In 1984, my wife had a lucid dream that she shared with me upon waking. Since then, I’ve found echoes of her dream in others’ published works. This is what it seems to mean to me.
On the 8th of July 1984, my then wife, Suzann, had a dream which she described as more real than usual. When she began to relate the dream to me, I set my memory recording ability to start.
She told me that she found herself in a library with two male guides: one was tall and fair looking; the other was shorter and swarthy. She said their names were Jay and Kay.
They were discussing with her the upcoming event in her life of moving back to England (which she was to do with our two girls in the autumn of that same year). To show her what was going to happen, they handed her a book. She didn’t want to open it, but they insisted. The page she opened to had video screens of differing sizes. Instead of just viewing a picture in any of them, they contained moving images. The purpose of this preview was to prepare her for the fact that she and I would go our separate ways, somewhere down the road. This disturbed her, hence the ability to remember the sequence. When she handed the book back to them, she noted that there were the numbers 215 on the spine.
Further discussion with Jay and Kay led them to warn her that every time she tried to resist the upcoming changes, they would make her pass out, demonstrating to her what that would be like. Then she woke up back in our bed in North Vancouver, BC.
Knowing that something unusual had taken place, I got up and wrote the following poem, to incorporate the salient points of her dream.
Balancing Book *
Little by little, the picture turns bright:
Into her focus, the words come alive;
Before her eyes, the numbers two-one-five
Read out “Special Edition” to her sight,
As she, not feeling pure, not feeling right,
Returns the slim volume to the archive
Instead of seeing that she could arrive
At a beginning, worthy of the Light.
Nodding approval, the Librarian
Lends her the story to read it again,
Indicating that she’s prepared, with faith,
Before the Fence, the Bridge, the Styx or Wraith.
Return in six months for another tome
And dream of this place as your other home.
At the time, I only got one message from her dream: that we were going to be splitting up. But I wasn’t sure if that meant I wasn’t moving to England, later, as we planned, or whether I would follow through on our plan and the split would happen subsequently.
* Why I should have called this poem Balancing Book sometimes eludes me. As was my method in those days, while receiving the 32 Sonnets that became Spiritus Sanctus, I started with a fourteen letter word or phrase to use as the acrostic for the beginning of each line of the poem. That acrostic was Librarian Libra. Neither Suzann nor I are Librans, so why that phrase? I suspect I was just being clever, as usual, by making a pun. But once I used Libra, the Scales (or Balance) would automatically follow in my mind. And that brings us to the point of the life review after death: how did we measure up to the plan that we’d set for ourselves; has the Karmic debt been increased or decreased? The fact that this Sonnet is number 13 might be a clue…
It also turns out that the Ascendant of our Wedding was Libra Rising!
Transformation: The Breakthrough
Transformation: The Breakthrough by Whitley Strieber
Copyright 1988 by Wilson & Neff, Inc.
(Pages 218-222 describing the events of December 26, 1985)
We moved again, and this time I entered a profoundly different situation. No longer could I see normally. There was a glittering blackness before me. I could still feel Sadie in my arms, and I was very glad for her companionship.
The next thing I knew I was standing in a room. It was an ordinary room. I was in front of a big, plainly designed desk. Behind it was a wall of bookcases stacked with books. There was a volume of Bruce Catton’s work on the Civil War, a biography of Madame de Stael, a number of vaguely familiar novels of forties and fifties vintage, a volume of Kafka, some books on mathematics, and, pulled partway out of a shelf as if to draw attention to it, Thomas Wolfe’s You Can’t Go Home Again.
In this room with me were four other beings. The visitor who had come to get me was standing behind me. Sitting behind the desk was what looked to me like a man with a very, very long face, round, black eyes, and a ridiculous excuse for a curly black toupee on his head. He was wearing a green plaid flannel shirt and leaning so far back in his chair that I could see he had on baggy khaki pants and a wide belt. He looked like something from another world wearing the clothes of the forties.
Standing to my left was a tall man in a tan jumpsuit with many pockets and flaps on it. He was very blond and had a rather flat face. He was easily six foot six and might have been taller. Behind him was an ordinary wooden door. I got the impression that it was not intended that I go through that door. I do not wish to suggest that there was anything menacing about this man. On the contrary, when our eyes met his expression was gentle and touching and full of pity. He reminded me of a son looking with forlorn love at his senile parents. I have since had other encounters with similar tall, fair beings.
Immediately to my right there was a woman. She appeared to be entirely normal, about five feet five, and she was wearing a blue jumpsuit under a white body-length apron. She had a small black case in her left hand. Her hair was brown and pulled back into a bun behind her head. I was no more than a foot from her. When I turned to her we were face-to-face. I looked directly into her eyes and saw there concern, a little pity, and considerable wariness. I was also aware of the presence of what it seems best to describe as an acute sense of attention or concentration. Something about this young woman communicated a startling consciousness. She had fair skin and regular features. Overall, she was conventionally pleasant-looking. I could easily recognize her today if I saw her in the street.
The being behind me thrust a stool under me and I sat down rather abruptly.
The one at the desk asked, speaking in normal English, “Why did you bring the cat?”
Sadie, in my arms, was looking around. Her eyes were wide.
“I’m reality-testing,” I replied.
There followed a scene of the most frank and total confusion that I have ever witnessed. They literally looked at each other as if I were completely crazy. At this point I noticed a change in the ambience of the room. It was like a sort of mental pressure being exerted on me. It became very powerful. It seemed to be something that would compel me to speak the truth. I suddenly felt a need to really explain that cat!
“I’ve made the cats a part of the family,” I heard myself saying. It felt like this was a deep, deep truth. “They have to be taken when we’re taken. They have to participate in the life of the family. It’s their right.”
The one behind the desk glared at me. “We’ll have to put the cat to sleep.”
Now I felt a sense of being a co-conspirator, and I was aware that I had felt this way with the visitors before, but I had no idea when this might have been. I replied, “We can’t do that. It’s my son’s cat. How will I explain it to him?”
There was a short silence. Finally the one behind the desk said, “No, put to sleep for now.”
At that the young woman beside me stepped forward, removing from her case a small object made of what looked like two triangular pieces of brass with rounded edges. She placed a flat side of this against Sadie’s thigh and the cat at once sank into unconsciousness. Her breast heaved twice and then she was more than asleep, she was still as death.
I understood perfectly well that they could bring her back to life. At that moment I remembered having seen this done to people many dozens of times.
The one who seemed to be doing all the talking asked me, “What can we do to help you?”
The sensation of my mind being under pressure got stronger. It was as if I had been entered by an overwhelmingly powerful force that would not allow me to say anything except the absolute, deepest truth. It felt like an actual, physical pressure, as if some disembodied awareness had gone inside me and there acquired mass, form, and force.
I could have asked for some physical proof of the visitors’ existence. I could have asked them to enter my world with me instead of hanging back in this half-reality. But I did not care about those things, not down deep. At the deepest level of myself I knew at that moment exactly what I wanted and needed. If a coherent and useful relationship was ever to develop between me and the visitors, I had to reduce my fear.
I replied, “You could help me fear you less.”
There was a long, silent moment. Then an answer seemed to emerge from all of them. “We will try, but it will be very hard.”
After that the young woman stepped behind me and applied her little brass device to my neck for a moment. The next morning there was a small raised knot with a red spot where she had touched me. The next thing I knew I was being taken by the being who had come to get me in the first place to a small, dark room. As she maneuvered me along, again pushing me from behind, I could sense that she took an almost proprietary interest in me. I’d had the feeling earlier that she was rather pleased about something. I’d glimpsed a sort of crooked smile on her face as I sat down in the chair.
She suddenly seemed little and vulnerable and old and I felt a cherishing feeling toward her. No longer did she seem all-powerful. I could imagine carrying her in my arms.
From behind me there was what I can only describe as a sardonic snort full of power and derision. I was with a proud old warrior.
I recalled that Robert Monroe had said in his book that one could ask spirits for things. One could demand that only what was most needed be given. One could insist that no harm be done.
My mind went back to the extraordinary dream I’d had a few weeks before, of the beautiful star approaching the strange, mystic sea.
At that moment we arrived back at the house and I had a glimpse of it twirling around below me, looking like a toy in the night, and then we were suddenly on the deck, the two of us and Sadie in my arms.
Something happened to me at that point, but all I can remember is a jumble of disconnected images…
Journey of Souls
Journey of Souls by Michael Newton, Ph.D.
Copyright 1996 by Michael Newton (Fifth Revised Edition)
(Pages 93-94 Case 16 dialog under hypnosis)
Dr, N: Your family group sounds very distinctive. Now would you explain to me what you and your friends actually do in this library setting?
S: I go to my table and we all look at the books.
Dr. N: Books? What sort of books?
S: The life books.
Dr. N: Describe them as best you can for me.
S: They are picture books – thick white edges – two or three inches thick – quite large…
Dr. N: Open one of the life books for me and explain what you and your friends at the table see.
S: (pause, while the subject’s hands come together and move apart as though she were opening a book) There is no writing. Everything we see is in live pictures.
Dr. N: Action pictures – different than photographs?
S: Yes, they are multi-dimensional. They move…shift…from a center of…crystal… which changes with reflected light.
Dr.N: So, the pictures are not flat, the moving light waves have depth?
S: That’s right, they are alive.
Dr. N: Tell me how you and your friends use the books?
S: Well, at first it’s always out of focus when the book is opened. Then we think of what we want, the crystal turns from dark to light and…gets into alignment. Then we can see…in miniature…our past lives and the alternatives.
Dr. N: How is time treated in these books?
S: By frames…pages…time is condensed by the life books.
The other book that expands on the Life Books is Michael Newton’s Destiny of Souls. However, I won’t continue with the quotations, but will expand on my thoughts instead.
What struck me about Suzann’s dream was the otherworldly character of the setting and the people there. For years I thought that it could qualify as a lucid dream, meaning that she’d had an out-of-body experience and was allowed to remember it. But then Communion by Whitley Strieber was published, and I realized that it could have been a CE3 (close encounter of the 3rd kind). But then I had to wait for Breakthrough to demonstrate a very strong echo to her dream, including the strange beings in their forties clothes. Suzann called her men Jay and Kay, so I used to think of them as the initials J (for Jesus) and K (for Krishna). She said they were her guides, and during meditation she would be instructed by them to change aspects of her life, like getting rid of all her other clothes and only wearing white. After a while I began to tire of hearing about what they next instructed her to do. (There is a possibility that these exchanges were intended to facilitate our splitting apart.) In the end, the alien connection, as suggested by the dream, got taken up by our eldest daughter Amy as a real possibility.
Now, all these years later, I was lent a book (Journey of Souls) which suggested that the original OOB (out-of-body) scenario might have been the right one after all. What makes it click for me is the Life Book imagery. When Suzann first described what the book was like, I had a flash-forward to the present and how a tablet would work. But in those days there was no internet service, so where the image came from, I have no idea. (In the Harry Potter movies, they used a similar idea of have newspaper photographs turn into videos when you watched them.) But mostly, what clinched it for me was the fact that when Suzann first looked at the picture book, the image was out-of-focus, just like the subject in Case 16 noted. It seems that a similar device is used for viewing one’s next life before reincarnating. That strikes a chord with me.
Finally, the power to put someone to sleep, as evidenced in the Breakthrough passage, seemed to be a little far-fetched at the time of Suzann’s dream. But then, we began living apart, after I finally joined her and the girls in England in 1986. At first, I think Suzann enjoyed the freedom of my living in Berkshire during the week, and having me visit on the weekends in Torquay. We did that from October 1986 to November 1990. However, towards the latter part of 1988, early 1989, Suzann started fainting frequently, sometimes while she was walking down the pavement in the middle of town. Most frightening.
However, I remembered how she’d been warned that they would do that to her if she resisted the up-coming changes. I moved to Torquay finally in late 1990, and started my Hypnotherapy clinic. The periods of unconsciousness continued. I then joined Fountain International, and between 1991 and 1993, we muddled on with our lives. Finally in 1993, I joined a construction company in Torquay and nothing was the same after that. Suzann tried going to Canada to live, but her mother sent her back to England. Then I moved out in December 1993, just before Christmas.
Suzann’s fainting still happened for a few more years. She even had a lump/bump removed from behind her right ear, I seem to recall. But that didn’t stop the episodes. Then finally, she divorced me in early 1996, and that seemed to stop it.
So what can one make of this all? To me, there seemed to be a plan that Suzann had a part in making happen. After all, I wouldn’t have moved to England, except for marrying her. Then, whatever happened once I got there was my destiny…