School of Hard Knocks"Do not encroach on other people or their property" is one of the spiritual laws of life that I've violated many times. Each time I created a debt that would have to be repaid. One time the payment came due the same day. Years ago I worked as a handler for an Iditarod musher, in the foothills of the Alaska Range. My job was to feed and care for his eighty dogs and to help train them. Another Iditarod musher was our nearest neighbor, and his handler "Nick" and I became friends that winter. At race time in March, my boss and his wife were away for a month, which gave me lots of free time after the chores were done. I had four dogs of my own so I did lots of exploring, mostly alone but sometimes with Nick. One day Nick told me he'd found a new trail down to the river. Our side of the river was mostly steep cliffs, with few places a dog team could safely descend. The trail he'd found was ten miles away, so he suggested a day trip, which sounded like fun. A twenty-mile run is a long way for four young dogs, so I hitched two of my boss's dogs in the team with mine. These were dogs that had started the race but had been sent home because of sore joints. They'd been back home for several days and appeared sound. I thought this run would be easy for them, and I needed their added power in order to keep up with Nick's fast six-dog team. On that beautiful spring day my team started out fast and full of energy, but after several miles I could see that the borrowed dogs were hurting. Typical sled dogs are very stoic, and reveal pain only by subtle changes in gait or attitude. Now both dogs were limping. I slowed the team but kept going, too stubborn to turn back and admit that I'd been wrong to take these dogs. The new "trail" turned out to be a steep creek bed with a narrow snowshoe track winding between clumps of alders. Right away my sled hit a leaning alder and tipped over into deep powder. As I wiped snow from my face, a queasy feeling in my stomach told me I had damaged some part of my body. Nothing was hurting yet, so I took inventory of my body parts: my knee now bent in ways it was not designed to bend. Now I was in a real pickle. One-legged, in snow up to my waist, my choices were to somehow turn around my team to go back the way we came, or to untangle the sled from the alder and jump on before the dogs realized it was no longer stuck. Either choice carried the risk of further injury, or becoming stranded far from home if the team ran away. Somehow I managed to right my sled, jerk it free, and jump onto the runners with one good leg. I'm still not sure how I managed all the twists and turns down to the river. Between me being one-legged and the borrowed dogs now slowed to a walk, the miles home seemed endless. By "borrowing" dogs that didn't belong to me and causing them pain instead of letting them rest and heal like I was supposed to do, I created a spiritual debt. The debt came due instantly, and I had to pay by experiencing pain and disability for myself. It was an unforgettable lesson in self-responsibility. —by Jane Hocking Out of the Pit and into the LightIt was the anniversary of my husband’s father’s death, and we could feel Les everywhere around the Chinitna Bay property he had left to his family. Les and his wife had homesteaded in Alaska in the fifties, and my husband was born before it was fully a State of the Union. The property is accessible by boat or plane only, and has mountains spilling down into the yard and majestic views of the bay. We felt Les especially in his favored red cabin. My husband, Dyer, had earlier considered testing a generator in there, but had decided against it as it felt like too much of an intrusion. He even got a little upset with me when I grabbed some utensils from the little cabin. So when I woke up on the anniversary of his death thinking Les might have something to express, I headed up to the red cabin to meditate and offer myself as a "channel." I sat on the bed and quieted myself. I began to get a purple-blue light in my mind’s eye, moving as if it were traveling up a tube, in waves. Before long, I was looking into a deep, dark pit, and I could feel the energy shift. I knew I was looking at what Les was seeing, and was entirely surprised to find that he was in such a tormented place. I felt he had done so much at the end of his life to reconnect with his estranged family, and had really softened in his nature and thinking; the desperation I felt as I looked into that dark abyss told me he had hung onto a lot of anger and disappointments. I knew there was light up above, and I struggled for what must have been a long time, trying to mentally and physically urge Les to look up. Finally, after an exhausting struggle, I felt the view of consciousness raise, little by little, and then felt and saw the light flood in as he finally looked up and saw the bright disc-like light that looked to be the opening of the pit. I felt a huge sense of relief. When I came out of my meditation and tried to stand up, I nearly fell over. It took me a bit to fully inhabit my body again and be steady on my feet. The experience was so intense and unexpected that I didn’t say a word to Dyer about it. When we were back on this side of the Inlet, Dyer randomly mentioned that on the anniversary of Les’s death he had felt a kind of release as if his father had moved on. My skin prickled with recognition of something really amazing, and I told him of my experience in the cabin. We marveled at the synchronicity of the two events, and the ability to connect with those who have passed. I received one more confirmation of my experience while I was getting a reading from an intuitive nearly a year later. She interrupted her reading to inform me that she just had to let me know that an elderly gentleman was standing behind me and that he wanted her to say “thank you” to me. I knew it was Les. It was another six months until I discovered the outer path of Eckankar, but I feel confident that the purple-blue light that guided and protected me was the Mahanta, the Living ECK Master, Sri Harold Klemp. As my spiritual guide he has been beside me ever since, and I feel so grateful that I can now recognize him. —by Zirrus van Devere On the Wings of LoveOn a gray day, ten miles from shore, in the Gulf of Alaska, we received a visitor. The weather brought a crisp breeze and five foot swells gently rolling under our bow. The clouds, sky and water blended to an almost monotone sameness. There was a spring chill in the air when we left Icy Bay to skirt the southern tip of Kayak Island and anchor in the protected waters of Hinchinbrook Island, an eighteen hour transit. The first sighting of our visitor was such a surprise. What was a little bird like that doing out at sea? My husband thought it might be lost in all the grayness not being able to see land. Knowing the bird must be hungry and tired, he scrambled downstairs to see what we could offer. He came topside with water in a jar lid and a piece of bread which he tucked under our dinghy rope so the wind wouldn't’t blow it away. Our little visitor circled a few more times then landed on the dinghy. As he pondered the fare, we watched in utter fascination. Since this little guy had so much of it, I’ll call him “Spirit.” Spirit began fluttering closer to us eventually landing on our controls. His little feet just wrapped the arch of those controls as effectively as he wrapped our hearts in the hours that ensued. After his first curious inspection of us, he seemed to determine we were safe enough he could rest in our care for a while. Spirit felt utterly comfortable sitting on my husband's finger, when Ken gave him the offer. He even sat on that same finger as Ken fed himself some crackers, never fluttering or sensing ill will. Not knowing exactly what to offer Spirit we chose a piece of banana and a little dab of peanut butter. He would dip his beak in the peanut butter then wipe off the residue on the rim of Ken’s coffee mug. Spirit flew up in my wind blown hair and nestled there for a time, eventually landing right over my heart, tucking his head under his wing and slept for a very long time. Nothing short of a dire disaster could have made me disturb that slumber. Such charming antics won our hearts very quickly. Spirit stayed with us for about five-and-a-half hours. He would take flight in ever widening circles and then return to us. As the boat approached the southern tip of Kayak Island the grayness of the day lessened. Spirit could finally go safely to shore. He made several laps around the boat as if to salute his safe island in the sea then winged his way to land. I knew this experience was one of those once in a lifetime events. I was so full of awe and gratitude for having been given this wonderful exposure to wildlife and humans interacting in such a profound way. Spirit brought us the gift of love, a gift that continues forever. Soon after that wondrous day, I had another adventure in the Gulf of Alaska; the water was rough with following seas; uncomfortable even for old sea hands. I did not have enough experience to find my comfort zone and fear took hold. I remember thinking I did not want to allow fear to ride the journey of life with me; fear was not my friend and embracing it was taking something from experiences given to me. How to resolve this? Surrender the fear; embrace the love of life; be confident all is as it should be; remember I had been given tools to use and someone who was walking my path with me. On one level I had recognition of these gifts but was still hesitant of trusting myself to be able to face fear head on. I sat down in the back of our boat softly singing my love song to God, with each chant of the HU my fear was held in check. Finally we made way to calm waters and the dawning realization came ever so softly: Spirit, our little winged visitor, was just like me; lost in a sea of doubt; confused by clouds of illusion; tired; needing sanctuary and a guiding hand to resume his path. So it was that on the wings of love, Spirit brought with him another lesson; awareness of the blessings given, confirmation that the Mahanta [an inner, spiritual guide--CAH] is always with me and love so that I may face life with joy, banishing fear and illusion in the Ocean of Love and Mercy. May the blessings be. —by Pamela Bystedt A Blustery Beachy Day
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