. A VAST EXPLOSION OF LOVE .
My husband, Richard, and I had a stressful marriage and four great children. When he retired as an airline pilot, we moved to my home country, South Africa, to the small town of McGregor in the Cape wilderness. Here, surrounded by mountains and the beauty of the wild veldt, I was looking for something that I grandiosely called, to myself only, “the meaning of life.” I found the five books that Dr. Weiss had written. With joy I read and reread them; there was an immediate resonance. This was truth; this was the all-loving, all-embracing meaning that I had sought. My husband said, “Lee, you are being weird.”
For a few years afterward, we lived as we had before – not unhappily, but making the best we could of it. I went away for six weeks to visit our children and when I returned, Richard was different. He too had read Brian’s books. With delight, we found that we could now talk openly together about anything, and the following months were the happiest that we had ever shared. We were able to say that we loved each other unconditionally for the first time, and we both began the changes that were necessary, but now possible, together.
In 2002, we went to France to look after the house of our oldest son, Will, when he and his wife were away. The joyous relationship continued and grew. We went to Andorra, and at dinner in that lovely country beneath the high Pyrenees, we talked of the utter joy that we both felt. Richard said to me, “If I die tonight, Lee, everything, everything is worth it for what we have now.”
Richard died two days later of a massive heart attack. I was with him in the ICU at the hospital. His last words to me were “I love you forever” and a whispered “We won!”
Our two older sons flew in, and on that midsummer Sunday we held each other and roared our grief, rocking and saying nothing all day but Richard’s name. That evening, Will went to walk his dog across the lane, and James, our second son, offered to accompany him. As they passed the gate, I heard Will say, “Dad built these gateposts for me last year,” and James clung to one and stayed there.
Alone on the patio, I rocked and cried, took a small, shuffling step, and stepped into total peace. I held my breath so as not to break it, but I had to breathe again. The peace remained. Gasping, I whispered to myself, “Oh, Richard, if you were here and I told you about this, I know what you would say. You’d say,’Lee, you are being weird again.'”
At that moment, Richard’s arms came around me, and he held me tightly. In only my right ear I heard his voice. He said, “Weird? Lee, you don’t know the half of it. It’s so…wonderful!”
I turned into a block of ice. Dimly, I felt my sons return; I felt them turn me and sit me in a chair at the patio table. I kept my eyes closed and wished that I could tell them what had happened, but they were both skeptics, and they did not need a mad mother just then. So I simply held their hands.
Suddenly, James tore his hand from mine, and as I looked up his face was red and he was shouting. James said, “It’s no good! I have to tell you. I’m mad, I’m mad, but when I stood by the gatepost, I felt the loveliest peacefulness. As I started to feel so guilty, Dad put his arms around me, and he said, only into my right ear, ‘James, James, it’s all right. Everything is exactly as it is meant to be.'”
Before I could say anything, Will flung both arms over his head and said, “Oh, thank you, God. Thank you, James! I thought I was mad too, and I’d have to give up my job because you can’t have mad pilots. It was the same for me. I stood at that fence there and felt such blessed relief and total peace. Then, as I started to feel guilty, Dad’s arms held me, a real Dad hug, and he said into my right ear, ‘Will, oh Will, everything is as it is meant to be.’ He told me to open my eyes and look, and I could see through everything, and it was all one, and all love!”
Then did I tell them what had been my contact. We spent the rest of the night silently, except for Will and James saying once to each other, “Certainty!”
The peace held all three of us through the next days, when my youngest son flew back to McGregor with me and helped me establish a routine. Richard spoke then to me, saying, “This is necessary,” and “It will not be for long,” but I was back in anguish. My grief was so great that I found myself only able to go on if I carried one of Dr. Weiss’s books with me wherever I went, even if it was only to go shopping. I told my sister of what had happened with my sons on the night Richard died. She, who belonged to a fundamentalist religion, told me that I was “raising spirits” and called me the “Witch of Endor,” and from then on would no longer speak to me or answer my messages.
Nevertheless, I was determined to continue to change, to become the person I was meant to be. Crying most of the time, I began to embrace total honesty and openness, learning not to just to be loving but to be love. I walked the veldt alone a lot.
On one Sunday morning, I took my four dogs for one of our long walk into places where there were no other people at all. These were the times when I started to have strong memories of another, long-ago life, which I thought of as “interruptions.” I tried pushing these thoughts away until one showed me myself sitting at a candlelight dinner, with rose petals on the table. It was during the Middle Ages. I sat beside a much older, very learned man, whom I could not look at for shyness. I was sixteen and in love with him. Looking down at the table, I saw his right hand, a gray sleeve falling from his arm as his fingers played with a walnut, rolling it exactly as Richard had always done with coins and other small objects. My heartbeat raced. Whoever this man was, he was Richard. I snapped out of it and steadied myself. All four dogs, still on their leashes, suddenly rushed forward up an incline where Richard had often waited for me when we walked together there. The dogs sat down in a semicircle and wagged their tails, and I felt sure that I would find the peace of Richard’s presence as I stepped into that space.
And I did, for a moment. But totally clearly, I heard Richard say beside me, “You were born in the year 1100.” I freaked out and turned back, dragging my poor dogs, and with every footstep I yelled aloud, “Prove it! Prove it!” as I ran all the way home.
I could not stop this reaction, so I immediately drove to see a friend who, although he did not then accept reincarnation, had been very good to me and known Richard well. This friend, Manie, did not believe at the time that dreams mattered either. I found Manie lying on his bed, one leg bent and the ankle of the other on that knee. He was looking outside to a jacaranda tree in full, gorgeous flower. He gave me no word of greeting as I approached but said only, “Lee. I have had the most amazing dream.”
Still looking out the window, he went on. “I dreamed that I was in the most beautiful garden. Green lawns of deep grass, and the flowers – oh, the scent of the flowers. I walked along the grass and then I saw Richard coming toward me. We met. We hugged. He asked me if I would do something for him. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Anything, Richard.’
“‘Lee will be here later,’ Richard had said. ‘Will you give her a message from me?'”
Then Manie sat up on his bed and apologized. “Lee, the message is just gibberish. Gibberish. But I did promise Richard.” He looked so sadly at me. “He said, ‘Tell Lee that nine hundred years ago, I am a big, big dolphin.'”
Thirty years before as a fighter pilot, Richard had flown in the RAF with the Nineteenth Squadron, whose emblem, he had been delighted to find, was a dolphin. Upon seeing dolphins for the first time, he had fallen in love with them. Showing me his huge English Electric Lightning with his name on the side, he had pointed out the dolphin on its tail and proudly said, “I am now a dolphin!” He later left the RAF to join British Airways, and in the darkness one night I asked him if he and Richard had said that if he survived he would get a message to me, but I must never believe a message came from him unless he used the words I am a dolphin in it.
Until Manie said those words to me again thirty years later, I had completely forgotten this message. For the only time in my life, I fainted. When I came to, I told Manie everything. And, wonderfully, Manie soon enough experienced his own regressions and came to embrace the concept of reincarnation.
I accepted it all, but I was still in some sort of anguish. My children asked me what I’d do if I could do anything, and I immediately said, “I would like to spend one hour with Dr. Brian Weiss.” Half an hour later, they had arranged for me to have a cabin on the ship where Brian was having a workshop, sailing from New York. It was in the first session with Brian, shining with love and light on the stage, that I found that hypnosis was exactly like planning a conscious dream, and with Brian’s gentle, loving voice, I went back to that earlier life in medieval Paris. It had started with that tremendous love affair with the older Richard. That had ended when, at the age of eighteen, I was forced to become a nun. Richard became a monk, and I was desolately unhappy for the rest of the life. I saw him in a monk’s cell, beating his forehead and arms against a stone wall until they bled, yelling my name out loud. If only I, in that life, had known that little fact, my many years of agony as a nun would have found healing.
But that life was the opposite of the life I now live. In the Middle Ages, I had no freedom at all; in my present life, I am incredibly free. I was jubilant to experience this regression. To me, this was the colossal change that I needed. It healed the grief that had felt to me like churning glass inside my stomach and heart ever since Richard died. I was blessed beyond anything I could have dreamed. Additionally, I received a short letter from my sister, who had not spoken to me for several years. She was responding to the experience that I had told her about with my sons upon Richard’s death. My sister wrote, “This morning in my quiet time with the Lord, He told me that you and your family were given a vast explosion of love, and that I must keep right out of it.” She signed it “with love.” As the years pass now, my life is so very, beautifully, gently, wonderfully different, ever since the first moment I picked up those books.
∼ Lee Leach
What you just read (or scrolled through) above, is an excerpt from Dr. Brian Weiss’s (and Amy E. Weiss) book ‘Miracles Happen’.
It is not a work of fiction.
I can not stress enough that my intentions are not to infringe the copyrights of this book. I felt a very strong compulsion and had a “feeling” that I need to publish this in a post today and share it with all the people who might not come across his work or this book otherwise.
This is a letter written by a woman who attended one of his workshops and Brian shares it (one of the many) in his book in the chapter – ‘Letting Go of Grief’, pages 158-162.
I have read all his books and am currently reading this one. I admire Dr. Weiss for all his work and I cannot explain in words the effect his books have had on me and I cannot get across how much I value everything shared through him.
If this reaches him at all (although unlikely), I would like to thank him and tell him how grateful I am to him for sharing his experiences and knowledge with all of us.
As a reader, if you have found this interesting, helpful or are curious, I recommend you to get his book, and let me know if this post has inspired you or made a difference!