now scheduled Catherine's weekly sessions at the end of the day, because they were lasting several hours. She still had that peaceful look about her when she came in the following week. She had talked with her father on the phone. Without giving him any details, she had, in her own way, forgiven him. I had never seen her this serene. I marveled at the rapidity of her progress. It was rare for a patient with such chronic, deep-seated anxieties and fears to improve so dramatically. But then, of course, Catherine was hardly an ordinary patient, and the course her therapy had taken was certainly unique. "I see a porcelain doll sitting on some type of mantel." She had quickly fallen into a deep trance. "There are books next to the fireplace on both sides. It's a room within some house. There are candlesticks next to the doll. And a painting... of the face, the man's face. It's him...." She was scanning the room. I asked her what she was seeing.

"Some type of covering on the floor. It's fuzzy like it's... it is an animal skin, yes... some type of animal-skin covering on the floor. To the right there are two glass doors... that lead out onto the veranda. There are four steps-columns on the front of the house -four steps down. They lead out to a path. Big trees are all around.... There are some horses outside. The horses are bridled... to some posts that are sitting out front."

"Do you know where this is?" I inquired. Catherine took a deep breath.

"I don't see a name," she whispered, "but the year, the year must be somewhere. It's the eighteenth century, but I don't... there are trees and yellow flowers, very pretty yellow flowers." She was distracted by these flowers. "They smell wonderful; they smell sweet, the flowers... strange flowers, big flowers... yellow flowers with black centers in them." She paused, remaining among the flowers. I was reminded of a field of sunflowers in the south of France. I asked her about the climate.

"It's very temperate, but it's not breezy. It's neither hot nor cold." We were not making any progress in identifying the locale. I rook her back into the house, away from the fascinating yellow flowers, and I asked her whose portrait was above the mantel.

"I can't... I keep hearing Aaron... his name is Aaron." I asked if he owned the house. "No, his son does. I work there." Once again she was cast as a servant. She had never even remotely approached the status of a Cleopatra or a Napoleon. Doubters of reincarnation, including my own scientifically trained self until the past two months, often point to the much higher than expected frequency of incarnations as famous people. Now I found myself in the most unusual position of having reincarnation being proved scientifically right in my offices in the Department of Psychiatry. And much more than reincarnation was being revealed.

"My leg is very..." Catherine continued, "very heavy. It hurts. It almost feels like it's not there.... My leg is hurt. The horses kicked me." I told her to look at herself.

"I have brown hair, brown curly hair. I have some type of

bonnet on, some type of white bonnet... a blue dress with some type of pinafore on the dress... apron. I'm young, but not a child. But my leg hurts. It just happened. It hurts terribly." She was visibly in great

pain. "Shoe... shoe. He kicked me with his shoe. He's a very, very mean horse." Her voice grew softer as the pain finally subsided. "I can smell the hay, the feed in the barn. There are other people working in the stable area." I asked about her duties.

"I was responsible for serving... for serving in the big house. I also had something to do with milking the cows." I wanted to know more about the owners.

"The wife is rather plump, very dowdy-looking. And there are two daughters.... I do not know them," she added, anticipating my next question whether any had appeared yet in Catherine's current lifetime. I inquired about her own family in the eighteenth century. • "I don't know; I don't see them. I don't see anybody with me." I asked if she lives there. "I lived here, yes, but not in the main house. Very small... the house is provided for us. There are chickens. We gather up the eggs. They're brown eggs. My house is very small... and white... one room. I see a man. I live with him. He has very curly hair and blue eyes." I asked if they are married.

"Not their understanding of marriage, no." Was she born there? "No, I was brought to the estate when I was very young. My family was very poor." Her mate did not seem familiar. I directed her to move ahead in time to the next significant event in that lifetime.

"I see something white... white with many ribbons on it. Must be a hat. Some type of bonnet, with feathers and white ribbons." "Who is wearing the hat? Is it-" She cut me off.

"The lady of the house, of course." I felt a bit stupid. "It's the marriage of one of their daughters. The whole estate joined in the celebration." I asked if there was anything in the newspaper about the wedding. If there was, I would have had her look at the date.

"No, I don't believe they have newspapers there. I see nothing like that." Documentation was proving difficult to come by in this lifetime. "Do you see yourself at the wedding?" I asked. She answered quickly, in a loud whisper.

"We're not at the wedding. We can only watch the people coming and going. The servants are not allowed." "What are you feeling?"

"Hatred."

"Why? Do they treat you poorly?"

"Because we are poor," she answered softly, "and we're bonded to them. And we have so little compared to what they have."

"Do you ever get to leave the estate? Or do you live out your life

there?"

She answered wistfully. "I live out my life there." I could feel her sadness. Her life was both difficult and hopeless. I progressed her to the day of her death.

"I see a house. I'm lying in bed, lying on the bed. They're giving me something to drink, something warm. It has a minty odor to it. My chest is very heavy. It's difficult to breathe.... I have pain in my chest and my back.... It's a bad pain... difficult to talk." She was breathing rapidly and shall-lowly, in great pain. After a few minutes of agony, her face softened, and her body relaxed. Her breathing returned to normal.

"I have left my body." Her voice was louder and husky. "I see a wonderful light.... There are people coming to me. They are coming to help me. Wonderful people. They are not afraid.... I feel very light.

. .." There was a long pause.

"Do you have any thoughts about the lifetime you just left?"

"That is for later. For now, I just feel the peace. It's a time of comfort. The party must be comforted. The soul... the soul finds peace here. You leave all the bodily pains behind you. Your soul is peaceful and serene. It's a wonderful feeling... wonderful, like the sun is always shining on you. The light is so brilliant! Everything conies from the light! Energy comes from this light. Our soul immediately goes there. It's almost like a magnetic force that we're attracted to. It's wonderful. It's like a power source. It knows how to heal."

"Does it have a color?"

"It's many colors." She paused, resting in this light. "What are you experiencing?" I ventured.

"Nothing... just peacefulness. You're among your friends. They are all there. I set many people. Some are familiar; others are not. But we're there, waiting." She continued to wait, as minutes slowly passed. I decided to push the pace.

"I have a question to ask." "Of whom," Catherine asked.

"Somebody-you or the Masters," I hedged. "I think the understanding of this will help us. The question is this: Do we choose the times and the manner of our birth and our death? Can we choose our situation? Can we choose the time of our passing over again? I think understanding that will ease a lot of your fears. Is there anyone there who can answer that question?" The room felt cold. When Catherine spoke again, her voice was deeper and more resonant. It was a voice I had never heard before. It was the voice of a poet.

"Yes, we choose when we will come into our physical state and when

we will leave. We know when we have accomplished what we were sent down here to accomplish. We know when the time is up, and you will accept your death.

For you know that you can get nothing more out of this lifetime. When you have time, when you have had the time to rest and re-energize your soul, you are allowed to choose your re-entry back into the physical state. Those people who hesitate, who are not sure of their return here, they might lose the chance that was given them, a chance to fulfill what they must when they're in physical state."

I knew immediately and completely that this was not Catherine speaking. "Who is speaking to me," I implored; "who is talking?" Catherine answered in her familiar soft whisper. "I don't know. The voice of someone very... somebody who controls things, but I don't know who it is. I can only hear his voice and try to tell you what he says."

She also knew this knowledge was not coming from herself, not from the subconscious, nor from the unconscious. Not even her super conscious self. She was somehow listening to, then conveying to me, the words or thoughts of someone very special, someone who "controls things." Thus another Master had appeared, different from the one, or several, from whom the previous wisdom- laden messages had come. This was a new spirit, with a characteristic voice and style, poetic and serene. This was a Master who spoke about death without any hesitation, yet whose voice and thoughts were steeped with love. The love felt warm and real, yet detached and universal. It felt blissful, yet not smothering or emotional or binding. It relayed a feeling of loving detachment or detached loving-kindness, and it felt distantly familiar.

Catherine's whisper grew louder. "I have no faith in these people."

"No faith in which people?" I queried.

"In the Masters."

"No faith?"

"No, I have lack of faith. That's why my life has been so difficult. I had no faith in that lifetime." She was calmly evaluating her eighteenth-century life. I asked her what she had learned in that lifetime.

"I learned about anger and resentment, about harboring your feelings toward people. I also had to learn that I have no control over my life. I want control, but I don't have any. I must have faith in the Masters. They will guide me throughout. But I did not have the faith. I felt like I was doomed from the beginning. I never looked at things

very pleasantly. We must have faith... we must have faith. And I doubt. I choose to doubt instead of believe." She paused.

"What should you do, and I do, to make ourselves better? Are our paths the same?" I asked. The answer came from the Master who last week had spoken of intuitive powers and of returning from comas. The voice, the style, the tone, were all different from both Catherine's and from the masculine, poetic Master who had just spoken.

"Everybody's path is basically the same. We all must learn certain attitudes while we're in physical state. Some of us are quicker to accept them than others. Charity, hope, faith, love... we must all know these things and know them well. It's not just one hope and one faith and one love-so many things feed into each one of these. There are so many ways to demonstrate them. And yet we've only tapped into a little bit of each one....

"People of the religious orders have come closer than any of us have because they've taken these vows of chastity and obedience. They've given up so much without asking for anything in return. The rest of us continue to ask for rewards-rewards and justifications for our behavior... when there are no rewards, rewards that we want. The reward is in doing, but doing without expecting anything... doing unselfishly.

"I have not learned that," Catherine added, in her soft whisper. For a moment I was confused by the word "chastity," but I remembered that the root meant "pure," referring to a much different state from that of just sexual abstinence.

"... Not to overindulge," she continued. "Anything done to excess...

in excess.... You will understand. You really do understand." She paused again.

"I'm trying," I added. Then I decided to focus on Catherine. Perhaps the Masters had not yet left. "What can I do to best help Catherine to overcome her fears and anxieties? And to learn her lessons? Is this the best way, or should I change something? Or follow up in a specific area? How can I help her the best?"

The answer came in the deep voice of the poet Master. I leaned forward in my chair.

"You are doing what is correct. But this is for you, not for her." Once

again, the message was that this was for my benefit more than for

Catherine's.

"Former?"

"Yes. What we say is for you." Not only was he referring to Catherine in the third person, but he said "we." There were, indeed, several Master Spirits in attendance.

"Can I know your names?" I asked, immediately wincing at the mundane nature of my question. "I need guidance. I have so much to know."

The answer was a love poem, a poem about my life and my death. The voice was soft and tender, and I felt the loving detachment of a universal spirit. I listened in awe,

"You will be guided in time. You will be guided... in time. When you accomplish what you have been sent here to accomplish, then your life will be ended. But not before then. You have much time ahead of you... much time."

I was simultaneously anxious and relieved. I was glad he was not more specific. Catherine was becoming restless. She spoke in a small whisper.

"I'm falling, falling... trying to find my life... falling." She sighed, and I did, too. The Masters were gone. I pondered the miraculous messages, very personalized messages from very spiritual sources. The implications were overwhelming. The light after death and the life after death; our choosing when we are born and when we will die; the sure and unerring guidance of the Masters; lifetimes measured in lessons learned and tasks fulfilled, not in years; charity, hope, faith, and love; doing without expectations of return-this knowledge was for me. But for what purpose? What was I sent here to accomplish? The dramatic messages and events cascading upon me in the office mirrored deep changes in my personal and family life. The transformation gradually crept into my awareness. For example, I was driving with my son to a college baseball game when we became stuck in a huge traffic jam. I have always been annoyed by traffic jams, and now we would miss the first inning or two as well. I was aware of not being annoyed. I wasn't projecting the blame on some incompetent driver. My neck and shoulder muscles were relaxed. I didn't take out my irritation on my son, and we were passing the time talking to each other. I became aware of just wanting to spend a happy afternoon with Jordan, watching a game we both enjoy. The goal of the afternoon was to spend time together. If I had become annoyed and angry, the whole outing would have been ruined.

I would look at my children and my wife and wonder if we had been together before. Had we chosen to share the trials and tragedies and joys of this life? Were we ageless? I felt a great love and tenderness toward them. I realized that their flaws and faults are minor. These are not really so important. Love is.

I even found myself overlooking my own flaws, for the same reasons. I didn't need to try to be perfect or in control all the time. There really was no need to impress anyone.

I was very glad that I could share this experience with Carole. We would often talk after dinner and sort out my feelings and reactions to Catherine's sessions. Carole has an analytical mind and is very well grounded. She knew how driven I was to pursue the experience with Catherine in a careful, scientific manner, and she would play the devil's advocate to help me look at this information objectively. As the critical evidence mounted that Catherine was indeed revealing great truths, Carole felt and shared my apprehensions and my joys.