Three Days Of Meditation
Stories
Vision Stories
True Accounts Of Visions, Angels, And Healing Miracles
Day One
We gathered in a large, pleasant lounge on Friday morning. Wide windows running the entire length of the room showed the sun shining on the green, rolling hills of Connecticut. Inside, by the back wall, tables were set up for participants to register alphabetically. Closer to the windows, simple tan chairs and couches were arranged into small "conversational" groupings. However, everyone was quiet. There were none of the quick pleasantries and nervous energies of newly forming groups. Even at the tables the people were whispering their way through registration.
After receiving their materials, everyone found a comfortable spot to look through the information. I chose a chair on the far side of the room. From this vantage point, I quietly examined the people arriving: a gray-haired woman in a gauzy blouse and white pants; a chubby thirtyish man with a tattooed bicep, wearing a sleeveless undershirt and shiny navy jogging pants that swished when he walked; a petite woman with curly brown hair and large eyes wearing a dark sweatsuit; another attractive, middle-aged woman in black leggings and a loose blue sweater. I estimated that ages ranged from low twenties to upper sixties; an unpretentious looking collection of five men and nine women.
When registration was completed, we were led to a small, windowless gymnasium. Along one wall there were tables set up with sound equipment. In the center was a ring of folding chairs in a perfect circle. We took our seats.
Before coming, we were to think and write about what was concerning us the most at this time in our lives. We officially began the afternoon by sharing this assignment, each taking a turn to speak. The rest of the group just listened.
I shared that I had experienced health problems in the past years. I had a breast removed due to cancer, and lived with frequent headaches. I hoped to improve my health through meditation. Other attendees had reasons as varied as their ages. The gauze blouse, a self-proclaimed earth mother, needed financial guidance; the blue sweater, an author, questioned what she wanted to do with her book; both a tattooed mechanic and a young female chiropractor wanted to be closer to God; a twenty-year-old au pair wondered what to do with her grief over losing her boyfriend. The dark sweatsuit, a wiry, petite fortyish woman with a low, wavy brown ponytail, identified herself as Alexandra. Her twin sister had died three years earlier, and she was still consumed with grief.
When Alexandra spoke, I could hear my children's voices.
I am the mother of triplets, two identical girls and a boy, now 25 years old. When they were younger, I had been concerned about them being too dependent on each other. As adults, they have proven to function well alone, with the blessing of still being exceptionally close. I keenly felt her pain, imagining my children having to go through that excruciating experience someday, knowing I was powerless to protect them from it.
Alexandra's large, brown eyes were downcast and her hands fidgeted in her lap as she told of her sister, Mary Janet. Despite living in different parts of the country with their own families, they had been extremely close, and spoke twice a day until Mary Janet's death. Alexandra had come to find a way to say good-bye.
After sharing, we were introduced to a goal-oriented meditation that evolved through music, movement, and emotional release. The room was darkened, the music loud. If you felt like crying, you cried: laughing, you laughed. If you wanted to move, you moved. No one paid attention to anyone else. We just focused on what was in our own minds and hearts. This was interspersed with quiet meals and lessons.
At 10 p.m., we ended for the night and filed out in silence, tired, fully ready for a break. Most of us had rented rooms and headed our own ways. Alexandra lived close by, so she drove home.
Day Two
Our next time for sharing came Saturday morning, before we ventured into the work for the day.
I explained that I had become aware of how thoroughly I extinguished any emotions I deemed unpleasant. How could I learn to identify and release these feelings to benefit my mental and physical health? I had my work cut out for me.
Alexandra reported on the wonderful conversation she had with her husband when she got home. She had explained the meditation and the work she had started. He had held her as she cried, and encouraged her to "go for it." Her hands fluttered over her heart as she told us of the huge hole left there when her sister died.
Day two was a twelve-hour stretch of the same format, with no talking. The work was all internal dialogue, exhausting and gratifying. After the long day, we had one more chance to share. I eagerly awaited Alexandra's turn, and wasn't disappointed.
"I am an artist," she reported, "so it seemed logical when I envisioned myself painting during my meditation. It felt very real." Her wide eyes widened more. "I was working on a large picture, which turned out to be of God. In my painting, God was holding Mary Janet!" Her arms curved gently in front of her, leaving a space where I could envision her sister. "In the painting, Mary Janet was waving good-bye!" My eyes, along with Alexandra's, were filled with relief and damp with tears. "But there's more! I turned the painting over and was surprised to find another painting on the back!" With arched eyebrows, sitting straight in her chair, she swung her arms in a turning motion. "This one was of God, too, but he was holding me, here, back on earth."
We filed out of the room in quiet awe and headed toward our cars. We had worked hard and were ready for a break to absorb what we had learned. Our sharing had bonded us as a group, even though very few individual conversations had taken place.
Day Three
Sunday we gathered at 10 a.m. We would be finished with our workshop by 5 that evening, but never with the work. We followed the now familiar tasks that had made up the last two days. It wasn't until late that afternoon that we shared this day's, and the whole weekend's, meaning to us.
Blessings had occurred; prayers had been answered. The author overcame her fear of releasing her book for publication. The earth mother had gotten a call from a friend, offering her a car. I had felt God loving me, all of me: the angry me, the hateful me, the sad me, the generous me, the selfish me. I had learned that all of me was worthy of love. Would this help me stay healthy? I felt more mentally healthy already.
Angels had visited Alexandra. Angels had swirled down around her, and with them came all sorts of memories of times with her sister. She relived times they had been sad, times they had been naughty, and happy times. She remembered their dancing together as they grew up. "Attending a Catholic girls' school we were taught to dance, but since there weren't any boys, we always danced together. I always led," she explained with quiet pleasure, one arm around an invisible partner's waist, the other out to the side to slow dance. "I relived all those times we had together. It was incredible, but there's more! After all these wonderful memories, my sister came to me! There she was, with all her red hair." Alexandra's hands waved by her ears. "Mary Janet came to me as an angel, and she put her hand out to me and said, 'Let's dance, but this time I get to lead!' "
It took my breath away! I, who have seldom cried in years, found the tears and let them flow. What a gift to Alexandra; what a gift to all of us! I know now that my children, indeed any of us, need not utterly despair in the death of a person we love. We must say good-bye, but that does not mean that they need disappear completely from our lives.
The workshop was over. I had learned that it is possible for questions and prayers to be answered. Before we all headed back to our own homes and lives, I made sure that I spoke to Alexandra about the impact her experiences had on me. Her relaxed smile and parting words continue to delight me. "Now that Mary Janet is an angel, maybe she can be your guardian angel, too!" I know that anything is possible, so I am watching for that red hair. Knowing Alexandra's story has been a blessing to me. Maybe Mary Janet will be another!
We gathered in a large, pleasant lounge on Friday morning. Wide windows running the entire length of the room showed the sun shining on the green, rolling hills of Connecticut. Inside, by the back wall, tables were set up for participants to register alphabetically. Closer to the windows, simple tan chairs and couches were arranged into small "conversational" groupings. However, everyone was quiet. There were none of the quick pleasantries and nervous energies of newly forming groups. Even at the tables the people were whispering their way through registration.
After receiving their materials, everyone found a comfortable spot to look through the information. I chose a chair on the far side of the room. From this vantage point, I quietly examined the people arriving: a gray-haired woman in a gauzy blouse and white pants; a chubby thirtyish man with a tattooed bicep, wearing a sleeveless undershirt and shiny navy jogging pants that swished when he walked; a petite woman with curly brown hair and large eyes wearing a dark sweatsuit; another attractive, middle-aged woman in black leggings and a loose blue sweater. I estimated that ages ranged from low twenties to upper sixties; an unpretentious looking collection of five men and nine women.
When registration was completed, we were led to a small, windowless gymnasium. Along one wall there were tables set up with sound equipment. In the center was a ring of folding chairs in a perfect circle. We took our seats.
Before coming, we were to think and write about what was concerning us the most at this time in our lives. We officially began the afternoon by sharing this assignment, each taking a turn to speak. The rest of the group just listened.
I shared that I had experienced health problems in the past years. I had a breast removed due to cancer, and lived with frequent headaches. I hoped to improve my health through meditation. Other attendees had reasons as varied as their ages. The gauze blouse, a self-proclaimed earth mother, needed financial guidance; the blue sweater, an author, questioned what she wanted to do with her book; both a tattooed mechanic and a young female chiropractor wanted to be closer to God; a twenty-year-old au pair wondered what to do with her grief over losing her boyfriend. The dark sweatsuit, a wiry, petite fortyish woman with a low, wavy brown ponytail, identified herself as Alexandra. Her twin sister had died three years earlier, and she was still consumed with grief.
When Alexandra spoke, I could hear my children's voices.
I am the mother of triplets, two identical girls and a boy, now 25 years old. When they were younger, I had been concerned about them being too dependent on each other. As adults, they have proven to function well alone, with the blessing of still being exceptionally close. I keenly felt her pain, imagining my children having to go through that excruciating experience someday, knowing I was powerless to protect them from it.
Alexandra's large, brown eyes were downcast and her hands fidgeted in her lap as she told of her sister, Mary Janet. Despite living in different parts of the country with their own families, they had been extremely close, and spoke twice a day until Mary Janet's death. Alexandra had come to find a way to say good-bye.
After sharing, we were introduced to a goal-oriented meditation that evolved through music, movement, and emotional release. The room was darkened, the music loud. If you felt like crying, you cried: laughing, you laughed. If you wanted to move, you moved. No one paid attention to anyone else. We just focused on what was in our own minds and hearts. This was interspersed with quiet meals and lessons.
At 10 p.m., we ended for the night and filed out in silence, tired, fully ready for a break. Most of us had rented rooms and headed our own ways. Alexandra lived close by, so she drove home.
Day Two
Our next time for sharing came Saturday morning, before we ventured into the work for the day.
I explained that I had become aware of how thoroughly I extinguished any emotions I deemed unpleasant. How could I learn to identify and release these feelings to benefit my mental and physical health? I had my work cut out for me.
Alexandra reported on the wonderful conversation she had with her husband when she got home. She had explained the meditation and the work she had started. He had held her as she cried, and encouraged her to "go for it." Her hands fluttered over her heart as she told us of the huge hole left there when her sister died.
Day two was a twelve-hour stretch of the same format, with no talking. The work was all internal dialogue, exhausting and gratifying. After the long day, we had one more chance to share. I eagerly awaited Alexandra's turn, and wasn't disappointed.
"I am an artist," she reported, "so it seemed logical when I envisioned myself painting during my meditation. It felt very real." Her wide eyes widened more. "I was working on a large picture, which turned out to be of God. In my painting, God was holding Mary Janet!" Her arms curved gently in front of her, leaving a space where I could envision her sister. "In the painting, Mary Janet was waving good-bye!" My eyes, along with Alexandra's, were filled with relief and damp with tears. "But there's more! I turned the painting over and was surprised to find another painting on the back!" With arched eyebrows, sitting straight in her chair, she swung her arms in a turning motion. "This one was of God, too, but he was holding me, here, back on earth."
We filed out of the room in quiet awe and headed toward our cars. We had worked hard and were ready for a break to absorb what we had learned. Our sharing had bonded us as a group, even though very few individual conversations had taken place.
Day Three
Sunday we gathered at 10 a.m. We would be finished with our workshop by 5 that evening, but never with the work. We followed the now familiar tasks that had made up the last two days. It wasn't until late that afternoon that we shared this day's, and the whole weekend's, meaning to us.
Blessings had occurred; prayers had been answered. The author overcame her fear of releasing her book for publication. The earth mother had gotten a call from a friend, offering her a car. I had felt God loving me, all of me: the angry me, the hateful me, the sad me, the generous me, the selfish me. I had learned that all of me was worthy of love. Would this help me stay healthy? I felt more mentally healthy already.
Angels had visited Alexandra. Angels had swirled down around her, and with them came all sorts of memories of times with her sister. She relived times they had been sad, times they had been naughty, and happy times. She remembered their dancing together as they grew up. "Attending a Catholic girls' school we were taught to dance, but since there weren't any boys, we always danced together. I always led," she explained with quiet pleasure, one arm around an invisible partner's waist, the other out to the side to slow dance. "I relived all those times we had together. It was incredible, but there's more! After all these wonderful memories, my sister came to me! There she was, with all her red hair." Alexandra's hands waved by her ears. "Mary Janet came to me as an angel, and she put her hand out to me and said, 'Let's dance, but this time I get to lead!' "
It took my breath away! I, who have seldom cried in years, found the tears and let them flow. What a gift to Alexandra; what a gift to all of us! I know now that my children, indeed any of us, need not utterly despair in the death of a person we love. We must say good-bye, but that does not mean that they need disappear completely from our lives.
The workshop was over. I had learned that it is possible for questions and prayers to be answered. Before we all headed back to our own homes and lives, I made sure that I spoke to Alexandra about the impact her experiences had on me. Her relaxed smile and parting words continue to delight me. "Now that Mary Janet is an angel, maybe she can be your guardian angel, too!" I know that anything is possible, so I am watching for that red hair. Knowing Alexandra's story has been a blessing to me. Maybe Mary Janet will be another!
