Dedication in the Desert

From:  Mary ( chimara@att.net)
Story type: Past Life Experience
Location:  Development Class Training for Spiritual Ministers  San Francisco Peninsula 
Source: Form Submission
Date submitted: Tue Oct 14 00:33:45 2008

I must preface my recollection with template in time/space so that you will have the proper frame of reference:

This particular event took place in the mid-60's when a vocabulary was first being created for the paranormal world. I was then about 34, and had suffered as an outcast inside myself, as I still do to some degree, knowing what I now know about my past and thrust into my future.

In the 1930's in the mid-west, there was a vocabulary of roughly: God,Satan, Angels, Demons, Unclean Spirits, Witches, Necromancers, etc.---Well, you get the picture. It just didn't pay to be nominated as one of these, as they all carried a taint from minor disapproval, to let's fetch the matches and kindling wood.

So, for a child who very casually knew who was going to visit, or that she had lived in Ancient Egypt, for one, and loved to watch "many full moons through her enclosed sunroom bedroom windows that encircled two full walls: First, one big round silver moon, then additional ones appeared window, by window. Well, it just didn't do to divulge the most complete, natural and satisfying part of one's existence.

At the age of early 30's I was forced by circumstances to move with my 2 young daughters to a house which was haunted, but which one daren't disclose. That is another chapter of my story, for another time, but it was the preamble to "finding myself and my serial lives' work", as I figured out, through strange specialized knowledge which floated to the surface of my mind at the crucial moment,how to overcome a particularly evil former owner of the 2 story duplex I was renting. Oh, yes, did I forget to mention he was in current parlance "deceased"? I knew I could "do it all", and with style and grace. How did I know, beats me!

So, I decided to become a minister/healer in the only venue available at that time. The abovementioned ministerial training program. The problem there was, that as soon as one type of operation was explained to us, I'd respond, "Oh yes, I can do that!" And I could, read billets,(questions on papers submitted to the pulpit), diagnosing a back pain relief program: I closed my eyes and saw a hand squeezing a lemon into the hot water streaming into a bathtub with a person seated backwards so that the lemon oil being squeezed into the stream was vigorously sprayed against the painful section of the querant's back. He later reported that the treatment had been very effective. You would not believe the rage emanating from the old dears in the class, who were certainly not in any way fit to be the vessels for "new wine" (For the biblically proficient among you).

Things continued along these uncomfortable lines with the elderly Pastor now joined to the ranks of hostile dearies. How, ridiculous, she'd have gained my services for nothing except my pleasure; she was not foresighted enough to project the increase to her congregation and corresponding enrichment from the collection plate--oh well, the story of my life as a stranger in a totally strange land.

Then came the night that with dimmed lights we in turn induced self hypnosis (at least, I did). Don't know what the others were doing. That's when the wellspring sprang!

As I moved deeper and deeper into my internal warm, cozy, and quiet, place, I became totally divorced from the vibes in the room that could have been cut with a rubber spatula.

It was a new entrance to a new realm which vibrated with new promise. Feeling totally relaxed, drowsy, and disinterested in my current surroundings, I gradually became aware of a rhythmic gentle rocking which I had never before experienced; as my attention focussed upon it I realized that I was a small boy, of perhaps 7 or 8, and was riding along on a donkey being led by an elderly man through a silent and what would have been a torrid temperature to me now in my suburban San Francisco life, seemed quite comfortable.

I rode along in this fashion, drowsing, the old man not conversing, with only the sound of the donkey's hooves on the packed sandy soil, until a change of tension and pace brought me to full attention; I opened my eyes to see that we were approaching a city constructed of what today I would describe as adobe, and the old man was registering controlled excitement and expectation.

I have never been to the middle East in my current life, but one is quite sophisticated in geographical matters today thanks to the proliferation of visual media. I mention this because to this day I have never seen a town built in that fashion: Imagine a perfect circle of construction with open portals not reaching to the top of the buildings. Now picture concentric circles of buildings one within the other until at the center is a circular open area with a large well in the center. It is very dusty and the sun beating against the bleached mud is almost blinding, which didn't elicit any reaction from me or the others, for there were many others in the, shall we call it a plaza, since I do not know the correct name for it.

I must tell you at this time, of the most remarkable feature of this city's architectural plan: Each portal in the concentric circles of buildings was staggered so that anyone entering with hostile (or any other) intent would have to zigzag thru perhaps 20 circles of buildings, the outer ring of which had heavy wooden gates now thrown open apparently in expectation of the coming event:

With the well at our backs, the escorting adults (all male) had placed their children, all about the same ages, on blankets, side by side in a large, but closely packed semicircle facing the last opening passageway into the plaza. Everyone was completely silent, as were the children. The air was laden with portent and expectation, though I had no idea at all what was to take place.

Soon, through this doorway came three men in the same natural colored draped garments of homespun fabric; behind them a boy of about twelve led by reins three donkeys.

Tension mounted to a hum as the three men approached, the taller, leaner, man in the center speaking quietly to the ones on either side of him. They approached us at a leisurely, dignified, pace until they were within feet of us children seated before the well.

No one spoke a word. One of the men bent and removed the sandals from the man in the center, who seemed to be studying us closely and deeply. He seemed to spend a time in consideration, then gravely passed down the row, holding in his hands a small vessel, which from my contemporary frame of reference, looked exactly like a flat, circular, container of cordovan shoe dressing, of the waxy consistency that the more mature of you will immediately recognize, the younger of you will just have to wing it here.

The man who was now barefoot moving along the row of children was the most arresting individual I have ever encountered--In a total of perhaps five thousand years. I could feel myself being drawn and shaken to my core, in a way that 77 year old me remembers with tears running down my cheeks, and contained sobs within my ribcage. I have no words for it, which for me is a miracle in itself.

I followed with my eyes his measured approach, as he stopped in front of occasional children and said a few soft words to which they responded with bowed heads. I could barely contain my emotions as he neared me, then gazed into me with the clearest, ages-old, all-seeing eyes and spoke very softly to me, as he dipped his thumb into the dark red waxy substance, and pressed it firmly but gently against the middle of my forehead, and almost tenderly said "This one I will have". The men then turned, the sandals were replaced and they paced slowly back the way they had come.I stared, rapt, after them, as they disappeared thru the portal without turning to look back.

At that point,in the contempory setting I completely lost it, and the lights were turned on amid a growing stir of bewilderment. I just left for home, knowing that my life had changed forever.

Only a few know of this story to this day, but this is a new day for young ones and older ones who will ponder, wonder, and perhaps discuss it. Which is just the way it should be, because it is just the day it should be.

Love to all, Chimara