everal nights later I was jolted awake from a deep sleep. Instantly alert, I had a vision of Catherine's face, several times larger than life-size. She looked upset, as if she needed my help. I looked over at the clock; it was 3:36 a.m. There had been no outside noises to awaken me. Carole was sleeping peacefully beside me. I dismissed the incident and fell back to sleep.

At about 3:30 that same morning, Catherine had awakened in a panic from a nightmare. She was sweating and her heart was racing. She decided to meditate to relax, visualizing my hypnotizing her in the office. She pictured my face, heard my voice, and gradually fell back to sleep.

Catherine was becoming increasingly psychic, and apparently so was I. I could hear my old psychiatry professors talking about transference and countertransference reactions in therapeutic relationships. Transference is the patient's projection of feelings, thoughts, and wishes onto the therapist, who represents someone from the patient's past. Countertransference is the reverse, the

therapist's unconscious emotional reactions to the patient. But this

3:30 a.m. communication was neither. This was a telepathic bond

along a wavelength outside the normal channels. Somehow the

hypnosis was opening up this channel. Or was it the audience, a

diverse group of spirits-Masters and guardians and others-that was responsible for the new wavelength? I was beyond the point of surprise.

In the next session, Catherine quickly reached a deep hypnotic level.

She was instantly alarmed. "I see a big cloud.. -it scared me. It was

there." She was breathing rapidly.

"Is it still there?"

"I don't know. It came and went quickly... something up high on a mountain." She remained alarmed, continuing to breathe heavily. I was afraid she was seeing a bomb. Could she look into the future? "Can you see the mountain? Is it like a bomb?"

"I don't know."

"Why did it scare you?"

"It was very sudden. It was just there. It's very smoky... very smoky. It's big. It's off at a distance. Oh...." "You're safe. Can you get closer to it?"

"I don't want to get closer!" she answered sharply. It was rare for her to be so resistant.

"Why are you so afraid of it?" I asked again.

"I think it's some chemicals or something. It's hard to breathe when you're around it." She was breathing laboriously.

"Is it like a gas? Is it coming from the mountain itself... like a volcano?"

"I think so. It's like a big mushroom. That's what it looks like... a white one."

"But not a bomb? It's not an atomic bomb or anything like that?" She paused and then continued.

"It's a vol... some type of volcano or something, I think. It's very scary. It's hard to breathe. There's dust in the air. I don't want to be there." Slowly her breathing returned Many Lives, Many Masters

to the usual deep and even respirations of the hypnotic state. She

had left this frightening scene.

"Is it easier to breathe now?"

"Yes."

"Good. What are you seeing now?"

"Nothing.... I see a necklace, a necklace on somebody's neck. It's

blue... it's silver and has a blue stone hanging off it, and then littler stones underneath that."

"Is there anything on the blue stone?"

"No, it's see-through. You can see through it. The lady has black hair

and a blue hat on... with a big feather, and the dress is velvet."

"Do you know the lady?"

"No."

"Are you there, or are you the lady?"

"I don't know."

"But you see her?"

"Yes. I'm not the lady."

"How old is she?"

"In her forties. But she looks older than what she is."

"Is she doing anything?"

"No, she's just standing next to the table. There's a perfume bottle on the table. It's white with green flowers on it. There's a brush and a comb with silver handles." I was impressed with her eye for detail. "Is it her room, or is it in a store?"

"It's her room. There's a bed in it... with four posts on it. It's a brown bed. There's a pitcher on the table." "A pitcher?"

"Yes, there are no pictures in the room. There are funny, dark curtains."

"Is anybody else around?"

"No."

"What relationship does this lady have to you?" "I serve her." Once again she was a servant. "Have you been with her long?" "No... a few months."

"Do you like that necklace?"

"Yes. She's very elegant."

"Have you ever worn the necklace?"

"No," Her short answers required my active steering in order to obtain basic information. She reminded me of my preteenager son. "How old are you now?"

"Maybe thirteen, fourteen...." About the same age.

"Why have you left your family?" I inquired.

"I haven't left them," she corrected me. "I just work there."

"I see. Do you go home^o your family after that?" "Yes." Her answers left little room for exploration. "Do they live nearby?"

"Close enough.... We are very poor. It is necessary for us to work...

to serve."

"Do you know the lady's name?" "Belinda."

"Does she treat you well?" "Yes."

"Good. Do you work hard?"

"It's not very tiring." Interviewing teenagers was never easy, even in past lifetimes. It was fortunate that I was well practiced. "Good. Are you still seeing her now?" "No."

"Where are you now?"

"In another room. There's a table with a black covering on.., and fringe around the bottom. It smells of many herbs... heavy perfume."

"Does this all belong to your mistress? Does she use a lot of perfume?"

"No, this is another room. I'm in another room."

"Whose room is this?"

"It belongs to some dark lady."

"Dark how? Can you see her?"

"She has many coverings on her head," Catherine whispered, "many

shawls. She's old and wrinkled."

"What is your relationship to her?"

"I've just gone to see her."

"For what?"

"So she may do the cards." Intuitively I knew that she had gone to a fortune teller, one who probably read tarot cards. This was an ironic twist. Here Catherine and I were involved in an incredible psychic adventure, spanning lifetimes and dimensions beyond even that, and yet, perhaps two hundred years earlier, she had visited a psychic to find out about her future. I knew that Catherine had never visited a psychic in her present life, and she had no knowledge whatsoever about tarot cards or fortune-telling; these things frightened her.

"Does she read fortunes?" I asked.

"She sees things."

"Do you have a question for her? What do you want to see?B What do you want to know?"

"About some man... that I might marry.", "What does she say when she does the cards?"

"The card with... some kind of poles on it. Poles and flowers... but

poles, spears, or some kind of line. There's another card with a chalice on it, a cup.... I see a card with a man or boy carrying a shield. She says I will marry, but I will not marry this man.... I see nothing else."

"Do you see the lady?"

"I see some coins."

"Are you still with her, or is this a different place?"

"I am with her."

"What do the coins look like?"

"They're gold. The edges are not smooth. They are squared. There's a crown on one side."

"See if there is a year imprinted on the coins. Something that you can read... in lettering."

"Some foreign numbers," she replied. "X's and I's."

"Do you know what year that is?"

"Seventeen... something. I don't know when." She was silent again.

"Why is this fortune-teller important to you?"

"I don't know...."

"Does her fortune come true?"

"... But she's gone," Catherine whispered. "It's gone, I don't know."

"Do you see anything now?"

"No."

"No?" I was surprised. Where was she? "Do you know your name in this lifetime?" I asked, hoping to pick up the thread of this life several hundred years ago.

"I'm gone from there." She had left the lifetime and was resting. She could do this now on her own. It was not necessary for her to experience her death to do so. We waited for several minutes. This lifetime had not been spectacular. She had remembered only some descriptive highlights and the interesting visit to the fortune-teller. "Do you see anything now?" I asked again. "No," she whispered.

"Are you resting?"

"Yes... jewels of different colors...."

"Jewels?"

"Yes. They're really lights, but they look like jewels...."

"What else?" I asked.

"I just..." she paused, and then her whisper was loud and firm.

"There are many words and thoughts that are flying around.... It's

about coexistence and harmony... the balance of things." I knew

the Masters were nearby.

"Yes," I urged her on.

"I want to know about these things. Can you tell me?"

"Right now they're just words," she answered.

"Coexistence and harmony," I reminded her. When she answered, it was the voice of the poet Master. I was thrilled to hear from him again.

"Yes," he answered. "Everything must be balanced. Nature is balanced. The beasts live in harmony. Humans have not learned to do that. They continue to destroy themselves. There is no harmony, no plan to what they do. It's so different in nature. Nature is balanced. Nature is energy and life... and restoration. And humans just destroy. They destroy nature. They destroy other humans. They will eventually destroy themselves."

This was an ominous prediction. With the world constantly in chaos and turmoil, I hoped this would not be soon. "When will this happen?" I asked.

"It will happen sooner than they think. Nature will survive. Plants will survive. But we will not."

"Can we do anything to prevent that destruction? "-"No. Everything must be balanced...."

"Will this destruction happen in our lifetime? Can we avert it?" "It will not happen in our lifetime. We will be on another plane, another dimension, when it happens, but we will see it."

"Is there no way of teaching humankind?" I kept looking for a way out, for some mitigating possibility.

"It will be done on another level. We will learn from that."

I looked on the bright side. "Well, then our souls progress in different places."

"Yes. We will no longer be... here, as we know it. We will see it." "Yes," I conceded. "I have a need to teach these people, but I don't know how to reach them. Is there a way, or do they have to learn this for themselves?"

"You cannot reach everyone. In order to stop the destruction you must reach everyone, and you cannot. It cannot be stopped. They will learn. When they progress, they will learn. There will be peace, but not here, not here in this dimension." "Eventually there will be peace?" "Yes, on another level."

"It seems so far away, though," I complained. "People seem so petty now... greedy, power-hungry, ambitious. They forget about love and understanding and knowledge. There is much to learn." "Yes." "Can I write anything to help these people? Is there some way?" "You know the way. We do not have to tell you. It will all be to no avail, for we will all reach the level, and they will see. We are all the same. One is no greater than the next. And all this is just lessons... and punishments."

"Yes," I agreed. This lesson was a profound one, and I needed time to digest it. Catherine had become silent. We waited, she resting and I pensively absorbed in the dramatic pronouncements of the past hour. Finally, she broke the spell.

"The jewels are gone," she whispered. "The jewels are gone. The lights... they're gone."

"The voices, too? The words?"

"Yes. I see nothing." As she paused, her head began to move from side to side. "A spirit... is looking." "At you?"

"Yes."

"Do you recognize the spirit?"

"I'm not sure... I think it might be Edward." Edward had died during the previous year. Edward was truly ubiquitous. He seemed to be always around her.

"What did the spirit look like?"

"Just a... just white... like lights. He had no face, not like we know it, but I know it's he."

"Was he communicating at all with you?"

"No, he was just watching."

"Was he listening to what I was saying?"

"Yes," she whispered. "But he's gone now. He just wanted to be sure I'm all right." I thought about the popular mythology of the guardian angel. Certainly Edward, in the role of the hovering, loving spirit watching over her to make sure she was all right, approached such an angelic role. And Catherine had already talked about guardian spirits. I wondered how many of our childhood "myths" were actually rooted in a dimly remembered past.

I also wondered about the hierarchy of spirits, about who became a guardian and who a Master, and about those who were neither, just

learning. There must be gradations based upon wisdom and knowledge, with the ultimate goal that of becoming God-like and approaching, perhaps merging somehow, with God. This was the goal that mystic theologians had described in ecstatic terms over the centuries. They had had glimpses of such a divine union. Short of such personal experience, vehicles such as Catherine, with her extraordinary talent, provided the best view.

Edward had gone, and Catherine had become silent. Her face was peaceful, and she was enveloped in serenity. What a marvelous talent she possessed-the ability to see beyond life and beyond death, to talk with the "gods" and to share their wisdom. We were eating from the Tree of Knowledge, no longer forbidden. I wondered how many apples were left.

Carole's mother, Minette, was dying from the cancer that had spread from her breast to her bones and liver. The process had been going on for four years and now could no longer be slowed down by chemotherapy. She was a brave woman who stoically endured the pain and weakness. But the disease was accelerating, and I knew that her death was approaching.

The sessions with Catherine were going on simultaneously, and I shared the experience and revelations with Minette, I was mildly surprised that she, a practical businesswoman, readily accepted this knowledge and wanted to learn more- I gave her books to read, and she did so avidly. She arranged for and took a course with Carole and me in kabbalah, the Jewish mystical writings that are centuries old. Reincarnation and the in-between planes are basic tenets of kabalistic literature, yet most modern-day Jews are unaware of this. Minette's spirit strengthened as her body deteriorated. Her fear of death diminished. She began to anticipate being reunited with her beloved husband, Ben. She believed in the immortality of her soul, and this helped her endure the pain. She was holding on to life, awaiting the birth of another grandchild, her daughter Donna's first baby. She had met Catherine in the hospital during one of her treatments, and their eyes and words joined peacefully and eagerly. Catherine's sincerity and honesty helped convince Minette that the existence of an afterlife was indeed true.

A week before she died, Minette was admitted to the hospital's oncology floor. Carole and I were able to spend time with her, talking about life and death, and what awaited us all after death. A lady of great dignity, she decided to die in the hospital, where the nurses could care for her. Donna, her husband, and their six-week-old daughter came to spend time with her and say good-bye. We were almost continuously with her. About six in the evening of the night Minette died, Carole and I, having just arrived home from the hospital, both experienced a strong urge to go back. The next six or seven hours were filled with serenity and a transcendental spiritual energy. Although her breathing was labored, Minette had no more pain. We talked about her transition to the in-between state, the bright light, and the spiritual presence. She reviewed her life, mostly silently, and struggled to accept the negative parts. She seemed to know that she couldn't let go until this process was completed. She was waiting for a very specific time to die, in the early morning. She grew impatient for this time to come. Minette was the first person I had guided to and through death in this manner. She was strengthened, and our grief was assuaged by the entire experience. I found that my ability to heal my patients had significantly expanded, not just with phobias and anxieties, but especially in death- and- dying, or grief, counseling. I intuitively knew what was wrong and what directions to take in therapy. I was able to convey feelings of peacefulness, calm, and hope. After Minette's death, many others who were either dying or who were the survivors of a loved one's death came for help. Many were not ready to know about Catherine or the literature about life after death. But even without imparting such specific knowledge, I felt that I could still deliver the message. A tone of voice, an empathic understanding of the process and of their fears and feelings, a look, a touch, a word-all could get through, at some level, and touch a chord of hope, of forgotten spirituality, of shared humanity, or even more. And for those ready for more, to suggest readings and to share my experiences with Catherine and others was like opening a window to a fresh breeze. The ones who were ready were revived. They gained insights even more rapidly.

I believe strongly that therapists must have open minds. Just as more scientific work is necessary to document death-and-dying experiences, such as Catherine's, so is more experiential work necessary in the field. Therapists need to consider the possibility of life after death and integrate it into their counseling. They do not have to use hypnotic regressions, but they should keep their minds

open, share their knowledge with their patients, and not discount their patients' experiences.

People are now devastated by threats to their mortality. The plague of AIDS, nuclear holocaust, terrorism, disease, and many other catastrophes hang over our heads and torture us daily. Many teenagers believe that they won't live past their twenties. This is incredible, reflecting the tremendous stresses in our society.

On the individual level, Minette's reaction to Catherine's messages is encouraging. Her spirit had strengthened, and she had felt hope in the face of great physical pain and bodily deterioration. But the messages are for all of us, not just the dying. There is hope for us, too. "We need more clinicians and scientists to report on other Catherines, to confirm and expand her messages. The answers are there. We are immortal. We will always be together.