile. When all were assembled, warriors in perfect physical condition stood opposite each other in two equally long, east-west oriented lines. Each one was given a randomly chosen gift to hold, and when the drumming and singing began, the strings of warriors danced toward each other, weaving in and out like two facing snakes. Each time warriors came face to face they exchanged gifts and this process continued until the drumming stopped. Each dancer then gave the item he was holding to an onlooker that he thought should have it.

The dance was repeated until all the gift items were dispensed. This tradition insured that everyone received a valued gift and encouraged the warriors to understand the needs and character of the individuals they protected.

Travels by Feet told us that to become a man, a youth past his twelfth summer had to seek a vision to learn the identity of his spirit guide. To accomplish this most important goal, he would go to an isolated place and fast until he received a vision, after which he would secretly describe it to a respected wise person who would help him understand its meaning and, based on its content, would give him a new name. Then, in a special ceremony, his mentor would announce his vision name to the rest of the band, but the vision’s content would remain private. Thereafter, a man's first allegiance was to his spirit guide and his next allegiance was to the elders of the tribe. The guidance of one’s spirit guide was to be honored even if different from the elders’ decisions.

Shadow of Feet said, “The wise ones were treated with great respect. One approached them in humility and if allowed, sat quietly at their feet until spoken to. When a wise one spoke one listened until he was finished and remembered his words. Except for life and death emergencies, leaving the presence of a wise one without permission was a major insult.”

Shortly before we were scheduled to give our talk Alta Sha said, 112

“I will be present and will give evidence that I am there. Inform the class instructor in advance that when I enter the room he will notice many people shifting positions in their chairs.” I greatly appreciated his effort to make our presentation the unforgettable experience we wanted it to be. Our goal was to provide evidence that the spirit world is real and that physical death is not the end of consciousness.

For the lecture we again dressed in our Indian inspired wedding clothes and Marjie wore the magic necklace we had found in the Cortez gift shop. The sketches she had made of the Utee warriors were on display, as were the Tarahumara inspired sacred staff, dream catcher and leather shield. The recorded sounds of a drum and a didgeridoo played by an Australian aborigine greeted the students. When everyone was seated I said the music had been chosen because it was made by people who are deeply in tune with the spirit of Mother Earth and everything living on her, just as the subjects of our lecture had been when alive. I described the use of hypnosis to explore the spirit world, our prayers to insure our experiences were guided by God, and how Marjie’s God-given ability to channel had allowed the spirits of deceased Indians to speak through her. We shared their portraits, played their recordings, and pointed out how their teachings could motivate others to work toward preventing the environmental disasters facing our planet.

Just as Alta Sha had predicted, many of the students shifted positions when he invisibly entered the room and the expression on the instructor’s face showed he also was affected. As if sensing a presence behind them, a few looked over their shoulders. After the lecture, one student said he felt something tickle his neck.

I knew our message challenged the Christian fundamentalism of some students; I wasn’t surprised when one of them asked, “Why would God choose to work through a bunch of heathen Indians?”Another young woman said she greatly appreciated our presentation. The instructor said he was very impressed with our audio-visual aids and other efforts, but he didn’t ask us to give another presentation. I think he may have been spooked by Alta 113

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Sha’s presence.

In another hypnotic session when Feathers That Sparkle was channeling I asked if he could say the name of his master. Marjie said, “He is looking at the tan-colored cliffs at the top of the mesa where he and his master lived. The color has something to do with his name.”

“Today, people would say Softener of Skins was a tanner. Does he want us to call him Tanner?”

“He says it’s easier to say than the words for Softener of Skins.”

“Where did he live?”

“Not far from where the ones with their noses in the air live, but on a different mesa.”

“Does he mean the ones who lived at Mesa Verde’?”

“Yes. Some of them thought they were above the rest.”

“We should try to find his home when we go back to the mountains.”

Tanner had previously said many people had come to the place where he once lived looking for buried treasure. I wondered, Why did they expect to find buried treasure? What kind of treasure, Indian gold, Spanish gold, ancient artifacts? What a thrill it would be to find it!

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Chapter Eight: Treasure Hunting Marjie and I were watching the flames in our fireplace and listening to Native American drum and flute music when Perithnea said,

“This is a good fire. It’s sharing its warmth, its light, and its scent.

The wood shows it cares by allowing itself to be burned.” After a short pause she added, “The flames remind me of a woman's hair.”