Excerpt from “Dreams of Heaven”, releasing August 2017

Dreams of Heaven Cover-ebook

Excerpt from Chapter 9

While the kids and Steve were playing at the beach, Savannah and Jesus were at the grocery store strolling through the produce department, which was filled with bright colors and fresh smells.

“Look, avocados are on sale for 99 cents,” Savannah mentioned.

Jesus picked up a bundle of cilantro, smelling the herb, seeming to enjoy its unique aroma.

She tested the avocados for ripeness, then put two in the cart. Under her breath, Savannah asked Jesus, “Can people hear me talking to you?”

“Of course, they can. However, they can’t see or hear me. If you prefer, we can speak telepathically.”

Savannah thought, That would be best, then picked up a bag of grapes, commenting, That dream keeps bothering me. It comes almost every night, and it seems so real, progressing like a morbid soap opera. Between you and the dream, I’m starting to feel like I’m losing my mind.

Why does the dream bother you so much? he asked.

Because I fear it’s a premonition.

Do you think it’s possible to foresee the future?


And who is showing it to you?


You are very close. The Voice for God does speak to you, and sometimes warns you of impending events that would prevent you from fulfilling your destiny, allowing you to sidestep them. However, this dream doesn’t feel like Divine intervention to you, does it?

No. It feels more like an unstoppable omen.

They walked out of the produce department and into the next aisle.

Savannah asked Jesus, So is it an omen or Divine intervention? Or just a dream?

How do you know you’re awake now? he replied.

She tossed a bag of cookies into the cart and sighed. Your riddles aren’t helping me. I’m so upset about this dream I can’t sleep at night.

They strolled down the next aisle where she selected a bottle of ketchup.

Jesus picked up a jar of green olives, saying, I believe these are on your list.

Thanks. Savannah crossed it off the slim piece of paper in her hand, then mentioned, I’m kind of dreading the meat department. Are you opposed to killing animals for food?

Do you think a spirit can be a body?

I think a spirit can reside in a body.

Really? How does it reside in a body?

Savannah answered, You know, in it. Not really part of it, just in it.

Then what is the purpose of the body?

Well, we can’t do much without it.

Do you think a spirit can communicate without a body? Jesus asked.

You mean like a ghost?

A woman shopper interrupted their conversation, asking, “Can I get in here?” She pointed at the brand of bread she wanted.

“Sorry, I’ll move out of your way,” Savannah apologized as she absentmindedly grabbed a loaf, throwing it in the cart, continuing down the aisle.

Jesus rephrased his question, Do you think spiritual beings can communicate with people here on earth?

Well, you are, so obviously it’s possible, but not very common.

So one might say that the body limits communication.

Savannah stopped at the end of the aisle, looking at the meat section in front of them. Speaking of bodies—is it okay if we eat meat? I don’t want to offend you.

There’s nothing you could do that would offend me.

“Then I’m buying steaks!” Savannah blurted out loud.

A few shoppers glanced her way.

You’re out of steak sauce, Jesus mentioned.

After paying for the groceries, Savannah and Jesus walked across the hot parking lot to the SUV, putting the groceries in the cargo area, then got in. Savannah started the engine, immediately flipping on the air to cool down the interior.

She drove out of the lot, turning onto the main street, heading back to Topsail Island. With Jesus sitting beside her, she cruised past the gaudy souvenir shops where tourists exited with their newly purchased beach towels, boogie boards, t-shirts, hats and protective body suits—anticipating a fun day at the beach.

Savannah stopped at a red light. While waiting, she noticed white flashes darting above her vehicle. She leaned forward, peering up through the windshield.

Hundreds of doves were flying above her vehicle in a spiral that reached high into the sky—a captivating sight for the people waiting at the light and driving through the intersection.

“That’s not normal, is it?” she asked.

Jesus just smiled at her.

The car behind her honked. The traffic light had turned green. Savannah stepped on the gas.

Some of the doves flew ahead of them like guardian angels preparing the way while the remaining congregation closely followed the SUV as it crossed over the drawbridge. The houses, nestled along the marsh below, served as a scenic backdrop.

“Can everyone see them?” she asked Jesus, referring to the birds.

“Yes,” he answered.

She unconsciously scooted down in her seat as if a driverless car would be less noticeable.


After Savannah finished putting away the groceries, the phone rang. She answered it, “Hello?”

“Hello to you!” her sister replied cheerfully. Denise was sitting on the sofa with her feet propped on the coffee table, waiting for the polish on her toenails to dry. She asked, “I was wondering if I could join you for dinner and spend the night? I’d like to catch some rays in the morning.”

“Sure. We’re eating at six so come early.”

“I’ll be there.”

“See ’ya!”

After hanging up the phone, Savannah glanced at Jesus, who was sitting at the kitchen table. She wondered if she should tell Denise about the Son of God coming into their lives—literally.

Jesus understood her concern. “Would you like to walk along the beach with me? We can talk about it.”

“Sure, but please let me change, first.”

Ten minutes later, they strolled along the sand. Savannah wore cut-off shorts with a red-striped tank top and a straw hat that tied under her chin. Jesus’ robe fluttered in the ocean breeze. The Watson’s beach house could be seen behind them with an unusual number of white doves circling over it. The salty haze added a mystical element to the setting.

Sunbathers lay on multi-colored towels. Swimmers bobbed in the waves. Young marines, who were taking a little R&R from the Camp Lejeune base, played touch football.

A three-year-old boy scooped sand into his bucket. He looked up at Savannah and Jesus, smiling at them.

Jesus leaned down, patting the boy’s small head before moving on.

“Why did you decide to show yourself to me and my family?” Savannah asked.

“You have it backwards. You decided to see me.”

“See, that concerns me, because you came at the exact same time that the dream started. Is something bad going to happen? Is that why you’re here?” She waited anxiously for his response.

“People are often afraid when they ‘see’ God. What if I told you I am only here because you were ready to see me. Nothing more. Nothing less.” He took a few more strides, then asked her, “Why don’t you ask me some of those questions that you always wanted answers to?”

Savannah liked that idea. “Okay. Why do bad things happen to good people?”

“First, let me clarify that people are neither good nor bad.”

“Now, you’re just trying to start an argument,” she sputtered.

He smiled.

She blushed. “Okay, I don’t really believe you’d start an argument. I’m just having a hard time believing there aren’t bad people.”

“Well, let’s go through this logically. First, do you think God is a spirit or body?”

“A spirit.”

“So if God made you in his image—wouldn’t you also be a spirit?”

“I guess that makes sense, but where does the body come into this?”

“If you are a spirit, how can you be a body?”

“Because I have one!” she said, lifting her arms, spinning around in a circle to demonstrate the proof of her physical form. “You can’t deny I have a body.”

He kindly regarded her playfulness, and, instead of disagreeing with her, he said, “When you no longer see yourself as separate from God, you will see yourself as you truly are—a perfect spirit.”

“Is that how you see me, right now?” she inquired.

“‘See’ wouldn’t be the correct term. ‘Know’ would be more accurate. Although with your current belief in time and space, it’s impossible for you to fully comprehend that you are a spirit in complete unison with God, even as we speak.”

The waves washed over their feet.

Jesus completed his answer, “I know you as love—communicating perfectly with the Father and all of His Creation.”

Savannah quietly asked, “Can you show me how the world looks through your eyes?”

The ocean, sky and sand dissolved into a golden glow.

Rays of light extended from the Son of God’s soul to the heavens.

Savannah felt the eternal love, ebbing and flowing with all of existence, pulsating through her.

Then it all stopped.

The golden light was once again cloaked by the physical form.

Savannah looked at the ocean’s sandy water sluggishly lapping at the shore. “Why did it stop?” she asked him.

“Because that was all you could accept. It’s always your choice,” Jesus answered. “Ready to head back?”

She turned around.

“Regarding ‘bad things’ happening,” Jesus said, “It may be difficult for you to accept, but God doesn’t do anything to you. This is your life. You manifest everything that happens to you.”

“Okay, I have two problems with that statement. First, God created me so it would seem he creates everything that happens to me, and second, I’m just a person. I can’t create all of this.” Savannah stretched out her arms wide to represent the whole world.

Jesus replied, “Let’s go back to what I said previously about you being a spirit. If you’re a spirit, created in God’s image, then you would have all of His power. And if you had all of that power, then you certainly could create this life and everything that happens to you in it.” He added, “The real problem is you don’t see yourself that way. You see yourself as an insignificant and limited woman—a victim to the whims of this world. It is only because you don’t fully recognize yourself as God’s Creation that you doubt what I am saying.”

Savannah sighed. “I just can’t get past not seeing myself as a body.”

“Yet you also believe you are a spirit. You will remain conflicted as long as you try to reconcile being both flesh and spirit.”

“Is it wrong to think of myself as a body?”

“You are free to think of yourself however you would like, for as long as you would like, but, eventually, you will see yourself as you really are. How long you wish to procrastinate is up to you.”



“Dreams of Heaven” can be found at local bookstores and online retailers:


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“The Organic Farm” book excerpt from “Earth Sentinels: The Storm Creators”

Earth-Sentinels-Cover-ebookChapter 3

The Organic Farm

On a sunny August morning, the Thompson family was busy harvesting their organic crops. Marilyn and her husband, Larry, had retired early from their stressful jobs in New York City and bought this quaint farm in Pennsylvania to get back to nature, pouring half of their life savings into the venture.

Marilyn rested while wiping the sweat from her face with a handkerchief. She stuffed it back in her pocket while looking out over the rolling hills, admiring the fertile farm beds filled with tomatoes, radishes, green beans and squash. All of this organic produce would be sold at a local farmers’ market. Bees buzzed and butterflies floated over the late blooms. She watched her 17-year-old son, Zachary, select ripe tomatoes, setting them in a wagon. He had grown a few inches taller than his father, but he had her sandy-blond hair and fine features.

Car tires scrunched over the crushed limestone driveway, coming to a stop. Dust floated around the tires. An older couple got out of the vehicle, standing side by side looking solemn.

Marilyn, Larry and Zachary waved at their neighbors, Burt and Nancy Wheeler, who returned the greeting, but remained where they stood. Something was wrong.

Larry said to his wife, “This can’t be good…looks like their best milk cow died.”

Marilyn replied, “Shhh…this might be serious. Come on.”

The Thompsons walked out of the field, passing the red barn that housed the milk cow. The chickens scratching in the yard scurried away clucking.

The neighbors met them halfway.

Larry shook the man’s hand. “Good morning.”

Burt said, “Morning. Sorry we didn’t call first, but we’ve got something important to tell you.”


“This would be better sitting down.”

The Thompson family suddenly felt a sense of dread. Larry responded, “Sure, this way.” He led his neighbors through the back door of the centennial farmhouse. They entered the kitchen, taking their seats at the long plank table. Marilyn asked the neighbors if they would like something to drink, but they shook their heads.

Burt started the conversation, “We’ve been having problems with our cows, one died, and a few had stillborn calves. We heard other farmers had the same thing, so we tested our well and lake. And well…” Bert found it difficult to say the words, “The results showed toxic chemicals and methane gas.” The dairy farmer became visibly upset, his voice wavering as he said, “We’ve lived here for four generations and never had a problem with our water before they started fracking.”

“How can that be?” Marilyn asked, “They aren’t even drilling close to us!” 

“Yeah…well,” answered Burt, “we did some research and found out that Pennsylvania allows horizontal drilling, so a rig can be a mile or more away, but drill right under your house without your permission, if you don’t own the mineral rights.” He rubbed his forehead, noticeably stressed. “We own ours, and told them, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ We didn’t want their money. The farm’s enough for us. But obviously someone near us either took the money or didn’t own the rights.”

“But where’d the chemicals come from?” Larry asked.

“The fracking water. They pump millions of gallons of water, laced with chemicals, so they can extract more gas out of the shoal. Then they have the nerve to tell us it’s all suctioned up, but common sense tells ’ya it can’t be, not all of it. And if they hit an underground stream or aquifer, the contaminated water can flow for miles.”

His wife confided, “We plan on moving our cows to my cousin’s place in Dauphin County. We can’t in good conscience sell the milk. But what’ll we do? Farming’s all we know.” She bit her bottom lip, trying not to cry.

Burt changed the subject, delicately asking the Thompsons, “Have you tested your water? I only ask because our land butts up to yours.”

The awareness that the organic farm might be ruined settled over Marilyn like a dark fog. How can we claim the produce is organic if there are chemicals in the water? How can we sell it at all? She contemplated these troubling questions before quietly saying, “We didn’t give in. We refused to let them test our land and still…” she trailed off. Zachary put his arm around his mother to comfort her.

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The Magic Seeds” book excerpt from “Earth Sentinels: The Storm Creators”

Earth-Sentinels-Cover-ebookChapter 2

The Magic Seeds

Mahakanta Suresh stood at the edge of his field staring at the withered cotton crop. His farm had been handed down through many generations, providing not only a living, but a good way of life in India’s Cotton Belt. He leaned heavily on his hoe, reminiscing of a time long ago when his father had danced with his mother after a bountiful harvest. The entire village had prospered that year, celebrating late into the night with food, spirits and music. His father had stepped away from the festivities and sauntered over to him, holding out a velvety fig he had picked fresh from a banyan branch. Mahakanta plucked the sweet, earthy tasting treat from his father’s weathered hand, watching him laugh heartily, drunk from the free-flowing wine.

Mahakanta savored his childhood memory before it faded, leaving him to face the devastation in front of him. He could have survived the misfortune of one bad season, but alas, last year’s crop had also failed. Now there was no money left to buy new seeds. He would lose his farm and house to the moneylenders who had extended him credit.

He could no longer face his wife and three children, who silently ate their dinner each night while hopelessness filled the air. His family once had a future, but without property, they would be burdened with a husband and father who couldn’t support or provide for them. They would become the lowest of the low.

A sacred cow wandered past him. The bells on its collar clinked as it headed toward his neighbor’s field, which was filled with thriving cotton grown from traditional seeds. Mahakanta remembered the purveyor arriving at his doorstep two years earlier, catching him as he returned home after a hard day’s work. The salesman opened his satchel, showing Mahakanta charts and photos of other customers’ cotton fields that yielded 10 times the average using his new magic seeds. In addition, he touted that the magic seeds resisted pests, eliminating the need to purchase expensive pesticides. The purveyor promised the magic seeds would make Mahakanta a very wealthy man, but what the salesman did not tell him was that these seeds were not drought tolerant like the traditional ones that had been used for generations in India. And the man did not share the fact that the seeds were genetically structured to self-destruct, ensuring that Mahakanta would have to buy new seeds the following year.

So with hope for a better future, Mahakanta naively bought and planted the magic seeds, watching the green shoots emerge in the spring. However, it was not long before the plants withered in the scorching sun and succumbed to the hungry bollworms.

How Mahakanta wished he had switched back to the traditional seeds after the first failed crop, but the purveyor assured him that the dismal harvest was caused by the drought, not the magic seeds, and the next bountiful crop would more than make up for his losses. Mahakanta’s misplaced trust had been a deadly mistake. His only comfort was that he wasn’t the only one who had fallen under the spell of the magic seeds. Dozens of other farmers in his village had done the same thing.

Knowing he could not survive this second disaster, Mahakanta unscrewed the cap on a pesticide bottle, took one last look at the land of his ancestors, then gulped the toxic fluid. The acid scorched his throat as he swallowed, and the noxious fumes made him gag and cough violently. He thought it was a fitting punishment for his failure, expecting to be dead before his family came back from working in the fields.

Instead, his son found him writhing on the ground in agonizing pain. His wife ran over screaming for help. A neighbor who had found Mahakanta not long after he drank the pesticide explained what had happened. There was nothing anyone could do—the poison always took its victim.

The wife held Mahakanta’s head in her lap and wailed, tears streaking down her cheeks, “I told you the money wasn’t important! Why didn’t you listen!?”

Mahakanta did not respond. The pain made him oblivious to his surroundings. He convulsed violently, spewing red-speckled vomit all over the front of his shirt.

His wife continued to sob, rocking back and forth in utter grief.

Mahakanta was overcome with pain. Everything went dark. He felt his body become weightless. A blue mist appeared, forming into shapes that turned into human forms. He recognized a neighbor who had committed suicide a few weeks earlier. Countless numbers of spirits came forward, one after another, each a victim of crop failure caused by the magic seeds. Before Mahakanta could ask why they came, they escorted him away.

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Gas Station Dreams

Shaman Stone SoupExcerpt from the book Shaman Stone Soup

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” — Albert Einstein

One night in October, I had a dream that was so powerful there was no doubt in my mind that it had really happened.

In the dream, I floated into a scene of a man pumping gas. I knew he was a pastor who was having trouble making a difficult decision. My spirit descended into his car and “sat” in the passenger seat to wait for him to finish pumping gas. The pastor got in, started the car, and drove slowly through the parking lot. He paused before pulling into the street. At that moment he felt my presence, and although he couldn’t see me, he knew I was there. I apologized for the intrusion. In his thoughts, he said, “That’s okay. I was thinking about going for a drive.”

I knew he had changed his plans of going directly home, and instead, he decided to go for a long drive to ponder his difficult decision. I left him alone with his thoughts as he drove away.

When I woke up, I remembered the dream vividly and couldn’t forget it for weeks. I kept looking for this man in public—expecting to meet him.

But after a couple of months had passed and I hadn’t yet met the pastor, the dream was tucked into the back of my mind.

Then one night, I pulled up to my gym and noticed a Red Cross blood mobile in the parking lot. I decided I would give blood, although I had never voluntarily donated blood before.

I walked up to the table set up temporarily in the gym’s lobby. The young woman standing there asked if I had any health problems, and I said no. She asked if I was in good health and feeling well. I answered that I was feeling a little light headed, but she didn’t seem to hear me and began talking with someone else while she handed me a folder with a stack of forms that needed to be filled out.

After my name was called, I walked through the chilly night to the large RV that served as the blood mobile. A young woman greeted me and escorted me to a tiny room where she asked me questions, pricked my finger to take blood, and attached a finger monitor to check my blood pressure. At this point, there was a problem. It seemed my pulse rate and blood pressure were too high, which was very unusual since I normally have low blood pressure. She mentioned that I might be stressed about giving blood and thought answering additional questions on a computer in the room would give me time to calm down.

I finished the questions and was waiting for the woman to return when a man entered and explained he was the supervisor. I knew I wouldn’t be giving blood as soon as he sat down, but decided to let the conversation play out.

With a smile, he asked me how I was feeling. I answered that I felt fine. He said perhaps I was coming down with something and just didn’t know it yet—that sometimes an undetected infection can make the blood pressure spike as the body fights it.

I mentioned that I was feeling light headed, but felt that it was a reaction from an intense healing session I performed earlier in the day.

The supervisor was surprisingly knowledgeable about shamanic healing and pointed out that a healing session should have lowered my blood pressure. I agreed with him. He continued asking me questions about the healings that I performed, saying that it was wonderful work to offer healings and appreciated my efforts.

His spiritual demeanor captured my attention, and I asked him how he knew so much about healing. He answered that he was a pastor of a church in a distant city. Suddenly it dawned on me that he was the pastor from my dream! I began telling him, “Several months ago you had a tough decision to make.”

He nodded his head in agreement, and said a few months earlier he had to decide whether to stay at his church or become the new pastor at a church of a different denomination. His mind told him to stay with his current congregation, but he felt God was guiding him to leave. After much soul searching, he had decided to go to the new church.

When I described seeing him in my dream at the gas station and the interaction that had occurred, he remembered asking God for a sign and stated that he often went on long drives to think.   

I had been waiting to meet him and was blessed to do so. What a wonderful confirmation for the two of us.

I knew the elevated pulse rate was divine intervention, and after leaving the blood mobile, I went to work out at the gym. It felt great!

Message from the Spirit

We are all divine spirits, helping others on conscious and unconscious levels. The past, present and future exist simultaneously—all lives, all events have already occurred—leaving you with memories of illusions that you pluck from the recesses of your mind. You have reached enlightenment because you have never left it. So you have the ability to act as an angel, reaching out to others, offering miracles and love, now.

“Bear Claw Lake” book excerpt from “The Earth Sentinels: The Storm Creators”


Chapter 1

Bear Claw Lake

In a remote area of Canada, a white, double cab pickup truck sped down Highway 55 heading toward Bear Claw Lake, one of the deepest and largest bodies of water in the Alberta province, as well as the major tributary for the Saskatchewan and Beaver rivers. Traces of the Old North Trail ran beside its deep waters and through the surrounding dense forest, used for centuries by the Blackfoot Nation for migration and trading all the way from the permafrost Yukon Territory to sunny New Mexico. Inside the truck was a team of independent specialists commissioned by the Falicon Gas and Oil Company to investigate an ongoing oil spill.

The disaster had been caused by Falicon’s use of the in-situ extraction method that pressurized the oil bed with extremely hot steam and chemicals, cracking the reservoir, causing the oil to escape through spider web ruptures in the earth.

The white pickup turned off the two-lane highway onto a dirt road, dust billowing as it sped toward the disaster. The driver wore a pistol strapped to his side and rested his arm on the console. A scientist sat in the front passenger’s seat reviewing paperwork. He sighed, setting the papers down. The three engineers in the backseat rode quietly looking out the windows.

A glimpse of an old pickup in the rearview mirror caught the driver’s attention. It was a 1973 two-tone Ford with a rusty chrome grill and bumper. Inside were two men from the nearby Bear Claw First Nation reservation. Tom Running Deer sat in the passenger seat holding a Winchester 30-30 rifle between his knees with the barrel protruding a few inches above the dashboard. His black t-shirt was taut over his muscular frame. A few gray hairs highlighted his long black hair that was held back in a ponytail. Beside him was his great-uncle, Chief Keme, who gripped the wheel with his strong hands. A sterling silver ring, accented with turquoise, decorated his right ring finger. He wore a clean, white shirt with a frayed collar. Both men fiercely glared at the intruders in front of them.

The company driver checked the rearview mirror again, saying, “Don’t look, but we’re being tailed by Indians.” The engineers and scientist spun around, peering out the back window. “Jesus! I told you not to look!” The men quickly faced forward again. “Now keep your cool. They’re probably just headed back to the rez, having a little fun with us.” The driver’s comments provided little relief to his nervous passengers.

The old Ford barreled in on the white pickup truck, nearly bumping its rear end before easing back. The engineers and scientist tensely waited for the driver to react, but he drove in silence until the Ford veered off, rumbling down another dirt road, disappearing behind a cloud of dust.

A mile later, the Falicon truck came to a security check point. A guard waved it through, directing the driver to a grassy area where a dozen company vehicles were already parked. Beyond this point were hundreds of square kilometers of what used to be a virgin forest.

The men got out, removing their equipment from the back of the truck. When everyone was ready, they trudged through the eerily quiet forest.

Mike, the head engineer, sniffed the air. “God, something smells terrible!”

The team cautiously approached the lake, observing the disaster spread out before them. The water was covered with an iridescent film of oil that was decomposing into a foul, brown sludge along the shoreline, which was littered with a few dead Canadian geese and a loon gasping for air while struggling to flap its oil-covered wings. A bloated beaver carcass bobbed in the lake. Dead walleye, sauger and lake trout floated on the surface. The surrounding vegetation lay rotting in the sun. The cleanup crew, fully protected inside their bio-hazard suits, used rakes to cull the tar balls.

The scientist stared at the mess shaking his head. He tried to contain his anger, but his voice trembled as he said, “I gave my recommendations early on. I told headquarters we had no ‘Plan B’, but they went ahead anyway.” He lost control. “Fuck the animals! Fuck the planet!” He threw his hard hat down. “Do they really expect us to fix the earth!?”

The ground shuddered, alarming the scientist, who shouted, “Did you feel that!?”

Mike answered, “Yeah…strange.”

Lightning blazed out of the clear blue sky, striking the water. Thunder boomed as the oil slick ignited, creating a lake of fire. The flames reached the shoreline, following channels of oil runoff, spreading through the forest until one of the fire streams reached an oil reservoir where it exploded, creating a mammoth ball of fire that billowed over the forest. The force of the combustion knocked down the engineers, scientists and cleanup crew. Thick, black smoke descended upon the dazed team members, who struggled to their feet, coughing and choking. The earth violently shook again. Everyone raced out of the man-made hell.

The sound of the oil spill explosion reverberated throughout the Bear Claw First Nation’s reservation, which was located a mile from the lake in the middle of the forest where the tribe lived in dilapidated houses that were clustered together like a herd of buffalo protecting their young from the wolves. Crooked stove pipes stuck out of the rooftops with missing shingles. Broken-down cars and rusted-out trucks were parked haphazardly in the weeds. Children, startled by the blast, immediately stopped chasing a ball. Men playing poker and drinking beer under the shade of a tree were stunned into silence as they watched the fireball arch over the trees. Finally one of the men spoke, voicing what the others were thinking, “I knew the oil company would screw up. They always do.”

“It’s time for a council meeting,” said Tom Running Deer, “It’s time for this to end.”

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The Gift of Schizophrenia

Excerpt from the book Shaman Stone Soup

Shaman Stone Soup“When you have looked on what seemed terrifying, and seen it change to sights of loveliness and peace; when you have looked on scenes of violence and death, and watched them change to quiet views of gardens under open skies, with clear, life-giving water running happily beside them in dancing brooks that never waste away; who need persuade you to accept the gift of vision?” — A Course in Miracles

The medical community views schizophrenia as a condition that can be treated but not cured. Schizophrenics are considered to have a mental illness with symptoms such as hallucinations, paranoid or bizarre delusions, and dysfunction—which are subdued with antipsychotic medications.

However, I believe that schizophrenics are not suffering from an illness, but rather, are extremely receptive to contact from spirits, and when they cannot ward off imposing negative spirits who have no regard for the schizophrenics’ well being, they become overwhelmed, catatonic, anxious, depressed, and even suicidal with thoughts and visions that seem to be their own, but in reality, are instilled into their minds by outside forces.

With proper shamanic healing and training, which has been done successfully in indigenous tribes under the guidance of shamans, schizophrenics could learn to prevent the intrusion of loud, negative spirits, and allow only the loving spirits’ quiet voices to be heard. They have the gift to become great healers and shamans.

I was given the chance to prove this belief when “Andrew,” a schizophrenic, middle-aged truck driver contacted me for a healing. He said he was constantly assaulted by negative voices and wanted relief.

After I requested his healing from my spirit guide, I emailed him these results:

“In the spirit realm, with my spirit guide, we began to perform an extraction and aura cleansing on your energetic body. There were many extractions and it took awhile to remove them. Afterward, your aura was cleansed and then the angels came in with loving energy and infused you with it. They then built-up your energetic body to prevent unwanted spirits and people’s thoughts from entering. Your crown chakra was too open and was reduced to a much smaller size to prevent unwanted spirits from entering. An intention was set that only the most holy of spirits would be able to enter.”

After receiving my message, Andrew indicated that he had known I had completed the healing. When I inquired how he knew, he sent me a lengthy description of what he had experienced while I performed his healing.

The following is a portion of Andrew’s description of the healing as he wrote it with the exception of a few grammatical corrections.

“Elizabeth…I had been snoozing…before that I had been wondering when you would do the healing.

Today, I was gently awakened by a soft voice that said, ‘They’re here.’

I then began to be aware of your very light presence…my eyes were still closed. It was then that I said, “Hi!” (Author’s note: This was significant, because when the healing began, I said “Hi” to Andrew’s spirit and was surprised when he said “Hi” back. I replied, “Oh, you know I am here,” but I didn’t mention this in my message to him.)

I felt as though there were two presences in the room other than you and me. The little voice said, ‘Don’t open your eyes!’

I lay there for a few seconds and then I saw the outline of two spirits. One of a living person and one not. The one that was no longer living seemed very ‘live’ and holy. The other one appeared to be witnessing something. As I was lying in bed, I felt very little other than calm and comfortable. I closed my eyes again. The voice said, ‘That was him.’ Seemingly referring to the ‘live’ one.

I lay still. The voice said now they’re getting rid of the spirits. I still felt calm and comfortable and yet wondered because I didn’t feel much. Then the voice said, ‘Now the angels are here.’

I kept my eyes closed and waited. A few minutes passed as I tried to sleep so as not to be a nuisance. The little voice said, ‘You’re not a nuisance.’

After a few minutes, the voice said, ‘It’s okay, they’re gone.’

I felt a little like a computer that had just come to life and wondered, ‘Is there nothing more?’

My apartment was dark…I keep the shades closed most of the time. It was near sunset and a little of the westerly sunlight was creeping through.

I started to make myself a cup of coffee, then the voice said, ‘She’s gone.’…meaning you.”

While I always give my clients a description of their healing, this was the first time a client had given me one! It showed how spiritually connected he was.

A few weeks later, Andrew complained that his mind was too quiet! I encouraged him to give it more time to adjust to the lack of noise in his mind. The loving spirits are soft spoken and do not impose themselves on anyone.

Ten months later, he wrote to me stating that the negative voices were bothering him less and less. He was now able to control the spirits’ abilities to contact him and was doing well.

Message from the Spirit: Schizophrenia is a two-edged sword. It is both a curse and a gift until it becomes a finely tuned instrument. Then what could cut and kill becomes a mechanism for separating the wheat from the chaff—a gift for healing.

Shaman Stone Soup

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Spirits of the Past, Present and Future

Excerpt from the book Shaman Stone Soup

Shaman Stone Soup“The miracle extends without your help, but you are needed that it can begin. Accept the miracle of healing, and it will go forth because of what it is. It is its nature to extend itself the instant it is born.” — A Course in Miracles

The first time that I taught a shamanic journeying class, an amazing miracle occurred.

The class was held at a metaphysical bookstore in Fort Myers, Florida. Initially six students signed up for the class, but as each week passed, fewer and fewer students attended. However, there was one woman who was eager to be there. “Irene” had shamanic journeyed for years, but had hit a blockage that she couldn’t seem to overcome, and hoped the class would help her.

Every week, Irene showed up ready to learn, and made remarkable progress in her shamanic journeying skills, eventually moving past the blockage. 

By the time the final class came around, Irene was ready to perform her first healing. Since she was the only student who showed up that evening, we agreed she would perform a healing for me and I would perform one for her.

My healing request was to know whether I should stay in the graphic design field, which had been my career for over 20 years, and Irene, who was contemplating leaving her husband, wanted to know if it was in her best interest to do so. She had a small child and very much wanted to keep her family intact, but her husband was emotionally distant and noncommunicative, and she was tired of working on the relationship.

After we had finished shamanic journeying, Irene offered her healing results first. In her journey, she had seen words being spray-painted on a wall, but had been unable to read the message. Symbolically it seemed clear to me: The writing was on the wall. It was time to move on.

During the healing for Irene, I had asked the spirits to show me what Irene and her husband’s life was like together, and I saw them sitting in the living room—each in their own seat. There didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary, so I requested to see how she would fare without her husband, and three spirits came and escorted him away. I then saw her sitting there alone, but not much else changed. It seemed for her whether he was there or not had little impact.

The vision continued and I saw Irene and her husband getting married, which was odd since they were obviously already married. Her husband was waiting for her at the altar—although he looked like the beast from Beauty and the Beast. Then I was shown the two of them having romantic interludes with bubble baths and champagne, and him offering her pearls.

When the healing was over, I described the vision to Irene, but it didn’t make sense to either of us at the time. However, she called me several days later very excited to share what had happened since the healing. 

Irene said that after the class, she went home to what seemed like an ordinary evening. She had taken care of a few things and gone to bed without saying much to her husband or discussing the healing. 

During the night, Irene was awakened by her husband who was sobbing. When she turned to him, he began hugging her and repeatedly telling her how much he loved her. He then asked her to renew their marriage vows! He explained that three spirits had visited him. The spirits of the past, present and future had shown him his entire life and spoke of the importance of their marriage for his spiritual growth.

The visiting spirits had an immense impact on her husband, who had a complete transformation, which led to a renewal of their love and passion for each other. As Irene put it, “The sex was better than when we first met!” And I was thinking, “If only I could package this!”

Both Irene and I were surprised at how the healing had affected her husband. The healing demonstrated that a miracle can extend itself in ways that we can’t even begin to imagine.

Message from the Spirit: The purpose of the healing was not to restore their marriage, but to restore their spiritual path. The restoration of the marriage was a fringe benefit. Although many are shown the way to enhance their spiritual path, most choose not to follow. Time itself was made by you to avoid returning to your true selves, and most, when given a choice, will turn away from what is so clearly seen and simple to follow.

A healing was provided, divine intervention was given, and the path was shown. The decision to follow, or not, was entirely theirs.