Here’s that story I have in mind for your Focus readers. I really am so grateful for the experiences I had while at TMI. My life continues to expand in directions I never before dreamed possible. It’s quite likely that when we meet again I won’t be the same person at all that I am right now.
I think we loose sight of the marvel of our living body shedding old cells in an ongoing series of birth, maturity, and death cycles. So in a very real sense we lack the luxury of touching that first cell of life. In like fashion, we have this history of memories which, by necessity, drop off to be recycled into new energies. So many of the constructs that I once held dear are now faded, lifeless, “cell walls” falling back to Earth. That is the miracle of Gateway.
Peace,
Herb
That Presence in the Silence Between Our Footsteps: A Conspiracy of Love
By Herb _____
Why must our guides work so hard to get our attention? For remote viewer extraordinaire, Joe McMoneagle, it was that unanticipated book on the floor (Bob’s Journeys Out of the Body) while traveling through a bookstore seeking another title. In the instance of author, engineer and explorer, Bruce Moen, there was that serendipitous occasion of bumbling fingers seeking out a hypnosis book at public library to stumble upon Bob’s book.
It would seem that the first clue indicative of an extraordinary event waiting in queue just around the next turn is the erroneous belief that the subsequent moment will be entirely ordinary. Abandoned somewhere in that hushed space of time between each footfall, our tireless guides nudge books off of shelves or steer our clumsy paws directly to the information our souls require. Occasionally they employ other tactics, tools, and vehicles, as well.
The residential Gateway program is one such vehicle overflowing with moments of seeming ordinariness. For once the participant yields to the timeless ebb and flow of six solid days of working on oneself, even the astonishing moments easily fall victim to habituation.
Habituation, of course, is that phenomena whereby repeated exposure to the disarmingly enchanting inner landscapes, unhinges shielding barricades, and progresses the participant toward realms and outcomes formerly considered unfathomable. In the wild, habituation advances the stealth hunter into the prey’s circle of safety. Conversely, this evolution of defenselessness within a participant leads a Gateway traveler full circle: to the heart’s ardent desires.
Such was the case when I attended the April 26-May 2, 2003 Gateway Voyage. While some spoke of delightful geographies, of wonders, and of other mind-bending pyrotechnics, my mind turned lazy circles inside of a pleasant, seamless fog. Throughout the affair I would encounter someone who would say, “I’m here for thus and so,” but my inner voice begged to differ. There was a certain transparency evident among members in our class of matriculating voyagers. Occasionally one of those souls would swerve deliciously close to the rather obvious and quintessential reason for their presence there. I developed a rather exasperating habit of spouting out, “That’s why YOU ARE HERE!”
That’s why you are here. It did my heart so much good to witness those profound moments of inner discovery. I just wanted to hug the person flat. How fortunate they were to have traveled so far and to finally touch base with truth! By Thursday night, however, I had consigned my own collective experiences of the week to a dim sort of happiness.
That evening Laurie Monroe joined us in David Francis Hall and shared with us the story behind the Prophet’s Conference tape. TMI members have this wonderful recording included with the second quarter Focus. The lights were dimmed, and we closed our eyes and relaxed into our chairs. To say that I was experiencing the tape as yet another ordinary moment, in a long series of such events, would be the crudest form of foreshadowing ever foisted upon the reading public.
Yet, toward the end of that tape, Dar Miller predictably encouraged us to, “Express gratitude…” I sent up a whisper of appreciation, and what returned from the sky dissolved and redefined my previously bankrupt understanding of amorous and awesome thankfulness.
In a world of four seasons, yet another was added to spring, summer, fall and winter. That season is Love. An all-consuming ball of bone-softening love encapsulated me, melting-down every hard edge, while sitting in an otherwise ordinary chair, during a week of startlingly predictable, charming discoveries. It is true, therefore, that in the calm moments between each footstep, our guides, and that Season of Love, are engaging in the most astounding conspiracy to share that birthright with us. To me they simply said: “Now. That’s why YOU are here.”
