The current class video will be dropped on this page the Friday After Class.
Here is the recording from the previous year:
copyright (c) 2007 Lynn Woodland
Death is a stage of the life cycle that is ever present. It happens in dramatic physical ways through the death of loved ones. It happens more subtly with every change that requires something to end before something else can begin. There are countless large and small deaths of one sort or another that make up the fabric of life.
Even if we don’t give much attention to death, even if we believe death to be a lovely transition and think we don’t fear it, death anxiety often lurks beneath the surface disguised as our fear of change, of endings, of loss of control. This fear that’s always with us shapes our participation in life, diminishing joy and limiting our options.
It was discussed in last week’s lesson how dramatically the experience of a near-death experience can banish this fear and completely transform the person’s approach to life. Melvin Morse, in his studies of people who’ve had NDE’s, found, unsurprisingly, that control groups who hadn’t had NDE’s scored much higher for death anxiety. But, interestingly, he found that people holding very strong beliefs in a positive after-life scored about as high as those who didn’t. He said even “people who identify themselves as being intensely spiritual, have the same death anxiety as the general population.” In other words, holding a spiritual belief that death isn’t fearful doesn’t seem to make us any less afraid of it. Even those of us who consider ourselves spiritually enlightened may still have a fear-based identification with our physical bodies that doesn’t change in spite of our spiritual beliefs.
Clearly, it takes more than intellectual insight and ascribing to a spiritual philosophy to shake off the grip of death fear. But neither is it necessary to have a near-death experience to finally be free to live. There are many ways to experience the reality of life beyond the illusion of death: by listening with an open mind and heart to the visions and inner journeys of loved ones who are dying; by trusting our own dreams and intuitions; by inviting messages and ongoing communication with those who have crossed over; and ultimately, by actively creating our own death experience through the way we choose to live life. It’s not enough to have a doctrine of belief. The reality of life beyond death needs to be known in the heart, not just the mind. Morse found that people experienced a measurable decrease in death anxiety simply by reading about near-death experiences, and this is a good place to start. Most libraries and bookstores now have whole sections devoted to NDE’s and “crossing over.” (Morse’s first book, Closer to the Light, is an excellent one.) These moving, true stories offer more than insight and awareness about death—they change how we feel about it. It’s in the moment of being uplifted, moved to tears and powerful emotion—be it at the bedside of a dying friend or from a story in a book—that we transcend our instinctive fear of mortality and truly start to live. We burst through fear and numbness; we unlock more of our capacity to experience ecstasy, and we see past the limits of our physical perceptions.
So, as you read the stories and practice the exercises in this lesson, let them lead your heart past the fear of death into the mystery that lies beyond what our minds alone can understand. Knowing with our hearts that love continues beyond death not only soothes our grief, it empowers us to live in ways that may not seem directly related to the loss of a loved one or the fear of our own death.
The concept that some aspect of the unique individual continues after death is a controversial one even among people with active spiritual lives. World religions and philosophies offers a wide range of different answers to the question of what happens after death. The following presents the possibility that some part of us remains intact and accessible to the living. I’ve come to believe this through a number of confirming life experiences. I also believe, however, that the totality of All That Is is far too large for complete human comprehension (perhaps our human experience is designed this way to give us the gift of Mystery), and any time we feel certain we know the whole truth, we’ve stopped growing and have limited our ability to know. So I offer the following to wonder over and experiment with rather than to make into dogma.
It’s Never Too Late for Healing
So often, people in our lives die before we’ve said good-bye or made peace, leaving us with sadness and regret. At worst, these incompletions keep us tied in knots, unable to open our hearts to love again. I’ve seen people in my workshops ridden with guilt and remorse over the way they ended with a parent or loved one who died. Yet, if we can look past our imperfections—of not being the perfect son or daughter, of not saying the right thing, or being there at the right time—we can find the divine order in even the most seemingly imperfect endings. As we come more deeply in touch with our eternal nature through the death of someone close to us, there’s the potential for the most profound forgiveness possible because, as we glimpse the spiritual reality that we are never truly harmed, we understand that there is nothing to forgive.
There’s much communication, healing, and resolution that can continue after the transition of death. I found this to be true in my relationship with my mother. Our relationship has felt just as active since her death as before. For the first year or so after she died, I had frequent dreams of her where she appeared progressively younger until she was about my age. No longer did she feel like my parent, with all the baggage of our mother-daughter relationship. Instead she became a beloved best friend. (Interestingly, years later, a psychic echoed this, seeing my mother and me as sisters in another life.) As I think of her now and sense her presence, it’s easier to feel love than when she was living and we struggled through the clashing of our personalities, which continued to clash right up until the end of her life.
My mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer in 1988 and the five-month period between her diagnosis and her death was both a painful and a remarkable time for me. When my mother and I first learned of her illness and prognosis, our relationship underwent a honeymoon period. We delighted in each other’s company, went out to lunch, took all the family heirlooms and photographs out and documented the history of each. My heart was open to her as it hadn’t been in years.
I was completely unprepared for what came next when she let go of her apartment and moved in with me. The enmeshment that had suffocated me for much of my life flared up with a vengeance. It was as though we shared some unavoidable destiny to enact our worst dance, one last time, in the biggest possible way.
My mother didn’t go about dying in the way I had seen many others do. There was no wasting away, no confinement to her bed, no disabling pain. She remained relatively able-bodied until the last week or so. She was constantly bored once she ran out of things to do, friends to have lunch with, and affairs to put in order. She took to following me around the house, creating unnecessary tasks for me to do for her, even calling after me when I went into the bathroom. I felt trapped by her neediness—not her physical needs, which would have been easier for me to cater to, but her emotional needs, which had overwhelmed me since childhood. I found myself doing what I had always done with my mother when I felt overwhelmed. I pushed her away and shut down emotionally. It was a nightmare. I had wanted to provide a safe, nurturing haven for her to live out her life and I felt like a miserable failure. I was furious with myself for wasting my last weeks with my mother in this way.
One day, at my wit’s end over how to help her and myself through this stuck place that was so familiar to us, I prayed for guidance. In my meditation, I saw my mother and myself both looking solely at what was ending about her life and finding cause only for depression and sadness. I saw her on a path looking back toward where she had been and unable to see any future.
The path she was on wasn’t at an end, however; it continued. Just a little further along this path, I saw my mother’s father, who died when I was very young, and her grandmother, whom I knew only from photographs. These two were standing ready to welcome her the moment she turned around to continue on the path. The message they gave to me was that the highest help I could give my mother and myself would be to see her path continuing, not ending, and this would help her to turn around and see how much she has to look forward to. This vision was so vivid and I was so at peace afterward, that I felt I’d truly been visited by my ancestors and wasn’t alone in caring for my mother.
That evening my mother excitedly called me into her room while she was watching television. I responded sluggishly, worn down by her calls coming so frequently during the day. I wasn’t quick enough to see what had excited her. On the TV, as background to a list of public service announcements, the local station had flashed an historical postcard of our hometown as it had appeared around the turn of the twentieth century. It was an image my mother had seen many times in her youth because it was a photograph of her grandmother and her father, then just a toddler, playing in the park. The experience brought tears to her eyes and she said that she had felt somehow “meant” to see this picture, that there was some special comfort meant for her in it.
I then shared with her my own experience with these two relatives earlier that day. In that moment it felt as though we broke through to something real and sustaining. It was a magical moment that seemed to ease some of the tension between us. We still had problems, but shortly thereafter, she decided to accept my aunt’s invitation to stay at her house, which helped considerably.
My mother’s dying didn’t change us—she acted like her, I acted like me, and we carried on our uneasy dance until the end. A day finally came, though, when I found peace with her. I was about to lead a five-day intensive workshop for the first time and it was a very big deal to me. I had once or twice thought, half-jokingly, that it would be just like my mother to die in the middle of this important event. She had often managed to stage life crises at the most important times of my life, forcing me to make difficult decisions about my priorities and boundaries. On more than one occasion I had chosen to say no to her and then struggled with her anger and my guilt, feeling that I could never be a good enough daughter to please her. It looked as though this pattern wasn’t to repeat, however, since my mother had just gone into the hospital and was awaiting transfer to a hospice where she would spend the remaining five or so months her doctor expected her to live.
On this day I had very little time. In fact, I hadn’t planned to see my mother at all. But, as I hurried to get ready for my big workshop, something compelled me to take time out to prepare a special treat of perfect berries and summer-ripened fruits, beautifully arranged (one of the few things that could still tempt my mother’s waning appetite), and take it to her. On my way into the hospital, I tripped and fell in the parking lot, skinning my knee and mashing the berries and fruit that I had arranged so perfectly. The gift I had wanted to give was once again flawed.
I didn’t stay more than fifteen minutes with my mother that day. She received the squashed fruit as though it was something precious, and for the first time in many weeks, perhaps many years, there was only love between us, simple and uncomplicated. Neither of us said anything profound. I had a sense there was nothing more she needed from me. There would be no more difficult choices between being myself and being the daughter I thought she wanted. I left to go back to work, looking forward to the following week when my workshop would be over and I had the whole week set aside to spend with her.
I never got the chance. My mother died during the workshop. Due to hospital error, I wasn’t informed immediately and didn’t find out until my workshop was almost over. So, one last time my mother and I managed to stage major life events at the same time, and one more time we got to do this dance we had created between us. At the time I felt regret and guilt at not being with her, guilty relief at the hospital error that delayed the news of my mother’s death long enough for me to complete my workshop, and sadness over not having more quality time with her, even though the quality of our last fifteen minutes seemed to surpass a lifetime of quantity. In retrospect, I wouldn’t have my mother’s passing any other way.
What has been powerfully moving for me since her death is how deeply I feel she is still with me. Several months before my mother knew she was sick, I dreamed that she died. In my dream, we continued to have an active relationship after her death and were able to heal aspects of our relationship that we couldn’t heal during her lifetime. I now know this dream to be truth. Where there has been love, it is never too late to heal, to extend forgiveness, to share love and to receive guidance and comfort.
Exercise I: Inviting a Dream Visit
Our ingrained fear of death can shroud the whole experience of transition with so much emotional pain that we become unavailable to the loving connection that’s still there with a deceased loved one. Sometimes this connection can be more easily accessed in a dream state when our conscious mind is turned off. The following is an exercise for inviting a visit in dreamtime.
- Preparation for the dream: You may want to review the steps for incubating a dream given in the lesson for the fourth week of September, and use any of those suggestions that feel helpful. Have paper and pen or a tape recorder by your bed to record your dream.
- As you fall asleep: Bring to mind anyone you love who died before you had a chance to feel complete with them, or whom you simply miss and would like to visit. Picture this person in your mind’s eye and imagine he or she is with you. Share anything that feels unfinished, or whatever is on your mind and in your heart. Know that this person’s Higher Self is with you, taking it in. Let your imagination create a visit between the two of you. (Imagination is the doorway into intuition and psychic perception, so your imaginings may have more reality than you think.) Let this vision reach a natural conclusion or carry you into sleep. As you fall asleep, hold an intention to continue your visit in a dream.
- Upon awakening, write down whatever dream you remember. (Even a dream that doesn’t include this individual may still be relevant to your relationship and what you need from it to feel complete.) If you don’t remember a dream, make one up before getting out of bed.
This dream exercise can be done with the living just as well as with those who’ve crossed over. We often visit each other in dreamtime, and inviting a visit is a good way to resolve things, heal, or continue to grow together, especially when there are obstacles to doing this in waking time.
Are We Intruding upon the Dead?
I once had someone express concern that she was intruding upon her dead loved ones by pulling them away from wherever they were to be with her. When I asked her for more information, she explained that when she did the exercise she imagined herself reaching out and yanking them into her world! There need be no sense of invasiveness in this process. Spiritually, we’re all always in relationship. Everything is connected. There really are not separate worlds; just limited perception. Rather than calling a being to us, we are imagining beyond the illusionary separateness of physical reality to experience the greater reality where we’re still together and have always been.
Relationships Continue Beyond Death
Those nearing the bridge of death can be the greatest teachers. If we step beyond our fear enough to let our hearts open to those in transition, we have an opportunity to glimpse the Light of true reality. One such teacher for me was my friend Cheryl Rhehovsky, whom I’ve mentioned here before. When I first met Cheryl she was already beginning to talk openly about her death. Yet, at the time, it seemed so unreal. She was so full of life and spirit, determined to try anything at least once, be it winter camping, fire-walking, skiing, or learning to drive. Disabled from birth with a degenerative disease, doctors predicted that she wouldn’t live beyond her teens. I met her when she was 27.
But gradually, over the years, Cheryl’s physical limits became greater and greater. She lost her capacity to drive and was forced to give up her beloved van, specially equipped with wheelchair ramp and adaptations to her dwarfed limbs. This crushing blow of lost freedom proved to be a door opening. Fiercely independent and unwilling to be “needy,” I saw her gradually soften, allowing others to help her. This loss of independence turned into a gain of friendship and support as she realized how many people were willing to go out of their way for her.
As the range of her physical capabilities narrowed, Cheryl directed her daredevil spirit into the new challenge of intimacy. She pursued the adventures and risks of opening her heart with the same courage that led her into her first vision quest (a night alone in the woods, propped against a tree, unable to move from her spot until someone came for her the next day). When Cheryl was forced to quit her job, she pursued being a friend and serving the people in her life—who were then quite numerous—as her life work. She became the hub of a whole community. Her home was a gathering place, always busy and full of life.
Though we lived in different cities, we stayed closely in touch with frequent phone conversations. But, during the last year of her life, we spoke less frequently. For a long time neither of us commented on the change. It didn’t seem entirely intentional or even conscious. One day, though, while together, we both shared having the same strange feeling of late, of being in each other’s presence, in spite of the miles separating us and the fact that we rarely talked on the phone. As we spoke this out loud for the first time we realized that this “together” feeling was the reason for our lack of phone calls.
She shared that she hadn’t called to tell about her recent hospitalization because she’d felt such a strong sense that I was with her. I’d experienced something similar while writing an article about Cheryl. I didn’t bother to call her until it was finished because I had an odd sense of her speaking to me as I wrote, directing my words. When she read the article, she was amazed at how perfectly the words I’d written felt like her own. In fact, on the day I wrote this piece, she’d been napping all afternoon, going in and out of dreams about being with me.
Cheryl and I had often talked about doing some collaborative writing. She had a message she wanted to give to the world but lacked the energy for such a project. For a time we both felt pressured to accomplish this task—time felt short. But the writing just wasn’t happening; the inspiration wasn’t quite there yet. Then somewhere along the way we both relaxed. We didn’t speak about this change until long after it happened, just as with our lack of phone calls. When we did finally speak, it came out that, again, we were responding to a new and growing certainty about our connection. We both were beginning to feel that our work together wouldn’t be stopped by Cheryl’s passing from her body. We even sensed that it might be enhanced. I thought that writing “with” Cheryl after her death might be very similar to my earlier experience of hearing Cheryl’s words speaking in my head the day I wrote an article about her.
Spiritual Advisor of QSU
Years ago, while still writing the summer session of the Miracles Course curriculum, I met with an ordination student who had a deep interest in the end of life and beyond. I sensed that she might be particularly gifted at connecting with those who’ve crossed over and invited her to experiment with this by seeing what kind of message she might receive from Cheryl, who made her transition in 1995.
Cheryl’s humor, her stubborn determination to do anything a normal-bodied person could do, and her never-ending love of life made her a much-sought-after friend to many. She was highly gregarious and loved being part of groups with a spiritual or personal growth bent, even when her body was so in pain she needed to bring a special mattress to lie on. Nothing could stop her from being wherever the action was. When she spoke up in a group, her words were invariably so poignantly undefended and from the heart that she could move a whole group to tears. She became a spiritual teacher to many who knew her. As she approached death, the only thing she dreaded was leaving all her friends. What finally helped her let go was the dawning realization that leaving her body didn’t mean she’d be leaving us!
Before she passed, one of her friends asked her to give us signs of her presence by moving objects around. Cheryl thought about this for a moment and said she wasn’t sure she’d be able to do that. But since her death, many of us who knew her have had any number of mysterious movements of “Cheryl objects”: pictures of her falling off shelves, things that belonged to her showing up unexplainably in odd places, etc. Clearly, she’s still with us and making her presence known.
In a class I was leading at Minneapolis’ health crisis resource center, Pathways, with the then-Director, Howard Bell, I planned to have everyone ask a deceased loved one for a sign of their presence. I planned to share my experiences with Cheryl as an example. But, as it turned out, I didn’t have to share past experiences. Not knowing what I planned, Howard met me before class with a piece of paper in Cheryl’s handwriting and asked if this was the same Cheryl who had been my friend. It was her intake form for services at Pathways, well over a decade old, and with perfect synchronicity, Howard had just happened to be cleaning out old files and just happened to come across hers, and just happened to remember that I had a friend named Cheryl. So Cheryl did it again! I got the feeling she much enjoyed being part of the group that night.
The ordination student knew nothing of this when she picked up on Cheryl “missing” something. Immediately, I understood that Cheryl was missing being part of the group. Cheryl was a technical whiz and back in the early days of the internet, when it was all a great mystery to me, Cheryl told me of amazing possibilities, where people from all areas would be able to have live interactions through their computers. She dreamed of creating such a virtual group.
I’m no technical whiz, myself, and was a little slow to move on her vision, but here it is in the form of the Miracles Course and, from the start, I had the feeling that Cheryl was itching to participate! I suggested to the student who channeled this message that she might like to get to know Cheryl and call on her as a helpful friend from the other side. That inspired me to go a step further and appoint Cheryl to the official position of Spiritual Advisor to the Miracles Course that she helped inspire so many years ago.
Exercise II: Meeting the Miracles Course Spiritual Advisor
This week or any time, I invite us all to say hello to Cheryl and see if there might be a beneficial relationship to be made with this playful, wise, and loving soul on the other side of the veil. Use any of the methods presented here or simply quiet your mind and open to contact. Ask the Miracles Course Spiritual Advisor how she may be able to assist you in your lesson work and your life. You may be pleasantly surprised by what comes back to you!
Exercise III: Meeting in the Spirit Realm
Having a meeting in the spirit realm is a wonderful way to transcend the illusion of death and draw strength, love, and wisdom from our ancestors and loved ones who’ve passed out of physical existence. It’s also a good way to heal relationships fraught with pain and lack of forgiveness at the time of death.
At the level of our higher, spiritual selves, we’re free from the struggles that beset our personalities, and this kind of spiritual visiting is a good way to rise above any separateness you may have felt with someone to experience the love and connection that are always there. If you choose to revisit a relationship that still feels painful and unhealed, it’s particularly important to connect with your Higher Self first and only open to experience the other person’s Higher Self as you do this exercise. If you’re very fearful of encountering a particular person, even in spirit, wait until you feel more at peace with the prospect.
The following meditation guides you through a meeting in spirit. An adaptation of this exercise for group work is also included here and I highly recommend creating an opportunity to do this with others, if you can. The channeled feedback that comes through other people is often surprising and profoundly moving in its accuracy.
As always, make sure you have some private uninterrupted time for this. Create a sacred atmosphere in any way you’d like. You might want to create an altar with candles, pictures, and/or special objects that remind you of the person you’d like to visit.
Meditation
Relax your body and quiet your mind with some deep, slow breaths. Take some time to still your thoughts and create a peaceful state of mind.
Softly, let your awareness expand to include your Higher Self: the beautiful, radiant being of light that is your true Self; the part of you that is always whole, perfect, and undisturbed by the ripples and issues of human experience.
Allow to come to mind an important person in your life who’s no longer living in a physical body. This may be someone you deeply miss; it could be someone who died with much unresolved between you; it could even be a distant ancestor whom you would like to meet. As you relax and open your mind, see who pops into your awareness. It may be just whom you expected, or it may be that another soul you weren’t as aware of wants to contact you and is making his or her presence known. Take a moment to see who’s there. If there’s more than one, allow one of the group to step forward.
Just as you bring only your highest, wisest self to this meeting, so are you now experiencing the Higher Self of this being. You may recognize familiar personality traits, yet all the illusions of the physical realm have fallen away so any struggle, pain, or misunderstanding that may have characterized your human relationship is absent. Only love ties you together now, and a deep desire to serve one another’s highest good. Take a moment to greet this being, both the familiar person you knew and the totality of the soul you may not have seen in the context of your human relationship.
If there’s anything you need to say to this soul, speak your message as though the person is truly with you, hearing every word. Use this opportunity to share any feelings and messages that were left unspoken at the time of death. Know that it’s never too late to extend forgiveness and love.
Allow this being to speak to you. He or she may have a response to your words, or may want to share with you why they’ve come to you today. There may be a gift, a message, or some form of healing or assistance this soul has come to give you, so be open and see what’s offered. Let your imagination create a dialogue between you. (It’s OK if you feel like you’re just making it up, because imagination is often how we receive intuitive and psychic impressions.).
Focus your attention, now, on the relationship you had with this person. Regardless of whether this was a challenging relationship or a supportive one, or both, imagine there are lessons the two of you shared that are probably beyond anything you ever dreamed when you were in the midst of it. So look at it now from the wisdom of your spiritual Self. What did you most appreciate about this person? What was this person’s greatest gift to you? From your expanded perspective you can see that even challenging experiences offer blessings in disguise, helping us to deepen and to develop strengths, adding facets and brilliance to our soul, even when our personality may not understand it at the time. See how you were enriched by this other soul and take a moment to offer thanks for whatever role this being played in your life lessons.
Let yourself see through any conflicts, limitations, or dramas your personalities may have enacted. See this person as a soul with their own lessons to learn. Know that at the spiritual level, the conflicts and separateness of the physical realm don’t exist and there is never any intention to do harm or withhold love between souls—just agreements to enact roles and learn lessons. Give this soul a chance to speak and see what he or she has to say about your shared purposes and lessons.
When your visit feels complete, thank this person and say goodbye. If you wish, you may ask her or him to give you a sign to signal their presence so that when you encounter it as you go about your day, you’ll know this soul is still with you.
Take some deep breaths to bring yourself back to a normal waking state. Come back feeling refreshed, alert, and awake.
Meeting in the Spirit Realm Group Exercise
This exercise expands upon the preceding meditation, allowing more input through the intuitive channeling of other people. I’ve often done this exercise with “beginners” who’ve never done anything like this before—even those who aren’t sure they believe in life after death—and most have very powerful and meaningful experiences with this exercise. It’s often quite amazing to those doing the channeling how strongly they sense personality characteristics, even when very little information has been disclosed about the person they’re contacting. For example, once a woman who only knew that she was channeling a male friend of mine who died at age thirty-eight, started speaking to me with the gestures, expressions, and tone of voice of a very outspoken, flamboyant, gay black man, which he was.
Another time, a woman had to stifle her first instincts as she channeled a man’s dearly beloved friend who’d died a year before. He was obviously still grieving her loss and the one channeling was trying to be respectfully somber, yet all she saw was a woman goofing around with funny hats. She finally shared her funny hats impression, only to have the man burst into tears. When he composed himself enough to speak, he said that funny hats were her signature fashion statement and hearing that opened him to the possibility that she really was still with him.
One of the most memorable channeling experiences I ever had was for a woman who wanted to hear from her deceased daughter. When I tuned into the child, I was overwhelmed by the most clear, pure feeling of love—and absolutely no words. It was an incredibly moving experience to be so with this loving soul and it communicated to me, without words, that it (it didn’t seem male or female) never meant to stay for a human life; it made the sacrifice to be born so that the woman could be consciously aware of its presence and its tremendous love for her. What I didn’t know until we talked later, was that the child died shortly after birth, never reaching an age of verbalization. Having this new perspective of her child’s purpose helped her let go of grief and open to the love this amazing soul had for her.
Step One: Preparation
Soft lighting and neutral, meditative music make good accompaniments for this exercise. If you’re doing this in a group of eight or more, I recommend breaking down into smaller groups of three or four, both for time purposes as well as to create a more intimate experience. Have paper and pens ready for everyone. A handy box of tissues is also a good idea.
Step Two: The Meditation
Have someone lead the preceding meditation, or record it so everyone can listen at the same time.
Step Three: Channeling
Next, let one person share who came to them in their visit. Only share a few details: their gender, their age, and their relationship to you, as in mother, friend, spouse, child, etc. Don’t share details of your meditation or a lot of background information, as this may color people’s intuitive feedback. To access clear intuition, it’s often better to know less.
Other group members are then to become quiet and relaxed and bring to mind the spirit visitor just described in whatever way your imagination depicts him or her. Open to any messages, thoughts, or feelings that spontaneously pop into mind. Just relax, don’t censor, and let your imagination play with this. Say whatever comes to you. Imagine yourself in the role of messenger, delivering the visitor’s message to the receiver. Even if you’ve never done anything like this before, you may be amazed at how quickly impressions start coming to you and how appropriate these spontaneously channeled messages are. As the messages are spoken, the receiver is to write them down.
When everyone has shared their impressions, go on to the next person and repeat this process. Even though you may be tempted to discuss the feedback as it’s given, hold off until everyone has had a turn to receive messages. This will help maintain a meditative state throughout and make sure time doesn’t run out before everyone gets a turn.
Step Four: Discussion
When all messages have been given, allow time to discuss what felt meaningful about the exercise. At this point, everyone is free to share more background information or details of their meditation that weren’t shared earlier. When everyone feels complete, bring the small groups back together for general sharing before ending.
Creating a Halloween Event
Halloween has always been a time when disembodied spirits are celebrated. In a description of the original Celtic roots of Halloween in the book The Grandmother of Time, Zsuzanna Budapest writes, “This is the time of year to think about our own mortality. The veil is the thinnest between the worlds tonight, and dead souls visit their living relatives.” This Halloween, why not think beyond costumes and trick-or-treating, and use the opportunity of the thinning veil to honor and strengthen your link to friends and family who are no longer in body?
You can make the preceding exercise into more of an event by inviting friends together to honor deceased loved ones. Tell each person to come with one or two people in mind whom they wish to honor. Have them bring pictures, mementoes, an unscented candle to light for each person, and a dish of each loved one’s favorite food.
As guests arrive, invite them to place their pictures, objects, and unlit candles on a special altar area. Begin the gathering by having guests introduce their loved ones and light their candles to honor them.
You may include the preceding meditation, or meditation and channeling exercise, in your event for a group interested in this level of exploration—or simply make a party of it by going right on to the pot-luck feast of loved ones’ favorite foods. Over the meal, encourage each person to share a favorite story of their honored guest. You may wish to include in your feast the ancient tradition of making a plate for the spirit guests and later taking it outside as an offering to the animals and the earth.
End your gathering formally with a prayer, a reading, or a simple thank you to the spirit guests before blowing out the candles, or informally by letting each guest blow out their candle and collect their things as they leave.
Components of this event can also be used at memorial services or on anniversaries of a loved one’s passing. Following Cheryl’s memorial service, people were invited to share a repast of all her favorite foods, and even the most tearful among us couldn’t help but laugh when confronted with the huge, tooth-aching display of candy, cookies, cake, doughnuts, jelly sandwiches, and sugary drinks!
In Closing
As we end this month’s exploration of death and beyond, perhaps we’ll take with us an awareness that the ending we call death is no more permanent than winter. Death is life distilling to its essence and becoming brighter because of its invisibility to the physical senses. When death breaks into our lives, as it always must in one way or another, let it be an opportunity to see past the terrible tragedy and fearful loss of control to the powerful lessons in trust, surrender, and peace that it offers. Let death lead us to the knowledge that we’re never alone and there’s nothing to fear.
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