I would like to share an incident that occurred to me after attending the June 1993 Lifeline program at The Monroe Institute .

The incident began on Tuesday morning, July 6, 1993. While listening to the Metamusic tape Downstream, I was attempting to regress myself to an earlier lifetime in which I perceived I was a radio operator on a World War II bomber. My main purpose for attempting the regression was to gather information about my “World War II self” that could possibly be verified.

With what seemed about five minutes of tape remaining, the name “Bob McC.” came into my head. When the tape finished, I pondered the experience and what sort of information it might provide me. My intuition guided me to the local telephone book and I found listings for R. J. McC. and R. J. McC., Jr. The odds seemed good that “R” might stand for Robert. Since my current physical life cycle began in 1948, I thought I might have some connection with R. J. McC., Sr. I decided to first call R. J. McC., Jr., the intent being to ask him about his father. There was no answer.

Next I called R. J. McC., Sr. An elderly woman answered. I identified myself and said that I was doing research on World War II. I told her that I’d come across the name “Bob McC.” And needed some information about Bob. The woman said he was in the other room and asked if I would like to talk to him. I was elated that at least I had located a person matching the name that came to me! When Bob came to the phone, I again identified myself and stated my purpose. Bob said he’d be glad to answer my questions. He indicated that he had been in the Air Force during World War II for three and one-half years and had remained stateside. I thanked him for the information and ended the conversation. In retrospect, I regretted not asking Bob more questions. I did not plan the phone call nor the line of questioning very well. But at least I had gleaned a few facts about Bob McC.

I phoned two friends that night to report the incident. For the next few days I tried to decide whether to proceed with this investigation and if so, how. On Friday, July 9, 1993, a new twist developed. I was reading the obituaries in the local newspaper and learned that Bob McC., Jr., had died. He had committed suicide on the Tuesday that I called his father. Bob Jr. was an Air Force veteran of the Vietnam War.

The new information confused me. I opened the lines of communication to my spirit guides to ask what message was being delivered. Their reply was: “The message is simple. You’ve just attended a program that helped you learn to retrieve and assist people who have departed the physical. Your job is to help Bob McC. to Focus 27.” That night, using the techniques from the Lifeline program, I found Bob Jr. in Focus 23 in a very agitated state. After calming him, we easily moved to Focus 27, where he is now resting until he decides his next direction.

I’m certain that I did not know either of the McCs in this lifetime. Prior to this incident, I can recall only one exposure to the surname “McC.” When I was a boy, there was a grocery store in our neighborhood bearing that name. I have verified with two family members that the grocery store owner was named Thomas McC.

Several questions still remain: What is my connection, if any, to Bob McC, Sr.? Is it significant that the name was given to me approximately nine hours before the suicide? Did the elder McCs remember my phone call or associate it in any way with their son’s suicide?

© 1994 by The Monroe Institute

The Monroe Institute’s Lifeline program gave me the training, experience and confidence to explore beyond my existence in the physical world. Through the LOVE, understanding and teaching of caring trainers, I learned to provide assistance “over there,” to locate and assist people who no longer live in physical bodies. As a way of passing this idea along to you . . .

On occasion, I go to a Saturday morning Bible study at a church I used to attend in Golden, Colorado. Through the years this has become a group of friends who support each other and just happen to gather together for a Bible study at a church. This small, close knit group has come to understand that I don’t necessarily share all their Lutheran beliefs. So the discussions are often lively, fun and interesting. After a particular Bible gathering last March, in which we’d talked about our images of what comes after this life, a friend named Rory approached me. Her grandmother had died a little over a year before and she asked if I’d check on her. A little surprised that she felt okay about asking, I explained that I’d need her grandmother’s name and Rory wrote it down–Gertrude Euphamia Weatherwax. I still find that aspect of Lifeline retrievals fascinating, that a person’s name serves as an unerring address to find them.

For as many times as I have done retrievals, you’d think I’d be supremely confident. Well I’m not. After Rory gave me her grandmother’s name I followed my usual pattern. I put it off and put it off, feeling anxious, with “maybe I won’t be able to do it again” thoughts drifting in and out occasionally. So now it’s Friday night, I’ll be seeing Rory tomorrow, and it’s time to try. I lay down, relaxed into a state called Focus 10, and checked in with Coach. He’s a non-physical friend of mine–a part of me really–who helps and advises me in many ways. “Coach,” I said, “I’d like to be sure that information comes to me, that I can share with Rory, that will let her know that I found her grandmother, and that she is alright.”

“OK Bruce, I’ll be glad to help,” was his reply.

Then I brought Gertrude’s name to mind and moments later I was moving through that familiar, 3D, grainy blackness at a leisurely pace, toward an old woman sitting in a chair. The chair she was sitting on felt like an old wooden chair, the kind you might find around an old kitchen table. Gertrude was small and frail looking, bent slightly forward at the waist. She seemed to be sitting in her kitchen in the only place familiar enough to feel safe to her. She looked to be in a very confused, distracted state of mind, as if she was not aware of anything in the surroundings beyond her wooden chair. It was like she had almost no contact with any form of reality we would recognize as coherent or sequenced in any way. Whatever was in her awareness seemed fragmented, to the point that she had long ago given up trying to make any sense of things happening around her.

Slowly I moved closer and stopped about six or seven feet away. As I watched, waiting for Gertrude to notice me standing there, I was also waiting for something to occur to me which would “fit” with her–a way to approach her that she would be able to accept. Oftentimes, refraining from jumping into the middle of retrieving a person makes it much easier for both of us. Turning slightly, Gertrude looked over and saw me. A puzzled expression crossed her face. In the next instant I could feel my friend Teena approaching from behind and to my right. Teena passed swiftly between Gertrude and me and then stopped off to my left, standing near where Gertrude was sitting. I watched as two other women approached Gertrude from the same direction. They were both dressed up in their “little old lady bodies.” The one nearest me I recognized as Teena’s grandmother because we’ve worked together before.

I didn’t have a clue who the other woman was until they both approached Gertrude where she sat on the chair. As they got closer Gertrude looked up and saw them. A look of recognition swept over her face and through her body. “Maggie, Maggie, what are you doing here?” Gertrude said as the two old ladies moved toward either side of the chair. Her open-mouthed gaze followed Maggie around. Then the two went closer to help her up from her chair. It was like watching a scene in a nursing home as they slowly bent down, reached for Gertrude’s arms, and gently lifted her up. Gertrude gazed at Maggie the entire time. Then, just as quickly as they appeared, the four of them began to move off–slowly at first, then accelerating rapidly to disappear into the blackness.

It felt like there was nothing more to hang around for, in fact I hadn’t really done that much. So I opened my eyes and got off the bed. I walked to the refrigerator to scrounge something to eat, then sat down at the table to record as much as I could remember. The next morning I went to Saturday Bible study as usual. Afterwards I told Rory I’d found her grandmother and that if she would like we could talk about it. We sat down and I told her the story in as much detail as possible. I was a little anxious and wanted to know if Rory could verify anything. She told me her grandmother was very confused and disconnected for the last six to eight months of her life. Every morning she had to be helped to the only place she seemed comfortable. This was a wooden chair in the kitchen of her own house. Although Gertrude’s mother’s name was Margaret, Rory thought it strange that her daughter would call her Maggie. After talking to her own mother, Rory later confirmed that everyone–including Gertrude–called Margaret “Maggie.”

It was obvious that Rory was uncomfortable and concerned about what I’d told her. Her own beliefs hold that at death we are freed from all afflictions and whisked off to Heaven to reunite with loved ones. The idea of her grandmother remaining in that chair, confused, lost and alone for over a year of our time, bothered Rory greatly. Probably that’s one of the reasons I continue to do the retrieval work taught in Lifeline. It bothers me too.

During each of the three Lifeline programs Bruce Moen has attended, he says “Progressively better, new ways of approaching different retrieval situations” have been presented to him. As Bruce relates, he found Rory’s grandmother and then watched as those best suited to the task carried out the retrieval. By willing to trust guidance and observe, he received verifying information for Rory. He’s learned that assistance is always waiting in the wings.

© 1995 by The Monroe Institute

I just needed to sit down and write a few words to you, about a few things that may mean something to you. I don’t know if I ever told you about my first experience in the “Park” but I discovered the Park System in 1948. It was September of 1948, about a week after my maternal grandmother had died. I was only two-and-a-half years old, but I remember everything that had occurred prior to and after her death. I was still sleeping in a crib at that age, and at night my grandmother would come to me through the third story window of the bedroom. The first meetings after she died were in the bedroom.

After a few visits she explained that I could hold her hand and go with her. As a child, I actually lived across the street from a rather large park (Deshongs Park in Chester, Pennsylvania) and before my grandmother’s death she would frequently take me there. As a small child I didn’t understand what death meant. My mother would be crying and saying that she missed grandma, but every night grandma would come to the bedroom and take me to the “Park.” One of the first discussions that we had about the “Park” was about building a place in the “Park” that would be “our little place.” I remember that we wanted a bench that was by a tree and as time went on, we built a rose trellis over the bench. We planted roses, and eventually we would sit and talk under an arch of sweet smelling roses.

One major problem was when she explained that she no longer would come and get me, but if I would go to “our place in the Park” she would come. With my child thought limitations I responded, “I can’t cross the big street without you.” I remember the concerned look that she gave me. She told me to wait on the bench while she went to talk with someone. She returned with a smile on her face and explained that she understood that, “Yes, you are too little to cross the street alone,” and she would show me a shortcut. Someone had given her permission. During those early years, I would go to the “Park,” and my grandmother would introduce me to people. She would explain that they had gotten there the same way she had. Grandmother would have me talk to them, and I always enjoyed all of the visits. I have used that shortcut to get to the “Park” all my life.

My grandmother was there until I was eleven, and that year she explained she no longer could meet me in the “Park.” After that meeting, my grandmother never came back to our little place, but I wasn’t sad . . . somehow I knew it was alright. That same year, during the summer on my father’s farm in Louisiana, I had different out-of-bodies that took me to a place where people would meet. It wasn’t the “Park.” This place was like a lodge, and I remember being so happy and laughing. I would come back to my body laughing in bed. I was sleeping with my fraternal grandmother. She thought I was crazy and took me into the kitchen to calm me down. This occurred about three nights in a row in the month of August 1957, and all I could tell her was “someday I am going to go to that place because the people are like me.”

In August of 1990 I attended the Guidelines program, where you spoke to us about your new program (Lifeline). You asked, “Has anyone heard of the Park?” and I raised my hand like a little school girl. “Wow,” I thought, “he’s been to the Park too!” On that Wednesday evening, when we were doing Free Flow 21, I was directed back to my past–to age eleven. I was at the farm in Louisiana and experiencing the out-of-body that had happened as a child. I realized that I had finally gotten to that Lodge with those people, and I started laughing. For me, it was a total realization of knowing this “Park” was indeed real just as the Lodge (Nancy Penn Center) was proven real. Two happenings crossed vectors that August of 1990, and my life has changed dramatically. Continue what you are doing because your work holds answers to questions that people haven’t even asked yet. I have had OOBE’s all my life, and in 1971 I read your book (Journeys Out of the Body ) and realized I wasn’t alone. Your work has kept me sane, and I truly appreciate all your courage to continue.

On January 28, 1995, Joy Matthies awakened from a dream in which a group of people from the “Park” were discussing Robert Monroe. They were talking about Bob’s personal situation in the physical plane, and she felt an urgency to communicate her gratitude for his ability to bridge physical and non-physical realities and bring them together. Joy works with Ellie, her puppet helper for music classes and concerts for adults, children, and senior citizens.

Hemi-Sync® is a registered trademark of Interstate Industries, Inc.

© 1995 by The Monroe Institute

After hearing the news of the explosion at the Oklahoma City federal building, around noon on Wednesday, I briefly thought of using my Lifeline training to help. As twilight fell here in Denver, restlessness drew me out to Bennigan’s for dinner and to be with people. After putting in my order for the seafood platter, I thought about Oklahoma City again and quietly expressed my willingness to provide assistance. The plan was to handle it later that night, as usual. As it turned out, doing retrievals in the midst of such an emotionally charged, large-scale disaster was far beyond my previous experiences. Moments after expressing willingness, the voice of Coach–my nonphysical friend–said, “OK, Bruce.” In the next instant, still sitting on a chair in Bennigan’s and completely aware of those surroundings, I was also rushing through blackness toward three infants killed in the blast.

Scooping up the babies in my arms, I shifted straight to the Focus 27 Reception Center. Though I’d never before transported more than one person at a time, it didn’t seem much different. Uncles, aunts, and unrelated helpers were waiting to take charge. Accelerating back into the blackness, toward the blast site, I felt brief sadness for such an early loss of life. Several trips back and forth to 27 with young children aged two to eight followed. A woman named Charlotte, who seemed to be in shock, came into view. When she saw me, I told her I’d been sent to bring her back. Despite her dazed state, it registered somewhere in her religious upbringing that this was how it was supposed to be. I handed Charlotte off to someone she recognized and tried, out of habit, to get an identification before heading into the blackness once more.

There were several more adults in rapid succession. A man named Ralph was the last I felt obliged to identify. The sheer numbers had begun to feel overwhelming. At this point I sensed a familiar voice. [Note: Bruce was part of a team which retrieved victims of the earthquake in India a couple of years ago. While in Virginia, he had participated as a member of the LIFELINE research group. Rita Warren, the group leader, had suggested that the group experiment together to learn about assisting after a large-scale disaster.] The voice advised stopping all the trips back and forth to 27. “Just get their attention, bring them in close, and they will be met by other helpers behind you who will transport them.” “OK,” I said, and turned back toward the blackness. Two large, very bright lights (also recognizable from the India exercise) took up positions on either side of me. Together we moved toward the site. Numbers, names, or anything else about the people who’d died quickly blurred. They just came into view, moved toward us, and were gently received by helpers to be shifted off to 27.

As we continued our work, strong emotions welled up. They had been there all along but not at a level that interfered with the task at hand. I was naively unprepared! As I focused on them briefly, their power and intensity became incredible. The onslaught was from the rescue workers, family members, and other physically alive people at the scene rather than the deceased. Grief and confusion were so strong that my awareness began to waver toward unconsciousness. Anxiety, fear, anger, frustration, and pure rage filled the area. I had to consciously shift my attention off the emotional energy of the physical blast site before reentering the blackness. While scanning for more people, my dearest friend in the physical world came in view. She had also been part of the India LIFELINE research group exercise. Now, in Oklahoma City, she was doing the same thing she had done in India. Simply standing there, she maintained a gateway/bridge to 27 for anyone attracted to the Love she was extending. We acknowledged each other, and I moved on with the two bright “light people.”

Suddenly I was aware of someone to the right and downward, buried in the pile of twisted debris that was once the federal building. The previous retrievals had been sort of out in the open. Pushing into and through the debris pile, I scanned back and forth in front of me–searching, searching. We found her. She was lying face down, surrounded and covered by rubble. When I called out to her, she looked over at me and screamed, “Help me get out of here. I’m pinned down, my legs are stuck, and I can’t get free!” I tried to communicate that she was dead and could come to me easily just by thinking about doing it. She would have none of my explanation. She was pinned down by something heavy and that was that. As I pondered how to convince her that she could move, a helper suggested the “seeing it not there” technique for the debris pile. (I do so like the way that sounds, “seeing it not there.”) As I focused on “seeing the debris not there” around the trapped woman, a spherical shape began to appear and be replaced by a dim, whitish, gray light. In a few moments she was floating in a ball shape about two of her body lengths in diameter. From this position she simply moved toward me and was escorted on to 27.

Still accompanied by the bright light people, I continued scanning as we quickly moved through the collapsed building. The “seeing it not there” technique worked repeatedly for every trapped person we found. All interest in counting or identifying had disappeared. Throughout this experience, I was aware of my surroundings in Bennigan’s simultaneously with my activities in Oklahoma City. At times one or the other would fade out, though not completely. My meal was finished in what must have looked like a pretty bemused state to fellow diners. I hastily paid my bill and, leaving a half-finished beer on the table, headed straight for my Jeep and home. It felt like emotional radiation burns had penetrated deep into my body. Like a sunburn, they felt worse and worse as time passed. Surges of emotion moved through me in crests and troughs like gigantic ocean swells. A wave of grief, rage, anxiety, sadness, or frustration would start and rise upward through my body until I was completely submerged. It was most unpleasant. My control felt nonexistent as each wave crested.

Back at my apartment, I immediately phoned my friend who had provided the gateway/bridge to compare notes. Her first words were, “Oh, the babies.” Grief washed over me anew as she spoke. Through my confusion and disorientation, we discussed the experience. Then, exhausted, sleep beckoned. Fifteen minutes of Tai Chi restored me to some extent. As the emotional energy continued its ebb and flow, I realized that the anguish of the living people at the scene had “stuck” to my nonphysical body and had been carried into physical awareness. Strongly desiring to clear it away, I used a technique learned from another friend. Relaxing into Focus 10, I envisioned enough spherical, ball-like containers to hold anything foreign to my energy field. When it felt like everything had been transferred, I sent each ball back to its rightful owner. The emotional overload finally started to subside. When the process seemed complete, I offered Coach further assistance in Oklahoma. “I think you’ve had enough for now,” he replied. With that, I drifted off to sleep. Portions of Thursday and Friday and most of Saturday were challenging. The waves were fewer and farther between, but it was Sunday before the sea completely calmed. The Oklahoma disaster stimulated every bit of my own unresolved grief, rage, and anxiety. By welcoming the feelings in and expressing them, they dissipated. Monday morning I awoke with a suggestion from Coach: form a Rebal before getting out of bed–a rather intricate one with counter-rotating helixes. Within three or four minutes the last of the emotional “stuff” from Oklahoma cleared away.

Monday was the first day I felt really good again. After half an hour of Tai Chi, I was completely myself. Did I learn anything? Well, I won’t do retrievals from a fresh disaster site in a public place like Bennigan’s! Also, I’ll do more preparation beforehand. Would I attempt such retrievals again? Of course. Each time teaches me more about what it means to be human.

Bruce Moen, graduate of three Lifeline programs, has used his skills to make retrieval work a regular avocation. Still, none of his previous experiences quite prepared him for the scope of what awaited in Oklahoma City. This account was written on April 25, 1995, when Bruce’s inner turmoil had quieted.

© 1996 by The Monroe Institute

TMI residential programs–especially the graduate programs–do not end with physical departure on Friday. New knowledge must be assimilated and the attendant responsibilities must be integrated. In this letter to Director of Programs Darlene Miller, Micki Hawes shares her discovery that LIFELINE service is a cooperative, interactive venture.

You trained my first Lifeline. The following happenings are a most surprising extension of that program (with sequels), and living through these events has been an incredible learning experience.

That Lifeline ended on April 30, 1993, and I returned to Cincinnati on Saturday, May 1. I checked my telephone’s Caller Identification box. The date a call arrived, the time it came in, and the number and area code were documented. I recognized most of the phone numbers except the last one–a “681″ exchange. The last call had been recorded on Friday, April 30, 1993, at 12:53 P.M. My exchange is “231.” At that time, the Cincinnati area did not have the caller’s name capacity. There had been a tremendous amount of contact and retrieval activity during the week at The Monroe Institute, and I felt satisfying exhaustion. It was time to put the past week in perspective, knowing the program had been a total success for me. The results of the week needed to be integrated into my life. Contacts with the deceased were not new. Accepting, sharing, and developing–which I had the privilege of exploring at The Monroe Institute–were new. In the past, contacts had usually been spontaneous communications related to relatives and friends. Now others were making contact. It felt fulfilling to have opened to this transmitting partnership.

At first I dismissed the last phone number as a telemarketing call. Then a gnawing feeling that I should call this number persisted. I dialed. A woman answered. I told her a call had been received from her number, when it had been received, and that I wondered who had been trying to contact me. After a moment or so of polite conversation, we concluded it had been a wrong number. I apologized for calling and was about to hang up. Then the woman said she was the one who needed to apologize because the day before she had been very distraught. Her niece had been killed in an automobile accident. She told me the name of her niece, who I will call Helen J. Helen was her actual first name. I learned how old she was, the color of her car, where it happened, how many children she had, where she worked, and the depth of shock and grief to the family. The woman asked me if I had seen the newscast on television. I explained about just returning from Virginia. After a moment of “so sorry,” condolences, and extending prayers, she thanked me for listening to her and explained that sometimes talking to a stranger in a time of grief was comforting. I agreed.

Although exhausted, I knew what I had to do. This contact had been no accident. At that moment I knew contact and retrieval work would continue. I decided to use Open Exercise, my favorite tape from the Gateway Voyage. When Bob Monroe’s voice said I could do what I had planned to do, I would try to contact Helen J. As the process began I felt nausea and ached all over. My head felt as if it might explode, and I prepared to take off the earphones and rush to the bathroom. What was happening? Instantly I felt calm, relaxed, and as if I was floating. I was not alone. Possibly I had just experienced Helen J.’s transition on impact.

We began a thought communication. Lifeline had taught me to ask questions, get information, and take notes (even if I had to sit up in my CHEC unit). I had to know the best way to volunteer help. Helen J. said she needed to stay near the physical plane for awhile. This was another of my lessons in retrieval work. On the physical level I often assume a control position. Here, there are choices and decisions to be made by the entity and it is totally a partnership. The other’s position must be respected. I asked Helen J. if she knew she had died. She said she did know. She told me she was not ready to go on because she had to stay and help those grieving. Since then, other contact and retrieval situations have shown that this is not unusual.

Through thought communication I again offered to help her go on. She said she appreciated it, but she was not ready yet. Feeling dispensable, I asked how to tell when she was ready. Choices beyond this life were a new lesson. I was informed that there would be another phone call. After the tape ended and I pondered it all, the notion of receiving another phone call was preposterous. I went on to other things–in gratitude that the phone number had connected me with Helen J.–vowing to myself to try to stay open. There are so many unanticipated surprises, aren’t there?

At 11:13 A.M. on Thursday, May 27, 1993, the phone rang. I was in the family room, away from the Caller I.D. unit. I answered immediately and heard a distance sound. Since many of my calls are from Ireland, there is often a delay between my answering hello and the caller’s greeting. After about five “Hello’s,” there was still no reply or hang up. I waited and thought perhaps another salutation would convince the caller my answering machine was not on. “Good Morning! This is me, not the answering machine.” Nothing! Reluctantly, I hung up. Later that day another call was received. I looked at the previous phone number and it was vaguely familiar. The exchange was “681.” Yes, I had received another phone call! Let me add that the last four digits of that phone number have no resemblance to my own number. They are totally different. I made contact with Helen J. She was ready to go on. By thought communication during the tape she said she could have gone on by herself. Now I certainly felt dispensable. At the same time, I realized integrity had prevailed. Helen J. promised she would contact. She did! Amazing!

In this sensitive nonverbal communication time (and I am not sure where the following information came from), I learned that for myself all contact had to be a mutual cooperative endeavor. I was finding out that each contact was totally unique. No additional phone calls came in between May 1993 and January 1996. I felt satisfaction with the closure. This was the end. I was wrong. There was more to come.

On Sunday, January 28, 1996, just as I was dozing off in preparation for a good night’s sleep, four faces flashed in front of me–the face of a childhood friend, my beloved deceased grandmother Anna, Aunt Sarah who I so miss, and the face of an unfamiliar woman. I asked, “Who are you?” The answer came back, “Helen J.” The faces disappeared. In that fleeting moment of communication, I understood that once contact is made it may be forever. That first Lifeline sparked a new level of interchange and a new acquaintanceship tier. The second Lifeline was a totally different but equally powerful and effective learning expansion. Contact and retrieval work continues. I had to tell you.

© 1997 by The Monroe Institute

Shaaron S. Honeycutt, wife of TMI Operations Director A.J. Honeycutt, writes copious notes in her journal while taking Institute programs. When asked about material regarding Nancy and Bob, she sheepishly provided the following account of an experience during her January 1997 Lifeline. Shaaron is an audio/video sales representative for Crutchfield Corporation and also grows and markets specialty foods grown in her magic garden, Terre Vibrant.

On the Wednesday afternoon of my Lifeline adventure, we were given an exercise in which we were instructed to move to Focus 27 and look for people that we knew or had known. It seemed simple enough and I was game, so we went without delay.

I like to start with a conscious passage through the various levels, beginning with Focus 10. The ritual is both calming and reassuring and enables me to put everything else aside to truly “be” There. Moving on to Focus 15, I found myself in a dark midnight-blue environment reminiscent of what I would imagine deep space to be…but more comfortable. From the blue of 15, I went through the colors, feeling as though I was passing up through filters–each stripping off that which would limit me–before moving on to the next, while experiencing each level as having certain characteristics associated with it.

By Focus 21, I emerged as a light being and donned what I call my “spiritual warrioress” garb. It’s a little hokey, but I had a breastplate with a glowing heart pulsing with life energy, a white cape, an arcane symbol emblazoned on my forehead, and my energy bar tool slung over my shoulder like a protective purse. Thus appareled, I was ready to go adventuring around the cosmos and kick some cosmic keister (if need be) for the good of all. Well, in any event, at least I felt safe.

The next move was up to 25. I stopped in a tiny, rustic chapel or temple and knelt down to offer gratitude to the life I lead and ask for guidance as I proceed on my spiritual quest. While I meditated, panels opened up in the right and left sides of the roof to let in bright shafts of light. These shafts intersected each other to form a prism of energy which concentrated on my forehead. I knew it to be”God Energy” (WOW!) and my body glowed golden from that point on.

Pressing on to 27, I surveyed the landscape for the object of our exercise…someone I knew. It wasn’t long before I spotted a couple strolling over the closest hillside as if out for a Sunday afternoon walk in the park. Yes, of course, it was Bob and Nancy. Both of them smiled in welcome as they approached. Nancy looked like something from sculpture, an angel as described by authors of old, with swept-back white hair and a flowing white robe. She exuded well-being and love–a reassurance completed by a broad smile. Bob sauntered next to her as only he can do. The epitome of the country gentleman, he wore a tweed blazer with those leather patches, along with the trademark driving cap sitting askew on his head. He had a mischievous grin, a knowing glint in his eye and a weathered cane in hand, just for show. In his impish but wise way he was an encouraging yet daunting figure. This guy can look right through me to the core. This is my sense of both Bob and Nancy as archetypal patriarch and matriarch. I returned their greeting. Nancy expressed how wonderful the love is that I experience with A.J., how truly glad she was for us both, and that many are not privileged to have such love in their lifetimes. She also intimated that I was on the right path (my fundamental goal for the week revolved around professional goals) and that our time would come, so relax and enjoy the ride. Everything would be okay, BUT part of the adventure was to find your own way. I asked for a little hint and we all laughed. Bob reiterated Nancy’s assurances and called me “sweetie,” while giving me the proverbial pat on the back. He told me that the love and light force was strong within me and that I had the ability to “go forth and prosper” on many levels. Of course I wanted to ask more of them but, as usually happens for me, the tape beckoned us back to C-1 and the reality of the CHEC unit.

I came out of the experience with something words cannot define. Perhaps it is a Bob and Nancy energy blanket. I wear it with me. It is confident, reassuring, and calm–a lovely gift from a walk in the Park.

© 1997 by The Monroe Institute

Report #1

I arrived at TMI jet-lagged, sleep-deprived, and keyed up, despite intentions to the contrary, and fell asleep near the beginning of the first evening’s tape exercise dealing with dolphin energy for healing yourself and others. At bedtime I was happy to hear Super Sleep coming through the CHEC unit speakers; it was soothing, and it triggered some strong vibrations during the night.

A Free Flow Focus 12 kicked off day two. Since I had come to do retrievals, I decided to get started. After asking if anyone needed assistance, I waited. Suddenly I was riding a motorcycle down a two-lane road; something felt wrong. I was bent at the waist, with my head very low, and then the bike went off the road. The ride got bumpier and bumpier, and after that everything went upside down and topsy-turvy. Then, from above, I saw a truck run over a man lying in the left lane. I approached and we talked briefly. He said his name was Joe, and something about 1947. Maybe he was born in 1947 or that was the year of the accident. He knew he was dead but didn’t want to leave his bike. I offered to take him where there were other bikes. Upon my taking his hand and asking for help, three “lights” appeared off to the right. They became three guys in black leather jackets, and Joe went with them.

Report #2

I wasn’t expecting what I found on my first visit to Focus 25, the Belief Systems Territories: a replica of the Catholic church that I attended as a child. A six-year-old version of myself sat inside with her bright red missal, still trying to be a good Catholic, all alone in that huge, empty church. Discovering that this small, innocent part of myself had spent all these years in Focus 25 made me very sad. Tears streamed down my face as I explained to her that it was okay to leave. The release of emotion allowed us to merge, and she returned with me to finish this life. Retrieving a part of oneself is a bittersweet experience. An emptiness that you may not have been aware of is filled. Intense sadness that this part had to split off coexists with strong, loving feelings toward her. You are so happy to have her back, because she is you. By retrieving and merging with a lost part, you become more yourself than you were before. And the more yourself you become, the more innate self-confidence you have, and life’s bumps smooth out.

Report #3

Today’s tape directed us to construct our “place” in Focus 27. As soon as I got to 27, it occurred to me that my body was unnecessary; I could just “be” a light. I had already constructed “my place” during free time in a previous tape; it’s like a tree house without the tree, and floats about forty feet up, with a soft green grass floor, an open front, and a water chair that works perfectly in zero gravity. Visitors float or fly into the open space in front. For the scenery, I used a Canadian scene from a calendar, complete with an aqua mountain lake and a view of snow-capped mountains on the far shore. As soon as I arrived, bright golden globes of light started popping up from below and about ten of them scooted through the front “door” by twos and threes. That took me aback, until I realized that I know these guys well, I just don’t know “who” they are. They seem to be dropping in from a place of golden light and violin music that I have also visited, and they feel like my “littermates.” The beach-ball-sized globes of light gave me a group hug. Then the physical structure of my place dissipated and it became a “where” instead–kind of like a soap bubble in space.

Report #4

On the way to the first official retrieval attempt, I felt queasy and heard my heart pounding. Both the queasiness and the pounding went in my security repository box, and the discomfort went away. After picking up my helper in 27, we went to Focus 23, to a dark cave filled with water. The atmosphere was thick with fear and despair, which I felt but didn’t absorb. I found a large, middle-aged woman named Sharon who had drowned in the cave in 1946. It was a struggle to get her out; she was heavy and fighting for air. At the Focus 27 Reception Center she saw a familiar loved one, and ran full tilt into his arms. Then I realized there were at least two more in the cave. Back I went and found John, a youngish man. It was no trouble to deliver him to the Center and turn him over to people who were waiting at a huge, lighted doorway-kind of like a mall entrance. On my final trip I brought out a girl who was lying spread-eagle in the water on the cave floor. As Bob brought us back to C-1, the feeling grew that there might be yet another. During debriefing, Penny told me to be sure to go back for that last person.

Report #5

I started the next Focus 27 foray in a really hyper state of mind. After asking my guide for help, he and I went back to search the Focus 23 cave. My first contact was a ten-year-old girl called Lila, who seemed to the same one who had been lying on the bottom before. Then I found the real last retrieval. The girl’s father, who could have been me in a former life, was still there mourning his daughter. Both of us were plunged into intense grief. It didn’t take long to convince him to leave. He accompanied my guide and me to 27, and his daughter ran out to greet him. They were reunited in a huge, joyous explosion of emotion. Other retrievals have been very “dry” emotionally. Maybe retrieving a part of self brings up stronger emotion. Because I’m accustomed to strong emotion from past self-retrievals, simply incorporating it into myself seems to work best. This was the first aspect that seemed to be a past life; all the other aspects had been walled off in this life.

Report #6

Our last day was devoted to free-flow tapes. I played and flew with my golden light-globe “littermates” and felt what it was like to be a golden light-globe myself. We visited a luminous crystal city. Totally unbidden, I got a clear picture of all the afterlife Focus-level layers. They resembled a stack of shelves and each one was incredibly small compared to what lay beyond, stretching into infinity. The final free-flow tape was voiced by Laurie Monroe and incorporated Focus 18 (access to Pure Unconditional Love). I found myself dancing round and round with a few of my fellow participants. Then we were all dancing in a big circle, holding hands. Laurie directed us to jump the gap between Here and There; we joined hands in a long line, ran, and jumped over a wide, dark chasm into the Light. Over There, I played both solos and duets with friends on my horn and violin. We showered each other with hugs and love. When Laurie gave the signal to bridge the gap again, we re-formed our human chain and leaped the chasm back to Here. I could see both lines of us jumping simultaneously, forming a bridge from Here to There and from There to Here.

Epilogue

Although I did not have the particular spectacular experiences I’d hoped for, I had spontaneous experiences that I had not sought. That’s much the better in some ways; if we had only the experiences we expected, how would we know that we didn’t make it all up? The totally unexpected lends credence and helps crumble the walls of limiting belief that hamper our expansion and growth. I cherish my Lifeline experience as I cherished my Gateway experience. Our trainers, John Kortum and Penny Holmes, were fantastic, and the Lifeline group was wonderful and loving. TMI feels like home to me, and it always will.

Mary Ann Tilford is sharing these posts to the Conversation Board of Bruce Moen’s Afterlife-Knowledge website to give people a feel for what can happen at a Lifeline. Mary Ann likes the week-long programs “away from everyone and everything” because her life is “usually so taken up with [her] job and music avocation, that it’s hard to deeply relax and let go.” She took a three-year break after her Gateway Voyage to allow things to “settle out” in her mind. Bruce’s stories of his retrieval experiences convinced Mary Ann that Lifeline should be her next stop.

Hemi-Sync® is a registered trademark of Interstate Industries, Inc.

© 2000 by The Monroe Institute

Lifeline, why would I want to take that program? I have been a hospice volunteer for twenty years; I know as much as I want to know about that sort of thing. How about Exploration 27? That sounds exciting. However, a couple of friends suggested that I should experience Lifeline. So I did.

Arriving at the warmly familiar and welcoming Nancy Penn Center, I checked in. There was the usual sense of excitement, an anticipatory joy in being there again; knowing I would meet people who spoke the same language-fellow travelers, so to speak. That there was fun ahead for us is a given at TMI. I dropped my luggage in the room assigned to me. Was it mere chance that I got the only single available, or does age have special privileges? It is difficult for me to believe that I am actually eighty-three years old, because at heart I feel thirty-eight.

Our introductory meeting in David Francis Hall connected us in a way that was just short of magical. We were a “group” immediately. Then, back in my CHEC unit for the first tape, I set my intent to be of service to some poor soul. Perhaps someone was wandering around, lost and lonely. I would be their rescuer.

Did I get an awakening! I found this skinny little freckled-faced eight-year-old child, who looked so pitifully helpless. She was a part of me that I’d lost without even being aware of it. I took her hand; she melded into me, yet kept her own identity. I felt so complete, so just right. We went to the Park in Focus 27 and built our house together, one that I have dreamed of for a lifetime. It has a roof that rolls back on a starry night at the flick of a switch, smooth and easy. I look up and live with the stars. The house is mostly glass and looks out into the woods on three sides. On the fourth side is THE Ocean, Pacific of course. Now this house of my own design is there to visit or to live in whenever I want. I can change whatever I wish at any time. There’s no contractor to argue with, and construction is immediate. What a glorious gift TMI has given to me through this program called Lifeline.

In the course of her eighty-three years in Earth-school, Jacquelyn Phillips has pursued a variety of professions and interests. Commercial art was her first career. She was a riveter for Douglas Aircraft and later a draftsman for the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps during World War II. After the war, Jackie married and raised a family, then worked as a real estate broker and agent. In recent years, she has attended the Gateway Voyage and Guidelines and participated in the Dolphin Energy Club. She is certified at the highest level as a Healing Touch Practitioner. Jackie is the founding director of the Center for Healing Intervention (CHI), which opened in 1997. It was the first–and is still the only–center for integrative medicine on Virginia’s Eastern Shore. Jackie is truly young at heart. At Lifeline, she reached back into the past and reclaimed an aspect of herself who joined her in creating a gift for Now.

Hemi-Sync® is a registered trademark of Interstate Industries, Inc.

© 2001 by The Monroe Institute

At 9:30 A.M. EST, on February 1, 2003, Leslie took a phone call from our son Jonathon. He said that space shuttle Columbia had been lost during reentry over Texas. I had not paid any attention to this flight or to the space program in general for several years, but I immediately felt a compelling sense of urgency to work the LIFELINE process. Immediately I went to my bedroom, closed all doors, set the fan on medium, put on my headphones (connected to nothing), lay down, and began my cooldown period. An overwhelming sense of grief made this particularly difficult. Tears seeped from the corners of my eyes and slipped gently down my cheeks into my beard. All loss of life hits hard. However, loss of military personnel involved in high-profile national and international missions is the hardest for me to minister to and usually evokes intense emotion. Cooldown took about ten minutes. I followed standard LIFELINE procedures and finished at 10:00 A.M.

During the session, I coordinated with my guide, Thomas, who indicated there was work to be done. After proceeding to Focus™ 15, I rolled back the time sequence to just before the shuttle breakup and joined the crew in the main cabin–standing just behind the pilot. The windscreen was filled with the yellow-orange flame of reentry friction and the entire vehicle was buffeted roughly. ¹

I asked to “see” the issue that would cause the disaster and was instantly viewing gaseous fumes seeping out of an upright panel that appeared to be an equipment storage locker. I then asked, “What does this mean?” The answer came, “There has been a mistake made by a crew member; an experiment was not stowed properly and once the gas reaches a spark, it will explode. ², eventually burning their way into the wheel well and breaking up the wing.”]This is a known issue but is considered to be of little significance.”³ (As always, the speaker is unidentified. It’s my habit to go with the data and trust the process. I certainly know virtually nothing about space flight or the workings of a shuttle.)

At that moment there was a violent yaw to the left and then to the right. The yaw continued on into a complete roll to the right, and the shuttle came apart.⁴ The bulk of the flaming wreckage continued down and away from us at a terrific speed, leaving the crew suspended in midair with a panoramic, beautiful view of the earth. Then it was suddenly quiet, absolutely quiet. I sensed one or maybe two females and perhaps six or seven males floating in a sitting position.⁵ They appeared to be glassy-eyed and semidazed but remained in a tight formation.

I consciously approached the commander, a middle-aged man with an “R”-sounding name.⁶ He was very distraught. He obviously grasped the magnitude of what had just transpired and was frantically reproaching himself for making an “error.”⁷ I spoke up and told him that he could not have prevented it. A small error got out of hand at an unfortunate juncture in the reentry sequence.

“Who are you?” he demanded in a distracted manner.

“I’m Colonel Black, USMC.”

“I don’t have a Marine Corps colonel on my crew,” he replied with a pained and confused expression.

“You do now,” I replied. “I’m here to help you move on to your next location if you want the help.”

He gave me a penetrating stare, looked around at the others, and then turned back to me. “We’re dead, aren’t we?” he stated in resignation, but quietly, as though he didn’t want to disturb the rest of the crew, who floated nearby but took no notice of our conversation.

“Dead is a highly overrated assessment, but, yes, your shuttle is gone and your bodies with it,” I replied gently–keeping direct eye contact all the while.

“What is it you do?” he asked, as he struggled to comprehend the situation.

“I’m a volunteer who comes to events such as this and offers to provide some company as you travel to your next location.”

“Are you dead, too?” he managed to ask.

“No, I’m not,” I replied simply. He eyed me quizzically. Two and two were not adding up to four, but he seemed too fatigued and distracted to try to sort it all out.

At that moment four “family members” approached our location from above; they reached out and made contact with one of the women and another of the crew. (I did not get a strong enough impression to tell if the other crew member was a male or a female.) They shortly began to pull away from the tight little group. As they rose up and away the commander jolted himself to action. “Hey, where are they going with my crew?” “It’s OK,” I reassured him. “They are probably deceased family members who are familiar to those crew members. It’s common for ‘dead’ people to be met by family members or dear friends. Because this was an unexpected event, it took them a while to get here. In many cases they are waiting at the bedside.”

A look of vague understanding crossed his face; some things were starting to make sense.

“I see,” he said pensively. “What about us?”

“That is where I come in, if you desire the help.”

“Well, sure, I guess so,” he replied.

“Fine,” I said, “then join hands and follow me.”

“Wait,” he said, in a sudden burst of linear thought. “What about our families? We’ll want to see them.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him, “you can visit them whenever you like.”

“How?” he demanded.

“By simply thinking of them,” I replied. “Think of them and you’ll be with them.”

He relaxed, satisfied for the moment, as we all joined hands and turned our gaze upward. Then I noticed three bright yellow, teardrop-shaped figures approaching from below. Although traveling independently, they were definitely converging on our location. While studying this unusual event I heard the commander say,

“Those more of your folks?”

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“They have on the same yellow space suit or covering,” was his matter-of-fact reply. (This “yellow covering” was mentioned to me while dealing with the Russian submarine Kursk disaster. This may be how others perceive our Resonant Energy Balloons (REBALS). Also, the others felt like TMI folks.)

“Yes,” I said, “those are some of my associates from Monroe, here to assist, too.”

With the astronauts linked hand-in-hand and the newly arrived Monroe helpers on either side and in the rear, we got under way. Thomas suggested the central tunnel entrance to Focus 27.”We are ready,” he confirmed in a somber but confident tone. We moved rapidly and without incident up through all the Focus levels. They flew by at breakneck speed, and we soon emerged into the bright sunlight and brilliantly blue sky of Focus 27.

As we slowed and settled on the cloudy surface, several figures started toward us. I released my grip on the pilot’s hand and receded to the background, standing to the right of Thomas. We watched quietly. The Columbia’s crew haltingly walked toward the approaching group of perhaps three dozen people. Suddenly I recognized Alan Shepard in the silver space suit he wore for his first suborbital flight. Shepard stepped up with a big smile and gave the commander a hearty handshake and a reassuring pat on the back. His eyes were locked intently on the new arrival, almost as if he was “grounding” him. Also, Shepard looked about forty years old, in his prime. “Well done and welcome,” he said in a firm voice.

Others from Shepard’s group stepped forward, each warmly greeting one of the newcomers. It soon looked like two fighter squadrons meeting at the officer’s club for a drink after a day of hard training. Some of the group wore the space suits of Russian cosmonauts. Talk became more and more animated and cries of recognition were heard as the newcomers became more aware and accustomed to their new environment.

Thomas and I watched with great fascination from the sidelines. “This is real nice,” I managed, as waves of emotion rolled over me. To avoid loss of control I tried to focus on useful data collection. “What are the qualifications for the welcoming committee?” Thomas replied, “Volunteers, like most everywhere else, but they must have played a significant role in the space program in Time and Space. It’s a real plus if they gave their life for the cause.”

“I’m overwhelmed by the pure humanity of it. It’s real nice,” I repeated, as my voice failed me and tears streamed from my physical eyes. My thoughts turned to the countries that had lost astronauts in this accident. I sent waves of comforting love to the families and then to the nations of those brave souls. “These risky multinational endeavors dared on the part of all people have a real value in binding one nation to another,” said Thomas. I’m certain he was trying to help me see the bigger picture.

References

1. Washington Post, August 24, 2003, “Columbia’s ‘Smoking Gun’ Was Obscured,” by Kathy Sawyer, p. A15. Reentry Begins: “McCool: ‘It’s going pretty good, now, Ilan. It’s really neat, just a bright orange yellow out over the nose, all around the nose.’”

2. Ibid., p. A14. A Damaged Wing: “Investigators believe that during reentry, super-hot gases, called plasma, poured through the hole in the … leading edge [of the shuttle's left wing], eventually burning their way into the wheel well and breaking up the wing.”

3. a. Washington Post, July 13, 2003, “Mistakes of NASA Toted Up,” by R. Jeffrey Smith, p. A17. Longstanding Problems: Shuttles had been struck seven times by foam debris from the liquid propellant tank. “Five of these incidents had involved the Columbia.” Foam appeared on lists of critical safety risks for every flight, but NASA minimized the danger.
b. Washington Post, August 24, 2003, “Columbia’s ‘Smoking Gun’ Was Obscured,” by Kathy Sawyer, p. A14. No “Safety of Flight” Issue: The mission management team met five days into the flight. After discussion of possible damage due to the foam strike, Linda Ham, head of the team, concluded, “And really, I don’t think there is much we can do, so you know it’s not really a factor during the flight.” Engineers’ concerns were brushed aside.

4. Ibid., p. A15. The Final Minutes: “8:59:26 A.M. EDT, Flight control system fires all four right yaw jets to compensate for the tremendous force acting to the left.”

5. New York Times, February 2, 2003, “The Columbia Space Shuttle’s Crew of 7;6 Americans and 1 Israeli,” by Alan Feuer, p. 22. There were seven astronauts.

6. Ibid., p. 22, Columbia’s commander, Colonel Rick D. Husband, USAF, was forty-five years old.

7. Washington Post, August 24, 2003, “Columbia’s ‘Smoking Gun’ Was Obscured,” by Kathy Sawyer, p. A15. I Am Not Believing This: “Husband or McCool apparently bumped the joystick.” There was no evidence of an attempt to override the onboard computer, and the incident had no bearing on the subsequent disaster.

Hemi-Sync® is a registered trademark of Interstate Industries, Inc.

© 2003 by The Monroe Institute

This advertising phrase is familiar to most of us. Perhaps when we hear it we visualize the little guy, phone to ear, walking around in different locations, some of them absurd, asking, “Can you hear me now?” It’s possible that those who have passed on from this physical journey are asking us the same question, especially if they desired to prove the survival of consciousness after death. If our intention is to listen, are we receiving the messages? Many of us ignore the messages because they usually don’t come in the form of words. However, the practice of awareness, love, and forgiveness assists us to be in sympathetic resonance with new and higher frequencies and to “hear” their messages.

In my decade at TMI, I have been the observer, the participant, and the cocreator of where we are today. Many people ask me if I am in communication with my father. It is always an interesting question that leads me to wonder what they mean by communication. By my definition, communication in the nonphysical realms is not the same as it is in the physical. I feel that I am periodically in resonance with the frequency level my father visits from time to time, a level that some of you may call Focus™ 27. Many times we connect beyond that level, which I perceive as a much higher vibration. Everyone is capable of communicating with one who has died, but doing so is always a choice for both participants.
Many good friends have passed in the last ten years. My father decided to change residences on March 17, 1995, followed closely by Ed Carter, a close friend and supporter of TMI. From 1998 through 2001, Dave Wallis, revered friend and employee of TMI, Jim Greene, a precious friend and supporter who cocreated the POSITIVE IMMUNITY PROGRAM, Martin Warren, brilliant mind and early Explorer monitor in the lab, and my beloved mother made their transitions. Inspiring friend and colleague Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, the author of many books, notably On Death and Dying, and cocreator-with Bob Monroe-of the GOING HOME® series, and Wink Franklin, former president of the Institute of Noetic Sciences (IONS), who was devoted to a vision of human evolution and the manifestation of higher consciousness, left this physical life in 2004.

My sister, Maria Monroe Whitehead, wrote the following description of after-death communication a year after our mother died:

“It had been a nice Saturday . . . a cool, crisp harbinger of fall. I had just returned from the LIFELINE program at The Monroe Institute® and I was deeply grateful that our home, which had been directly in the path of Hurricane Floyd, had been spared the wrath. My sister, Laurie, was down for the weekend and we had spent most of the day planting shrubbery in memory of our mother, who had made her transition last December. It seemed an appropriate time to remember her because it was her birthday, September 18.

At sunset I decided to take my usual walk. I was feeling particularly good because my sister was visiting, my husband was returning from a business trip that evening, and I was still rather euphoric from the LIFELINE. As I was contemplating all of the good things the Universe had bestowed on me, I approached a cornfield and noticed a rainbow, or at least part of one. I turned full-circle to find the remaining arc and noticed it appeared as if the rainbow was a parenthesis around the setting sun. I wondered what kind of cloud formation would cause this and then noticed a huge cloud in the shape of an angel with wings extended. I searched for the face and was amazed to see the exact likeness of my mother! I stopped dead in my tracks and stared incredulously for a moment before running the two miles home to tell Laurie.
In retrospect, I interpret this as a beautifully orchestrated form of communication. My mother was a brilliant artist, and I was fortunate to have inherited her talent. I can’t think of a better way to attract another artist’s attention than by displaying a beautiful rainbow of color. What could be more ‘celestial’ than to paint one’s own portrait with the clouds?”

As Elton John says in his newest song, “Sometimes we find an answer in the sky.”

Then there was my own recent experience following the passing of Wink Franklin. I went to sleep with the intent of contacting Wink. I thought since he was “new” over there, he could give me some valuable information to share in this article. I moved to Focus 27 and was guided to an unfamiliar area. Slowly Wink’s “head” came into my vision. A white light resembling that seen in professional portraits surrounded him. He told me to remember the “Noetic Bet” (especially his part of it) and to remember the feeling I had the last time we met. He simply smiled and faded away. I woke up immediately and wrote down what I remembered.

The next morning, I immediately thought about the “Noetic Bet.” I was sure I’d heard of it but couldn’t remember the particulars. I did remember the feeling of love and gratitude I had after one of Wink’s talks while giving him a hug. A part of his talk had resonated with me in a special way. He had spoken of sometimes feeling constrained about expressing his own personal views. As president of IONS, he felt it was difficult for people to separate his own views from his role as president. I understood that feeling, and hearing his words somehow gave me a sense of release.
Later I found the tape of Wink’s talk at the 2003 IONS conference, “Awakening a Global Vision: Collective Wisdom and Spiritual Activism,” held in Palm Springs, California. Its message turned out to be far more important than whether or not I had actually “contacted” Wink. After listening to the tape, I understood the meaning of his guidance. He had talked of the emergence of a global vision that would move humanity to the future. The “Noetic Bet” is a bet against the currently dominant paradigm. It contains “core noetic hypotheses” that assert (1) “Reality is more than merely physical”; (2) “Everything and everyone are interconnected”; and (3) “We are participants in our own evolution.”

Then he had added “Wink’s addendum,” his personal expression: (4) “There is a divine plan or a divine evolution that is evolving all the time. There is a purpose, a direction, a divine order we are moving toward, both as humans and as a planet”; (5) “We can know that plan, but not all of it because it is not complete. It is still evolving, but we can get glimpses of it”; and (6) “In knowing that plan, Science, Spirituality and Personal Experience are windows in. The major virtues, truth, beauty and goodness, are windows into that plan.”

He spoke about a convergence of science and spirit in action and that a Global Vision based in values of spirituality leads to more justice and equity on a global level and of how important it was for us to have the courage to share deeply our inner journeys. When people share their personal stories of love and forgiveness, we enter into the subtle realms. The power and effectiveness come from going deep. The primary benefit is that through inner work, we get clarity. Clarity gives us glimpses into the divine plan.

In the process of writing this article, I have gained greater clarity about the importance of TMI. We have created a safe place where people open to each other and share their innermost thoughts and experiences; in turn they gain glimpses into their part and purpose within the evolving divine plan. Through the energy of unlimited love within the subtle realms, we all can move to a future that is compassionate, just, and builds on the insights and legacies of these departed souls mentioned above, as well as all of you who so generously support the work of TMI.
It seems to me that the following quote from ULTIMATE JOURNEY is a perfect summation:

There is no beginning, there is no end,
There is only change.
There is no teacher, there is no student,
There is only remembering.
There is no good, there is no evil,
There is only expression.
There is no union, there is no sharing,
There is only one.
There is no joy, there is no sadness,

There is only love.
There is no greater, there is no lesser,
There is only balance.
There is no stasis, there is no entropy,
There is only motion.
There is no wakefulness, there is no sleep,
There is only being.
There is no limit, there is no chance,
There is only a plan.
WE CAN HEAR YOU NOW!!

© 2004 by The Monroe Institute