Twenty-six years ago, I embarked on a journey. It began after studying the account of an ancient holy man who’d received divine instruction to anoint his eyes that he might see. When he honored the instruction, he saw empowering visions. His experience struck me because he was told to anoint his own eyes, not to seek someone else to do it for him. It was his journey; he was in charge.

Being young and naïve, I concluded I could follow his pattern. I commenced a two-day fast and returned to the mountains where I’d grown up. The first day, I prepared a sacred space. I stepped into nature’s cathedral and the sanctity of solitude. The second day, I followed through with what I’d learned. I enjoyed a spiritual presence and received instruction, but no burning bush or chariot of fire. I’m embarrassed to admit I was disappointed. 

Four-and-a-half years later, a messenger came to me. He was not someone I knew in life, but someone whose life I knew and had studied. I saw him clearly and distinctly on two visits. He laid his hands on my head and blessed me. Among other things, he said, “I have given thee eyes to see.”

A few months ago, I read my handwritten account of those days on the mountain. I was still disappointed. Then a voice said, “Behold what you have seen since that day.”

During my 25 years as an emergency physician, I saw souls leave their bodies at death and I communicated with them. In a flash, I saw those souls again, and the other spiritual beings who have ministered to me through the years, including the messenger who blessed me with eyes to see. In a way I can’t explain, I saw in an instant the visions I’d experienced since that day on the mountain, the unnumbered times the veil had parted for me, and the day I came into the presence of the Divine while washing the feet of a homeless man. Suddenly, I realized my time on the mountain wasn’t about that day alone; it was about the next quarter century and beyond. And it wasn’t only about what I saw, but also what I heard, felt and knew.

I don’t know how long that holy man kept his sacred experience to himself, but he eventually shared it. Others, like me, benefitted. 

For many years, I hardly thought about my time on the mountain. When I read my account again recently, I felt impressed to share. I tried and hesitated, writing and deleting, sometimes feeling it was too personal to share or, at other times, that sharing was too ego-driven or that no one would care. Just a week ago, a messenger woke me at 3:00 a.m. I tried for an hour to go back to sleep. Knowing more than I wanted to admit, I asked, “Why did you wake me?” The answer came immediately.

“I’ve given you messages. Why aren’t you sharing?”

No one can tell you what or when to share. That rests with your highest self and the source of your messages. For me, I learned some experiences are to keep in my heart and others are to share. Perhaps sharing this experience will help others find their sacred path.

Namaste, dear souls. Travel wisely. Gain perspective.