Unity Center
 2041 Old Fanning Bridge Road, Mills River NC  28759
(828) 891-8700, 684-3798
Email: unity(at)unitync.net

Journaling, Letters, Memories, and Spirit

After we built and launched our schooner, Satori, I began a journal. We were in San Diego, and I was working at Reuben’s Restaurant as a waitress to raise money for our “around the world” voyage—or at least to the Caribbean where we hoped to find work day sailing. I was the eldest of the restaurant workers at 27; even the managers were younger than I. We became a family.

I was searching for a spiritual path that reflected my innate belief system, which was a connection to all of life on an energy level. Karol, one of the other waitresses, introduced me to Mrs. Tinning, a psychic who dedicated her life to helping people (for free) connect with their Master Teachers. Also, we were hypnotized by a therapist to relive past lives. I insisted if I went under that the therapist ask me why I was here now. I felt strongly I had a purpose in life, but didn’t have a clue what it was.

It was an amazing session of a progression of past lives. He saved my question for last. When he asked it, I saw (being hypnotized is like watching a very visual movie behind closed eyes) an old, grey haired woman in a robe with the most amazing blue eyes and beatific smile. She said, “Be light”.

At that point I realized it was me, or my higher self, that I was seeing. I didn’t know what “be light” meant, but I read every book I could find on psychic and spiritual awareness, writing notes in my journal. It took a few years to find actual mention of being light—our light bodies being pure spirit—but my quest had always been to be that purity of spirit and let my love shine through to everyone.

This first journal was falling apart and I decided to type it into the computer so that I wouldn’t lose it. It has been an amazing experience to re-visit the younger woman that I was and see how much of my every day thoughts were focused on finding my God light within.

Every day, I said blessings for our boat and those of us who lived on her. For two years, we had a Sufi couple who lived with us, and helped us sail to St. Thomas. Every day, I read from Mrs. Tinning’s collection, God’s Way of Life, a book she gave every person who came to see her (and she saw groups of people five nights a week). I meditated most days, and practiced Ohm aloud when I was alone. I wrote down my dreams, finding clues to inner knowing in their focus. An example:

5/9/1976:
I bless the boat each day and feel guilty if I read escapist novels instead of ones I can learn from. I bless my angels and Master Teacher. I feel more relaxed.

Yesterday, I went out with Mike and Karen and realized there is a spiritual connection with them from a past life. Mike writes and meditates and has written a short story where the president of the U.S. and all of his cabinet meditate, which he tells the world in his inaugural address. Mike believes it will happen one day. I do as well. I think Mike will be an integral force in bringing spiritual awareness to the world. I feel we will all make a mark on the world, large or small.

I saw the folks on the boat Crinifrin leave to go out for the evening, and they left their year-old baby alone on the boat—it really bothered me.

I fantasize that some day I will have a son that can communicate with me from the womb and will be advanced in consciousness.

Dreams: I was on a corner waiting for Ed to pick me up and a man was standing with a young girl and suddenly began a rant about the “hippies” sitting on a bench, not helping his daughter across the street. They ignored him. I was going to say they weren’t hippies but thought better of it. A man came out of one of the buildings and said, “Just a minute here” to which the angry man responded by pulling a gun with a long barrel from his pants and shooting him in the chest. I was scared, looking which way to run, and he shot me in the stomach. I fell in the gutter, holding my belly, and it was hot and wet. I thought, “I can’t die yet, Ed and I haven’t had any children. I hope he hurries up and gets here.” Then I started to pray to God not to die, and to get me out of this, and I woke up. I went back to sleep and dreamed I was in a church and the minister was just opening and closing his mouth, then told everyone to turn to a Bible passage…they got up singing and dancing. I was very uncomfortable, having been raised Catholic. Outside we went to a social and I was welcoming the new people in town. The dress was Early American with people in carriages.

I felt the first dream told me I had nothing to fear in death as my awareness was with God and I had no pain. But I didn’t want Ed to lose me now. The second was telling me I didn’t have to be in church to be spiritual; giving love to people was a more important path.

I read Mrs. Tinning and it said to be open to God in your own way, feel him and be aware of the signs of him in your life. We have a fine example in the Christ. On page 38 I randomly found a poem on reaching spirit by praying daily and receiving their blessings. I then randomly turned to Hebrew 13 in the Bible, where Paul says the lord is my helper; remember your leaders, the ones who spoke the word of God to you.

The readings I did randomly almost always reflected what I was thinking or dreaming about. Paul, also, is my Master Teacher. Most of the passages have this intensity. There is a common thread of wanting to create a child who would do good in the world. I certainly didn’t recall that desire being so strong at that age. When I did get pregnant at 34, I practiced a color meditation each day, picturing my growing baby perfect in each chakra as I envisioned its corresponding color. Lyric has been an amazing, angelic spirit: a close, loving daughter who never gave us a moment’s pain or concern. Honestly. And how blessed I am to be able to say that? She has been as close to perfect as I could have ever imagined. She grew up to reflect that spirit in her position as a policy analyst with Women for Women, helping women in war torn countries. She is working to create a better world where women have rights, livelihood and security.

Our ship’s log had entries that were specific to our cruising life as we sailed to the Panama Canal, and into the Caribbean. My father saved a few of my letters, which were our only form of communication for many years, other than my once-yearly trips home to see my family. By typing in these written words, I am able to remember so much that otherwise would have been lost to me. My Unity writings offer me the same connection with the woman whom I have been becoming over my many years of spiritual questing. At sixty, I am amazed at how much I have otherwise forgotten—my memories are short-circuited.

I recently joined Facebook when it became available at work. It is exciting to be able to keep up with my daughter and her friends, as well as my friends from California to the Virgin Islands. It is a fabulous way to see photos I otherwise would miss, and get up-to-the-minute messages about what is happening in people’s lives. These are usually just a sentence or two. It does make me sad that our world is now instant messages, Tweeting, Texting, phone calls, and Internet social networking, instead of longer forms of communication. These modified versions don’t have the passion or richness of experience that letters offer. In their superficiality, you don’t reach the person within.

I feel my journaling must continue in the future. Otherwise, where will I look for my memories?