Since the publication of Afterlife Revolution, contact with Anne has become more and more frequent and prolific. She is telling me that I have been too careful when it comes to reporting these events, so from now on I will be reporting on them more frequently and in more detail.
I’m going to give a presentation at Contact in the Desert about everything that has happened since we published the Afterlife Revolution, and after that will publish a series of journal entries about them.
One of the reasons that I haven’t written much about them is that I like to restrict myself to writing about events that are witnessed not only by me, but also by other people who I can name. Anne was always insistent that I should limit myself as much as possible to reporting only witnessed events.
Last night, such an event took place at the reading group I attend Olandar in Malibu every Tuesday night. It has been meeting for about 30 years. Anne and I joined it in 2008. We read and discuss authors like Emerson, Jung and Maurice Nicoll. Presently we are discussing Creative Meditation and Multidimensional Consciousness by Lama Govinda.
During the course of the reading, we came to this extraordinary sentence: “Death is a deficiency of the faculty of transformation.” (p. 183, Quest Edition) At once, I was reminded of what had happened at the moment of Anne’s death. I’ve written about this in Afterlife Revolution, but not all of the participants in the group have read the book, so I commented that in the moments after she died, Anne’s body changed very dramatically. Her face instantly became almost unrecognizable. It was as if most of her had left, and what remained behind was just a shell or a fragment—that by the time her body ceased to function, Anne had already become mostly light, and when that light ascended, little that was even recognizable remained behind.
Shortly after I talked about this, a white moth appeared, flying overhead, circling the group. I said, “there’s a white moth,” and some of the group—the ones who knew what it meant—took notice. I watched it carefully. I was determined to see where it went. It circled the group for about for perhaps 30 seconds, then rose toward the ceiling and disappeared. It didn’t pop out of existence like things do in the movies. As I have noticed before, it was there one second and then the next simply wasn’t. It did not fly away.
Last February, as I mentioned on Jeremy Vaeni’s podcast, it appeared when we were at the Esalen institute in northern California. This happened before a group of people at dinner, just after I had given my presentation about Anne. Elizabeth Krohn watched it very carefully. I asked her about it today and she wrote back, “I was watching it intently and then it simply wasn’t there anymore.” I once saw it disappear before my eyes while it was sitting on my chest over my heart.
There is no question in my mind but that the moth’s presence was a living symbol that Anne was with us. If you’ve read Afterlife, you’ll know why I am certain of this. As early as the January before her August, 2015 passing, she was preparing me to see the white moth as a symbol of her presence by insisting that I memorize William Butler Yeats’s poem “Song of the Wandering Aengus,” with its lines, “When white moths were on the wing and the moth-like stars were flickering out…”
There is much more material about the white moth and Anne in Afterlife, and since the book was published, it has become an emblem of her presence.
As the meetings are recorded, I was hoping that the sequence where I talk about it would be available. But the recording cuts out just before I see and mention it. Very frustrating but typical. I can’t record my nightly meditations, either. The surveillance camera always turns itself off in its software before I start, then usually turns itself back on again later. I might mention that the man who has been doing these recordings for years says that it has never happened before.
Subscribers can listen to a recording of the meeting here.
So that was yesterday evening. I came home and as usual did the sensing exercise. I felt Anne’s presence very strongly. I continued the exercise for an hour, going to bed at about 1. I did not wake up at three, nor was I awakened. But then, at five thirty, I found myself wide awake. Anne’s presence was REALLY strong. She began speaking. I could hear her easily. But understand, this is not the woman I knew. As she said to me right after she died, “I’m not Anne anymore, but I’ll always be Anne for you.” She is a powerful, vividly conscious being now and she is on a mission, and she was there to get me to help her further her work. (I say her because in this life she was a woman. Where she is now, I don’t know that there is any sexuality as we understand it. But, as she has promised, I still perceive her as my lovely, dear Anne, and that manifestation will always be the medium through which I engage with her.)
I was able to channel her extensively, something that I am loathe to do because I’m always afraid that I’m just channeling my own memories. This time, though, it was not like that. It was spontaneous and immediate and she had a lot to say.
Midway through it, I realized that this was intended to be another Anne’s Diary and I started taking notes.
Incidentally, just for those of you who wonder what living it is like when she comes close: there are two levels two it. First, I am incredibly grateful and aware of how very precious the experience is. Second, that closeness reactivates my grief something fierce. At first, she also found this upsetting, but now it makes her mad. When I began to cry this morning, she said, “quit your caterwauling!” I sucked it right up and got on with the business at hand, which was getting her new diary entry down on paper.
So, for the rest of this marvelous story, you’ll need to go to Anne’s Diary. To do that, click here.
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