The following is an excerpt taken from Chapter Two of my book, The Space Between, entitled “Clues.”
I didn’t know it at seventeen, but everything happens for a reason. Without my mom’s illness, my religious background, and my witnessing of what appeared to be extreme hypocrisy from professed Christians and friends, I don’t know if I would have ever had reason to go in the direction that I did – the direction which led to my journey to enlightenment. Later I came to realize that every single difficulty I’d either witnessed or endured was actually a clue. Eventually, I learned humility and gratitude for what I had thought of as difficulties, because they were really blessings. But it wasn’t only the hard times that were clues for me. Hindsight has shown me that my entire life has actually been a series of clues and pieces of an elaborate and beautiful puzzle.
One day, when I was three years old, my mother put me down for a nap, so that she could go outside and hang laundry on the line to dry. I hated naps. Even to this day, I don’t take them. As soon as she got outside, I was standing up on my knees, peering out the window at her. It was such a beautiful day, with sunshine and blue skies, big white puffy clouds, and a sweet breeze, gentle and fragrant. I remember watching the sheets gently swaying in the soft wind, as I heard the purr of a single engine airplane overhead.
All excited, I went to jump out of bed to go outside and help my mother hang up the laundry. But when I went to get out of bed, someone in the closet moved to block my way. It was an invisible man. Every time I would move, he would move. I didn’t feel afraid of him, but rather, I knew he was there to watch over me and keep me safe. And I knew he wasn’t going to let me out of that room. He was there to make sure I stayed right there in bed where my mother had put me. I couldn’t see what he looked like. All I saw was energy, only an outline of a frequency change, where I knew he stood, almost like looking through a glass.