I got a chill when I saw the word “Tibet” today because it took me back to the late 60s when I was a newly minted second lieutenant trying to make his way in the US army. The words that impressed me then, however, had nothing to do with the military. It had everything to do with life. Nearly 40 years later, I see that the “Tibetan Book of the Dead” called out to me, though I may not have known it then. Continue reading
It’s just like heaven . . . Being here with you . . . You’re like an Angel . . Too good to be true. When You are near me. My heart skips a beat. I can hardly stand on. My own two feet. Because I Love You; I Love You, I Do. ‘Angel Baby’. My ‘Angel Baby’. Oh, Ooh, I Love You, Oh, Ooh, I Do . . . No One Could Love You . . . Like I Do!
— Rosie & the Originals
Angels appeared to me out of a synchronicity of a dream, and later, a conscious meditation where I realized certain people I met in my life served as agents of change, directing me through the hills and valleys of my present journey. Yes, I call these “messengers” angels, thank you, Dr. Carl Jung. And you will see why!
First, let me tell you of the dream. A white-haired man dressed in a three piece suit spoke with another man also dressed in a suit . They stood in an aisle of a train near seats where I sat along with another man and a young woman. No one appeared to know the other, but the seated passengers, myself included, were deeply engrossed in the conversation the two standing men were having. “Don’t you know me?” the taller man spoke to the white-haired, older man, who had identified himself as a Mister Socrates. I forgot if he mentioned his last name.
“I’m sure you will recognize me,” the second man added. This man was slightly bald and started challenging the elder speaker to recall an earlier time the two spent long hours together. I don’t remember any details of their discussions, but they were profound, enlightening and mesmerizing.
The men looked toward us, the seated passengers, as if they had interrupted some activity, but I spoke for the three of us, stating that we were keenly interested in what they had to say, and to please continue with their discourse.
Moments later, I was alone with the white-haired man. I noticed that he had a slight beard, trimmed neatly, and had a cherub-round face. Was the face German? Nordic? Or was he from some other nearby European country that provided red cheeks and rugged look among its dwellers, I thought. He told me he had finished one book and was writing a second. He seemed cautious and concerned of my reaction when he told me about the first one, claiming some people would not warm to the subject matter or believe in its content.
“What’s the name of the book,” I asked, curious and interested in his story as I looked into his eyes to get a clearer view of this man. “The book is about Angels,” he said, initially glancing to the floor and then directly towards me, his eyes lighting up. “Those I Know, have Known, and will be Knowing” he added with a smile.