CHAPTER 8—ERASING SHAME

We buried Dad the day I last saw Uncle Ed. He was chatting with my favorite childhood cousin, Sue, when  I approached. After some words of consolation, they resumed their conversation about Obama, who was then a year into his presidency. How could such a thing have happened? Naturally, I confessed to my part in the debacle. In addition to voting for a black man, I'd volunteered during his campaign.

Ed turned to me and said with a wry grin, "Well, that's really too bad, Jan. I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut you out of my will."

I knew he was kidding. What I didn't yet know was that Dad had left nothing, not a single cent of his small fortune to any of his four children.

Firstborn to my paternal grandparents, Ed was the last to pass. Like his mother and her father before her, he died at the age of one-hundred-and-one. Upon departure, he made a cameo appearance in my dream to ask if there was a message he could take to Dad on my behalf.

"I haven't forgiven him!"

My admission surprised me, but Ed understood. I wasn't angry about money. Careful analysis of my astrological birth chart had softened the blow years in advance by showing no indication of parental inheritance, so my disappointment, though real,  was short lived. The resentment I still harbored stemmed from his chosen method of exit. I get it, he was done! If only the End of Life Option had been available when his life became unbearable, we'd have been able to view his corpse. We'd have had closure!

As dreams go, Ed vanished and Dad appeared in his place. After a brief conversation about events that occurred in our family he apologized, not for the way he ended his life, but for holding an attitude of entitlement. He knows it was wrong, and said he is sorry.

Since his death, he had never once appeared to me in a dream until now. This was the closure I needed, and just as I thanked him, my mother appeared in his place.

She was my mother, without a doubt, but she appeared regally attired in the form of an Egyptian queen and told me she would now teach me to erase shame so that I could perform this service for my ancestors.

This is what she said: "Shame is the wound in which every form of sickness and sadness takes root. Whether it arises from something you've done or something that was done to you makes no difference. It must be transmuted. Are you ready to erase shame?"

"Yes." I bore witness to her transfiguration into crystalline light as she invited me into her heart. Without displacing her, I merged into her being and I, too, was the Egyptian queen while my vibratory field steadily calibrated to pure innocence. The shift was palpable, and once it was complete, I automatically reemerged as my own being but with actual physical awareness of nonduality.

"This was your initiation. Now you can do it. Start with your father."

In the blink of an eye, Dad reappeared and I repeated the Queen's question, "are you ready to erase shame?"

"Yes."

The process ensued just as before. One by one, deceased relatives appeared. Each said YES to erasing shame. Grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. My ex-husband. In-laws. People I've never heard of. Many hours passed in this way.

Nearly three weeks have gone by since Uncle Ed crossed over. During this time, I've slept like a newborn, even taking naps during the day. It feels like restorative sleep that's preparing me for an enormous change.

I'm not suggesting this is the only way to erase shame, but if you're ready, you might give it a try.

CHAPTER 2—NICOLE

Before unfolding more of the story, I need to acknowledge Nicole Pigeault. During the interval between my assumption of this physical vehicle that was still known as Jan Gillett, and the biopsy that would soon confirm the dire prognosis, Nicole performed a healing ceremony for me.

Together, she and I worked with a small group of spiritual aspirants in a huge metaphysical emporium in our nation’s capital where we were surrounded by a collection of rare crystals and gemstones that was, according to our customers, more impressive than the nearby array at the famous Smithsonian. The environment was like a hothouse that provided direct experience of the properties described in the countless crystal books lining the shelves of the store, but Nicole had arrived with prior knowledge. She was, without a doubt, the master healer among us, and she allowed vivid past life memories to inform her decisions as she borrowed the needed items from our display cases. Then, along with her helpers from the mineral kingdom, she assembled our small group for the ceremony in which she guided us back to ancient Egypt where she unlocked memories of our connections not only to each other but to the owner of the store who was our spiritual teacher.

Nicole’s magic produced profound effects. The disappearance of the cancer was obvious, but I kept my awakened awareness of being a walk-in undercover. Books on the subject were at my fingertips in the store, but I had no interest in reading them, and despite being surrounded by people who wouldn’t judge me, I told no one.

Why? Continuity of soul purpose had flowed without interruption, so exploration of the phenomenon had seemed irrelevant—almost like a distraction—until I recently listened to an interview that gave me a new perspective and compelled me, thirty years after the fact, to share with Nicole the awakening that had been the result of her powerful healing ceremony. But we didn't get to unravel the story because the time had come for her to let go.

Nicole had accurately self-diagnosed her condition with advanced technology she used in her healing practice, but she hadn't seen a doctor. Medically uninsured, she'd been waiting for an investment to pay off and grant access to cutting edge treatments insurers don't cover.

Her illness came as a shock to everyone who had known her. There were clues. We knew she was suffering, but none of us dared to imagine our sweet angel with cancer. For a year, she'd kept the secret while generously dispensing healing energy during our daily chats until her femur broke under the weight of her body as she walked down her hallway and an ambulance ferried to the ER.

News of the fall was devastating. The demands of my path had stripped my finances bare, so I didn't have the means to fly to her bedside in Los Angeles, but all was instantly arranged by our spiritual sisters from the bookstore era, and together, we were blessed to witness miracles.

Taped to the wall facing Nicole's bed was a drawing of a baby wearing a crystal crown with the words "Auntie Angel is a Baby" scrawled on top. The artist was Jenna Dewan's five-year-old daughter Evie. Jenna said that when her marriage was going well, she and her husband would sometimes ask Evie if she'd like a baby brother or sister. Invariably, the answer was an emphatic NO. But now that Jenna was in the throes of divorce, Evie had taken to announcing We're Having A Baby! Jenna explained that they couldn't have a baby now. She had to fall in love first. Evie insisted, Well, you'd better hurry up and fall in love because we're having a baby!

A healer Nicole had summoned just prior to the fall had shared a dream in which Nicole had passed and quickly reincarnated as Jenna's baby.

Upon hearing the dream, Jenna assured Nicole that she would be a very good mother. Nicole had already arranged for Jenna to have her favorite crystals and magical toys, and if the dream comes true, she'll be returning to all of her favorite things, just like the Little Buddha.

Once Nicole had chosen the End of Life Option, it was necessary to find a place for her transition because the option cannot be legally exercised in a medical facility. Her apartment on the third floor of a building without an elevator was out of the question, and the homes of family members and friends had similar accessibility issues. A few phone calls were made, and a woman who'd been instrumental in passing the legislation arranged a nearby home.

Days before the appointed time, I returned home to my partner who was also experiencing health issues. Though he and Nicole had never met, they often chatted on the phone, which I kept on speaker during our calls. They adored each other. Deeply affected by her impending transition, Mike shockingly exploded in a fit of psychotic rage. At four o'clock the next morning Nicole called to ask what was going on with me. I told her I couldn't think of burdening her with my problems. She insisted, Come on, you can tell me. Upon hearing what had happened, she said, I know. He was battling the devil.

She passed the following day. That night, she came to me in a dream and said, Tell Mike that I'm safe now. The devil had come for me, but Mike fought him off. He's truly a brave warrior!

Her words penetrated his soul like a healing balm, and he has enjoyed her frequent counsel while I've wallowed in sorrow. Finally, the taste of my tears has turned sweet, and she came around to say, Briah, it's time! Now I'm ready to hear the whole story!

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