WE HAD BECOME CLOSER through the events of the week, and as we collected next morning in the workroom, everyone greeted each other warmly. It was a true group of peers, with Roland acting as our facilitator. I had fully overcome my hero worship, and found he was an interesting and very complex person. His emergency involved horses he owned having to be moved from one locale to another in the high country up north. He had a deadline to get them out of one location, and the people who were supposed to handle the move had backed out.

We were ready for our morning exercises, and took our places in the same seats we'd occupied from the first day, little creatures of habit that we were.

Roland intoned the sound, and gradually thought filtered out. There was only the rhythm of breath, tone, and color... a play of energy merging us into a harmonious unit. I was beyond space and time, feeling the connection to the others through strands of light that grew stronger as our bonds to one another developed. I could feel our heartbeats converging, everything pulsing to the vibration of love.

I had never experienced anything like this before in my life, and was overjoyed to have found it, because it showed me that in truth, we really are all part of one system of energy. When the process rolled to conclusion, I didn't want to come back into the room. The gentle sound of a bell called me forth, and I opened my eyes. Looking around, I could see connecting lights between each of us. They were of a similar pattern and hue, becoming more vibrant and physically visible with each day.

Roland suggested the night before that we should see the Historical Sites of the area, including a museum dedicated to the story of Native Americans in the area. It included the ruins of a catholic church that was burned out during the rebellion in the 1600s by the natives who had formed the community atop the mountain we had visited earlier in the week. After our morning session and lunch, we piled into the Explorer for our trip to town.

The layout of the museum and the church ruins was well done. First, we went through a small building that housed the memorabilia of the early tribe, and we read the history of the events that unfolded. As the Spaniards encroached on the southwest, they enslaved the natives and forced them into torturous labor. Often, workers would die because the heat and conditions were so oppressive to them. They were forced to abandon their culture and their ceremonies, the lifeblood of their society. In addition, Europeans brought strange diseases for which the natives had no immunity, and many succumbed to these illnesses as well.

Walking through the museum was an education, and I felt tears welling inside. Something about the culture of these people in their closeness to God, whom they knew as Great Spirit, caused me anguish. They had been overrun by invaders in the name of what was termed God, but really represented the machinations of power, greed, and acquisition. To view the remnants of a civilization that lived close to the source of life in simplicity, with respect for all, was moving. To see what deposed it broke my heart. There was no light, no love, and no mercy. This was another example of the arrogance we humans displayed throughout history.

When we walked out of the museum to the ruins of the church, we passed a kiva, which had been the spiritual center for the tribe. It was a deep hole in the ground, and as I looked at it, I realized this was their form of a Holy Grail. When the Spaniards took over, use of it was forbidden, and it became a depository for the beaten, mutilated, and tortured souls who were left to die as punishment for transgressions against their oppressors.

As much as I had been impacted by the psychic connections to WWII in Europe, this affected me more, because it represented the rape of innocence. Europe's innocence had vanished centuries before. I looked at the kiva, and asked forgiveness for my part in their pain. I came from a European background; I was part of the white race. My need to atone was not logical; it sprang from my soul.

Walking through the destroyed church, I could feel the exclusivity and constriction of the Spaniards. I found myself cheering the natives who had finally rebelled and burned everything. They were able to rid themselves of their oppressors for a time. However, as I continued walking along the entire circumference of the site, I felt the pain of the priests, as well. What punishment did this assignment in the New World represent for them? They had often been exiled because of politics or because they had offended an aspect of the prescribed doctrine. So here were two groups, brought together in a moment of destiny that shattered innocence and dealt retribution. Again, the paradox of life played itself out.

By the time I finished walking the site, I had come full circle in my prayer for the victim and victimizer. They were all caught in a web of someone else's creation.

When we gathered at one of the picnic tables on the perimeter, I was very quiet. Roland watched me closely. I needed to be alone, so excused myself to walk through my feelings. As I moved away, experiencing the pain that had occurred at this site, Roland came up to me.

"Are you all right?"

I nodded my head. "I'm just overwhelmed by the sense of injustice. It wasn't just the natives. It was also the priests, and the troops. They were all caught in a vice of time and politics." I looked up at him with so much feeling, that I could see he was touched.

"You have such incredible sensitivity," he said softly. He took my hand and held it tightly in his.

He spoke as we walked. "Injustice happens. We have an idealistic notion that if you do everything right, you'll be fine. We look for the just to be rewarded and the unjust to be punished immediately, but life doesn't work that way. The sun shines on everybody without distinction. And as the good book says, the wheels of justice grind slowly... but they don't grind coffee." He looked at me humorously.

"What?" I couldn't believe he'd said that. "I think the saying is they grind exceedingly fine," I interjected.

"No!... Really?" He was teasing me.

It was just what I needed at that moment. Since coming to New Mexico, I was very easily touched emotionally by things that I saw, whereas at home I was much more matter-of-fact. Perhaps this was why I'd been born and lived in the San Francisco area, as Roland had suggested. I was too vulnerable to ghosts of the past.

Roland was a surprising mixture to me, a combination of wisdom and earthiness. He was a man with a keen ability to distill experience, yet had no need to flaunt it, or be the center of attention. He seemed to live a full life, filled with passion and humor. However, there was something about him that was isolated. We walked along quietly, without speaking, and it felt very comfortable to be alone with him.

"I'm going to have to go back to the Bay Area after our retreat. I'd like to get together with you while I'm there," Roland said.

"I'd be delighted. Are you going to give another series of lectures about the book?" I looked at him questioningly.

"Well, I'll be doing a book tour in the Midwest, and then at the end of the month in Oregon, but this is for follow up tests I have to take at Stanford Hospital."

I looked at him, surprised and alarmed. "Roland, are you all right?"

"No, not really." He paused. "I was involved in a direct hit during my stint in Vietnam. My platoon was in a target zone when our boys dropped Agent Orange. We got the brunt of it, and I'm one of three remaining members of a twelve man outfit."

He looked at me, waiting for a response. I said nothing.

"I've been very lucky. Through my own knowledge of healing techniques, I've been able to forestall the effects of the chemicals. However, the long-range toll on the liver is pretty unforgiving. Agent Orange was a very effective weapon that fulfilled its intention."

There was nothing I could say. My mind was drawn to the early death of my father, and my subsequent expectation that when I loved, I would lose. Here was a man I felt I could care about, because he touched me at a level I always yearned for. He was rich in qualities that were important to me, as my father had been. The old wound opened, and my fear of loss was ignited once again.

"What does this mean for you?" I asked, a lump in my throat.

"They have a new drug that's been very successful in retarding liver deterioration, so I'll be going back after we're done to start on the program."

The implication of his illness was troubling. "Why you?" My question was more a comment. It seemed so disillusioning that the good were often affected by tragedy.

"Why not me? We go back to the wheels of justice. Our government developed a powerful chemical weapon to defoliate the area, and it had devastating effects on humans as well. When you unleash something like that, it affects everything in the system. Chemicals don't play favorites."

I nodded. "I know. But it seems so unfair."

"It seemed very unfair to the Vietnamese, too. I went back years later and met with a group of our former enemies. There was a North Vietnamese colonel who had been caught in the same bombardment I was in. He was dying, and when I visited him in the hospital on his deathbed, he greeted me like a brother. I was so shaken by the feeling of friendship he offered, that I asked him how he could accept me, having been part of the forces that now caused his imminent death. Do you know what he said?"

I shook my head.

"He said... 'Living, dying... it's all the same. No blame.' He had the sweetest expression on his face. I spent some remarkable time with his family, and his Buddhist philosophy brought me back to the wisdom of my great-grandfather and the others who taught me when I was young. I vowed that when I finished my contract in the Middle East, I'd return to New Mexico as soon as I could. I never wanted to lose the link with truth or the earth again."

It was evident that the experience touched him deeply. Again, we walked in silence, and this time it was I who took his hand and squeezed it.

He spoke quietly again. "We're all part of the same system. It's one big unit that is tied together, and Agent Orange is child's play in comparison to some of the chemical weapons that are being developed all over the world right now."

As we turned to go back towards the group, I stopped.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes... just be yourself, and don't give up on me... I'm not dead yet!" He laughed aloud, and we rejoined the others, who were still deep in conversation.

We talked about our individual experiences at the ruins and then got into the car to go over to the river. Roland had a special place where he wanted us to meditate.

As we drove down the road, I was riveted by the beauty of the landscape. I'd never seen cottonwood trees before this trip, and they were lovely and gracious, providing shelter from the hot sun. Roland chose one of the sites amongst many, and after parking, we found our way to the water's edge.

The river was approximately 30 feet across, with a backdrop of huge mountains. Roland wanted us to find places along the riverbank where we could sit comfortably in meditation. Boulders dotted the area, and I decided to find one that would give me shade and keep me off the ground. He felt we had absorbed a lot in the last few days, and that it was important to ask in meditation for our purpose as a group. He commented about the ties that we had with one another, emphasizing the need for a clear group vision in order to move forward in a meaningful way.

I had a hard time settling down, wanting to choose the perfect rock to sit on, but went from one to another until finally, I reclaimed my first choice. The sound of water splashing over a log that had fallen across the river challenged silence, and I marveled that the others seemed to move easily into meditation. I wasn't able to because I was full of my encounter with Roland.

I looked at the scenery, recognizing again the peace and solidity that I felt in New Mexico, and then glanced over at the mountains. Gradually, my restlessness gave way to interest. The mountains seemed to beckon me and spoke through their repose. I found myself staring at the sleek sheer walls jutting out from the normal rounded mountain, like landscapes from another planet. They were dramatic statements, but they were also dignity and strength, modeled by the etchings of time that defined them, and I was aware of their serenity of being. They did not bow, nor make apology for their grandeur. I thought of us as humans, constantly trying to justify our existence. They just were.

As I stared at them, I was reminded of Nelson Mandela's Inaugural Address in 1994, where he posed the following eloquent possibility to the people of South Africa:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you NOT to be?

You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine we unconsciously give other people the permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

I had memorized that speech, and was elevated every time I thought of it. I had the same response to the mountains. The depth of connection I felt to them was awesome.

As I eased into meditation, I felt their presence, alive and vital. I moved into them and they received me with welcome. As I felt the connection grow, I could see how ignorant we as humans were. We thought mountains were rooted in one place, yet these were not stationary objects, they were living outcroppings of the Earth, receptors of the cosmos, and eloquent statements jotted on the landscape.

My meditation deepened, and I was moved back in time to the origin of the planet. I saw huge forces spewing gasses, fire, and mass in an incredible burst of energy. This was creation, and I was there. I came as part of the birth process, formed as a mountain, and then was wrenched away, banished to the human kingdom.

I opened my eyes to view these majestic giants across the river. Only a few moments had passed, but for me, it was a timeless event. Here were incredible structures that had endured time and travail. They looked like elders to me, robed in earth. They were open to scrutiny, showing the granite, the shoal, the soft, the defensible, and the impenetrable. They were majestic... a revelation in layers.

We could learn from them. We didn't have to hide from our experience. It shaped us. We didn't have to apologize for the lines on our faces, for they were the markings of our passage. Through adversity, we were strengthened, tempered and refined. Insight was born of a willing heart, and life was the great teacher.

These mountains were the old ones, and I recognized in relation to our group that we were to be as they were. Time would bring change, and we would live and we would die, yet we were to support one another in a vision of the Grail, to help each remain true to that purpose, and at some point, to share the insights with others.

The mountains were guardians of the Earth, as were the trees. Humans would come and go, but the mountains would remain. The indigenous people knew, but the white man was so far removed from his origin that he could not see. I perceived how small we were in relation to the consciousness of Earth. Earth was the child of the Cosmos, and we were a sub-species.

Returning to the present, I sat quietly. There was so much to digest. I had met myself in a different form that gave me a sense of belonging to a larger reality. It was such a vast, expansive feeling to be part of the mountains. To be only human seemed isolating and restrictive.

Roland suggested that we share our insights when we got back to the house, so we climbed into the car once again. On our way home Fiona wanted to stop at an intriguing little gallery on the side of the road.

The Lost World Gallery was housed in a magnificent adobe structure with curved walls and meandering desert gardens. Once inside, the Belgian owners introduced the uninitiated into a festival of delightful art and jewelry. According to Lillian, the prices were much more reason-able than in Taos or Santa Fe, and the selection was quite fine.

Browsing through the round shaped building, I found unique jewelry and purchased a stunning bronze necklace for myself, and earrings for friends. Roland was engaged in conversation with the owners, a warm rapport between them. As I watched him, I thought that he didn't look unhealthy. He seemed the picture of well-being. I hoped that the prognosis at Stanford would be better after the next round of tests, and that the new drug he was going to take did its job.

We had become a soul family. The mountains and these people meant a great deal to me, and I didn't want to lose any one of them.

© Kathleen Jacoby, 2000-2006

To purchase a copy of VISION OF THE GRAIL please click on the cover to the right.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kathleen Jacoby is a professional numerologist with over 25 years of experience. She is also one of PlanetLightworker's earliest contributors and an incredible spiritual teacher. She has been on radio and television, and has lectured and taught extensively.

In addition to numerology, Kathleen is the editor of a quarterly newsletter of ideas and inquiry called Seasons of the Soul, and author of the critically acclaimed spiritual adventure novel, Vision of the Grail.

Visit Kathleen's website: www.grailvision.com, and her BLOG at www.kathleenjacoby.blogs.com, or write to her at: Visionofthegrail@aol.com.