Awakening the lightning, slumbering deep within
It waits …
It knows not for what
While we sleep the featureless sleep of the unconscious
Sedated by the just good enough
Insensitive minds
Drugged by complacent mediocrity
Dreamless in self-righteous judgments
Compassionless in our apathy
Motionless in our unawareness
Loveless in our blind attention on mindless chatter
We drift
Afraid to live, but scared to die

Until …
In one blistering, glorious moment
The darkness is pierced by a single beam,
Pulsing just once
Across the minefield of our defenses
A no-man’s land
Bordered by barbed thought to keep love out
Stretching from a past, filled with cold regret
To a future, warning, “no, not yet.”

Quicksilver …
You flash across our cloud-draped skies
Hung in funereal mourning
For what we don’t even know we’ve lost
Eyes focused in a present moment we have no comprehension of
Jaw set in bold, challenge, “Awaken!”
Body relaxed, flowing … yet tightly coiled
A feline grace, readying to pounce
On an unsuspecting mouse
One tiny, precious beacon
In a sea of lost humanity
Savoring the build up
Anticipating an intense release of energy
Crackling earthward
To ignite the lightning rods of a million hearts

In that flash, we see pain
We have lived over and over
In that flicker, we embrace
Joy we have never known
But sought desperately
The thunder of your storm alerts us
In your presence, we dance at last,
Joyfully abandoning our difference
Happy to finally be released from invisible bonds
With which we have shackled seldom dreamed of ambitions
We sing
Our muffled voices stilled no longer
We flock to you
Our point guard and Wayshower
Our Pied Piper
Who dances before us
And whose song drifts back to us
In tidal waves

We turn as one
Soaring into a tomorrow
Vastly different from yesterday
Yet fully present in this moment in our expanded awareness
Featureless no longer,
Our slumber is filled with golden landscapes
Vibrating with color
Undulating in soft, summer breezes of love
Dreamless no longer,
Our sleep is peppered with vision not yet born
Awaiting only our attention to become reality
Sedated no longer,
We strive for the unattainable
In a vast, fathomless ocean of what is possible
Apathetic no longer,
We reach out from our prisons to hold hands with our world
And find bars insubstantial
Boundaries offering little resistance to our achievement

Because your lightning flashed across our lives
In one, blistering, glorious moment

Awakening …

@ J.C. 7/13/2015


The Seer

You are the Love Song
Playing always in my heart
A beautiful melody bringing laughter and tears
Joy and sadness
Its beauty captivates my soul
Its magic moves my body
Its rhythm, the ever-present pulse
Pushing delicious liquid through the veins of my moments
Branching into every part of my being
Making them whole
Leaving nothing untouched by its sweetness
Would I savor the sweetness
Leaving the bitterness on the plate to be discarded, forgotten?
No …
For its bitterness is also you
I would taste it all
Every morsel, every drop
Is your sweet song
Peace and pain inseparable in this tune
Intricate harmonies wind themselves in a web of unearthly splendor
Delivering both within the tapestry
Delicate, complicated syncopation
Weaves them together
Bonds them each to the other
They are ONE and the same
Joined in an unbreakable sacrament
Yet …
Only the most elementary lyric
Could speak of such beauty




May 28, 2015 through June 15, 2015

Since I will not be attending the events surrounding the Sixth Anniversary of The Day the Earth Stood Still in Los Angeles and Neverland this year, I felt that all of us “stay-at-homes” needed a little distraction. Of course, I do realize that we all have our own ways of memorializing … and celebrating … Michael Incredible Jackson. Mine will undoubtedly include (but not, by any means, be limited to) my customary month-long, nightly prayer/meditation vigil, a ritual observance I began in June, 2010 (described in Installment #21, March 26 through April 2, 2011) and which I have continued in each successive June when I am not physically “on pilgrimage.”

Nevertheless, I feel, our inability to participate in the communal events occurring in California (for whatever reason) while we all, at the same time, long to be there and part of it all with all our hearts, fragments our wholeness, divides our attention and keeps our inner worlds in turmoil. These conflicting emotions and thoughts cause us anxiety and stress. So, I thought a little distraction … for a few moments, at least, might be a good idea. Maybe, just maybe, we could, instead … uh … take our minds off being physically homebound by engaging our imaginations in a joyful, playful, innocent, open “pilgrimage” … allowing them to soar free to the sacred places we so dream about … above divisions and conflict.

I have decided that  … drumroll, please … cue the soft, relaxing music … perhaps, an Imaginary Interlude would be welcome. Buckle your seat belts, please, dear readers; some turbulence is expected.

As regular readers will no doubt recall from the end of Installment #94, I had just learned that the claim against Michael’s Estate filed by Wade Robson had been dismissed by Judge Beckloff and I was in MAJOR celebration mode, particularly in light of the over two years of increasingly horrifying and sick-making sensational stories leaked to the gutter press and our prayers and visualizations covering the same span. Since I am usually home alone, my celebrations are by necessity fairly staid and frequently consist of finding ways to include Michael. So, it will come as no great surprise to anyone to learn that I decided to visit Neverland Valley Ranch with the help of my Neverland CD of nature sounds. What follows is a description of that visit on May 28, 2015.

As the natural symphony of birdsong and water rushing over rocks in its path began to play, I was instantly transported to Neverland Valley Ranch. The ease of my passage shocked even me. I found myself standing on the beautifully manicured lawn at the rocky escarpment beside Ryan’s Bridge so quickly that I stood, disoriented for a few moments, taking in the beauty and tranquility of this feature of Neverland’s scenery. From this vantage point beside the bridge, incredible vistas designed by an artist of incomparable skill stretch in every direction, all painstakingly carved out of and grafted onto the land and backdropped by the mountains in the distance, in such a way that they appear to have occurred organically as a result of nature’s exuberance rather than plotted and planned by human hands, each scene more beautiful and colorful than the last.

During my regular visits to Michael’s ranch, I usually take a few minutes to breathe deeply and set my intention to release my hold on what is commonly referred to as reality … to be open and innocent … to reserve judgment and let go of my mind’s need to qualify, identify, classify, explain, categorize, judge, label or, in any way, dissect the experience. Since I was in celebration mode, this was especially true during my visit on May 28, 2015.

As I steadied and quieted my breath and mind, I was able to very clearly visualize my surroundings. [Note to the reader: the clarity of the sensory experiences described in this Installment was awe-inspiring. It was like sitting in an IMAX theater watching these scenes unfold in full technicolor and Dolby surround sound.]

As many of my readers know, this visualizing thing is still fairly new to me. I used to think I couldn’t visualize or dream, for that matter, until Michael showed me during the trial of Conrad Murray, that I can, indeed, be fairly successful in this new exercise of visualization. I have been taking full and unabashed advantage of his tutelage ever since. Personally, I have found these visualizations entirely beneficial as my skill in creative visualization has increased and I recommend them highly to all my readers. However, nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to witness. The clarity of sight … sound … olfactory … tactile sensations I was about to experience still leave me breathless.

I turned around very slowly to fully savor the sights and smells and sounds in every direction … the flower beds, all planted with riotous color, redolent with the scents of flowers and fertile earth and bordered in natural stone … the coolness and softness of the lush carpet of lawn extending as far as the eye could see on my bare feet … the majestic, gnarled trees forming a canopy above the plantings through which various breeds of bird flew, singing and rejoicing exuberantly … the water sparkling like diamonds as it falls over the rocks at the side of the lake … the mountains in the distance lit warmly golden by the afternooon sun … the main residence and guest cottages behind me and to my left with their mullioned windows and dark wood, Tudor-style beams, shaded by tall trees and lushly planted in wonderful garden settings on every side … the fountains and water features lending their magic song to the symphony  of the garden settings … the winding pathways of natural stone leading into, around and through each lovely feature … the rocks directly in front of me with the bridge to the right … and the lake flowing under the bridge to emerge beyond it, opening into an ornamental lake with water spouts climbing into the sky and swans floating motionless on the surface.

The place just teams with life and overflows with the force of love. It is a place in which organic, natural beauty is completely harmonized with artistic ingenuity, man-imagined, designed and crafted beauty. The product of one man’s imagination … Michael Jackson … and it shows what humanity is capable of creating by working hand-in-hand with nature rather than against it. It is a place of joy; it is my place of joy. Every blade of grass exudes it, every flower petal and leaf breathes it, it rises from the very ground to create an atmosphere of pure love energy. The man who created it poured his soul into every project he undertook and that soul is reflected in every inch of the 2,700 acres. It is here that that man painted his life like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and invited all comers to participate and enjoy his vision. Every vista … every scene … is a masterpiece of planning and execution and each contributes to the serenity slowly filling me with every breath.

I completed my slow revolution and began to spin faster and faster, my arms outstretched to embrace this place and the beautiful soul reflected in every feature … with my head thrown back to view a nearly cloudless, blue sky. I recognize it … remember it as if I had been here before and it welcomed my return. It is truly the home of my heart and soul.

Feeling a little dizzy, I stopped revolving and turned toward the bridge where I saw Michael approaching on the opposite side. As he stepped onto the bridge, he was our beautiful Beloved as he appeared in This Is It … tall, lean with his smile lighting his eyes … but step-by-step he became younger and younger … shapeshifting before my eyes into the trial years … the Invincible years … the HIStory years … the Dangerous years … the BAD years … the Thriller years … the Off the Wall years … the Jacksons years … each more beautiful than the last … until he reached the side upon which I was standing as a 10-year-old boy with closely cropped hair, beautiful mocha-colored skin, deeply penetrating eyes and a great, big, mischievous smile on his face, setting the tone of this visit firmly in the realm of the “inner child.”

I knew I was in for some F-U-N! While no words were spoken, the feeling was:

“Clap! Clap! Anybody here like games?”

I was not surprised to find myself, too, morphing into that 10-year-old child I never really got the chance to be due to circumstances beyond my control (and described in several previous Installments, so I won’t bore my readers with those details here.) Suffice to say that Michael has schooled me in revisiting that innocent, playful girl on occasion … and she and I are becoming much more fully … and happily … acquainted. What I did NOT know … and could never have imagined … was exactly HOW MUCH magical, mystical fun was going to be squeezed into this hour-long visit. I mean how much F-U-N can one possibly compact enough to fit into one, tiny little hour? I was about to find out!

While many of my afternoon “power naps” in Neverland are replete with meanings and significance that send ripples radiating outward toward the far-flung shores of the rest of my life in various ways … or lengthy discussions of long past but never-quite-forgotten events that help me broaden my perspective … I got the feeling that this visit was going to be different. After all, during our discussion in Installment #94, I had asked Michael to accompany me in my celebration and he appeared on this occasion to have every intention of showing me a celebration to end all celebrations. I would not be disappointed.

When Michael reached me, he grabbed my hand and ran to the rocky escarpment by the bridge, his clothing landing in little piles along the way, and dove into the water from the rocks. Finally surfacing, he turned back toward me, his head rising up and down as he treaded water, and waited for me to dive in after him. We swam and dunked and splashed each other, laughing hysterically the entire time. Then we slid down the rocks nearest the water (made smooth by the water rushing over them and leaving a slick surface behind) with him leading the way and me following in his wake, splashing once again into the lake only to run up the bank and slide back down.

The afternoon sun was warm, the sky a clear blue and the water was cool, tingling against our bare skin; it was a perfect California afternoon, the droplets sparkling with little diamonds in the sun. Occasionally, we would leave the lake and dry ourselves in the open air, lying on our backs under the trees, two beautiful, innocent, uninhibited children holding hands … with no pasts to cloud our happiness, no shame to mar our enjoyment and no future to worry about. We were free to do nothing more than fully live these moments … NOW.

We did manage to take a few moments from our carefree romp to remember our “Change the World” intention for the day and sent the light of love to the corporate global media lying beneath a massive tree with our hands linked, our fingers intertwined and listening to the natural symphony playing out all around us.

Gazing up at the perfectly blue sky through the leaves of the tree, a cloud … wispy and amorphous … floated past where we were lying, soaking up the sun. At first, we tried to imagine a shape in the cloud with varying degrees of success, and we giggled over our unsuccessful attempts. Eventually, Michael laughed and said we needed to make things a little easier; we graduated from imagining shapes to creating them.

We reached up and stopped the cloud’s passage to mold and shape it … as if it was Play Doh … into magical animal shapes. Unfortunately, since we were still holding hands with our fingers tightly woven in a tapestry of togetherness, while my right hand was shaping a rabbit’s haunches, his left hand was shaping an elephant’s trunk and floppy ears … so we ended up with some fairly interesting and hysterical hybrids, which would slither, slink, slide or gallop off across the sky, making room for the next cloud to float past to be shaped and eliciting peels of laughter as it exited stage left. As we got warmed and dried by the sun, we jumped up and dove into the water again for more swimming and sliding, dunking and splashing … and, of course, more peels of laughter rang out to enrich the entire atmosphere with joy.

Eventually, we swam under the middle arch of the bridge to play in the ornamental lake, being scolded by a pair of swans for disturbing their peaceful playground, which just sent us into more gales of laughter. Swimming up to the dock where a swan-shaped boat sat moored, we jumped aboard it, cast off the lines tethering it to the dock, and lay on the seats, facing in opposite directions and just let the small craft drift wherever the current took it. We continued our game with the clouds, shaping them like clay with the added hysterical-laughter-producing effect that because we were facing in opposite directions, either my side or his side of the animal was upside down. Have you ever seen an eight point buck standing on its head with the wings and tail of a peacock? Uproariously funny!

When we got hot, we jumped back in the water and swam, tipping the boat as we climbed back on board soaking wet and taking up our positions on the seats again. Of course, all this tipping resulted in the bottom of our little ship filling with water to the level of the wooden seats, but instead of sinking, the craft just overflowed its sides and stayed afloat with colorful little fish being dumped in both directions over the sides and jumping over our bodies, lying on the seats, still joined by hands and fingers.

Michael grabbed a wispy cloud and fashioned a ring to hold up for the fish to jump through … and, surprisingly enough, they did. Furthermore, they seemed to enjoy jumping through his ring. So, he grabbed another one, fashioned it in a ring and handed it to me … and we had a regular “fish circus act” jumping through his hoop, back into the water in the bottom of the boat  and then through mine. Who knew you could train little, tiny rainbow-colored fish to jump through hoops? It seemed … at least, in this moment and in this place … that anything was possible.

Suddenly, he sat up on his seat, released my hand, cupped his hands and submerged them in the water to form a little lake and lifted them to me, his eyebrows raised in challenge. He offered his hands and what they contained to me. I, too, sat up with my knees touching his, covered in water and took the contents into my cupped hands. There, in my hands, was a small, brightly colored WHALE the size of a guppy, breaching in the bowl of water he had gathered from the bottom of the boat. I looked deeply into his eyes in the wonder of it and we both just laughed. No explanations were considered, offered, necessary … or possible. And the wonders and laughter just kept on coming.

When we got tired of playing in the boat, we swam to the edge of the lake in search of ice cream, leaving the boat to be buffeted by the gentle currents created by the water spouts, and ran willy-nilly toward the arcade room, dripping ice cream along the way. I understood, somehow, that he was unable to contain his excitement to show me a new game he had just received called “Black Holes” and he wanted it to be a surprise. Coming up behind me, he put both of his sticky, ice-cream-covered hands over my eyes as he steered me inside.

I knew he wanted me to be impressed … and I did try to act surprised when he removed his hands … but it didn’t look like much from the outside, except it was BIG. I mean, this game was huge, occupying the entire middle of the floor of the arcade room, leaving little room for the rows of pin-ball type games in single file along the walls, and extending all the way up to the landing on the stairs of the two story room … just below where Captain Hook was being chased by Peter Pan around the cove-like ceiling. It was big enough for two of us to sit side-by-side in the capsule-shaped cabin with plenty of room left over. Fortunately, we were still children so my hips fit comfortably next to his on the bench as he closed the cabin door to start the game.

Immediately, we were plunged into a black, tunnel-shaped funnel and ejected forcefully out the other end into a magnificent starfield with millions of stars interspersed and joined by a bluish cloud. The capsule seemed to be able steer itself through the starfield at a leisurely pace, but could also be steered by a joystick-looking protuberance located between us and Michael took great pleasure in steering us around clusters of stars for an upclose and personal look. By using the dials and buttons, he could lasso the stars, gathering them together as if he were herding cattle, and fling them out into the beautiful blue cloud with ease, creating new configurations and constellations. We could, if we chose, reach out and touch the stars with our hands or pop them like bubbles blown from a child’s wand dipped in soapy water. It seemed like we spent hours circling around this first starfield with the beautiful, blue light swarming around us. We were in no particular hurry.

The fact that these visualizations were so clear and beautiful and visually stunning is one that I have to attribute to something other than my “novitiate level” skill at visualization, which, while I admit is improving, has in no way reached this level of detail and clarity. I was being majorly helped here by the pilot of the vessel … and my ever-generous and solicitous host. I understood that. While my body was resting in my recliner on the dark side of the moon, I was being taken on a tour of galaxies and nebula light years beyond my poor ability to imagine.



As we neared the center of the starfield, the capsule accelerated towards another circular tunnel and we were deposited into a new and different starfield joined by pink and purple wispy clouds with bright, white, strobing lights at the center. The capsule slowed, once again, to allow us to explore to our hearts content, playing with this starfield as we had with the first. We drifted our hands through the swirling pink and purple gases, leaving trails and ribbons of brightly colored “tails” in their wake which appeared, at times, like peanut butter and jelly swirled together in ribbons and at others like cursive handwriting spelling out messages like “I love you” and “We are forever.” Michael was all wonder and awe as his curiosity soared and he steered us through clusters of stars and clouds that seemed neverending.

Through another Black Hole tunnel, the starfield resembled a revolving disc with trails of brightly-lit, white clouds that were almost milky in viscosity and we rode the farthest reaches of this galaxy which so closely resembled the Milky Way in which Planet Earth is located as if it were a carousel, spinning in joy and trailing stardust; through another, we were surrounded by galaxies and universes extending as far as the imagination would allow. There seemed to be an infinite number of these starfields, each different and unique and beautiful. And we explored them all.

“Black Holes,” the game, seemed to have no time limit, as indeed the entire fun-filled afternoon of swimming and playing with clouds and “circus acts featuring fish” and laughter seemed to stretch into eternity. But eventually, we exited the capsule and the arcade still holding hands as one would with one’s best friend.

However, as we left the building and entered the sunlight outside, we were again our adult selves … Michael as we have all seen him, beautiful and in command in This Is It … the director and lead actor in this 4D, technicolor movie … and me as I am today. We ambled down the walkway to Ryan’s Bridge hand-in-hand as “You Are Not Alone” began to play and he began to sing along. Together, we danced beneath the massive tree that had held our Play Doh cloud animals and nurtured our “inner children” as he swung me around, kneeling in front of me … chivalrous and gallant … only to rise again, swing me around and kiss me on the forehead.

I awoke just as my 60-minute CD of birdsong and water tripping over rocks in its path was ending. We had squeezed as much fun and frolic, laughter and play … and love … into one afternoon as any two children could have possibly imagined … and, more amazing, it all happened in one hour. Sixty minutes … one tiny little hour!

I admit to being a little sad to awaken back into this reality, but my sadness was completely overcome by my joy and gratitude and all were leaking from my eyes. I put in disc 2 of my HIStory CD and danced again with him with the strains of “You Are Not Alone” filling the space in my little Sanctuary.

When I had invited Michael to join me in my celebration, I had no idea … none whatsoever. He had shown me a celebration to end all celebrations. No one and nothing could have topped this one.

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an Hour

He had led me to EXPERIENCE the meaning of those famous words by William Blake (and he had experienced them with me) … rather than just to know them. These words have been used to portray Michael’s sense of wonder and awe by Howard Bloom. It was an apt portrayal. Experiencing them with him is something that will stay with me forever.


Postscript: When I tried to rise from my recliner, I was sore … as sore as I have ever been from an afternoon of physical exertion … like swimming, for example … hmmm!

Post-postscript: I pray that all of my beautiful friends travel safely in the light of love, gather joyfully and peacefully in Michael’s honor, and walk softly in his sacred places. He will be walking among you … yes … but he is also holding all of us who travel in our imaginations closely. In His Love


May 26 through May 29, 2015


I am so, so sorry.

Huh? Why?

Well, I kinda have some bad news to report and I am so hoping you won’t be angry. I don’t really know how to tell you.

Usually, the best way is to just say it and get it over with. Do I need to sit down?

Uh … I’m not sure … okay … you remember my DVD player?

The psychotic one?

Yes, my dear, that’s the one. You asked me to never get rid of the psychotic DVD player.

Yeah! I remember. That thing is so responsive.

Michael, I’ve had to get rid of the DVD player. I’m so sorry! In my defense, it had developed either a bad wire or one of the channels was going out or something. I’m not totally sure exactly what was wrong with it, but during playback of either movies or compact discs, I would entirely lose a channel … the entire “surround” effect would just disappear. I tried everything I could think of … reconnecting the speaker wires … re-establishing the connections to the television set, etc. … but nothing I did repaired the problem. So, I have had to replace the DVD player.

[Michael laughs out loud.] Geez! Don’t scare me like that! I thought we had a serious problem here. Don’t worry about it. When something isn’t working for you, you need to change it. I’ll just turn on whatever you replaced it with. I know how to get your attention when I want it.

Yes, you sure do! Oh, Baby … I am so relieved. I thought you would be disappointed and I never, ever want to disappoint you. I was hesitant to tell you.

No, I’m not disappointed. This is just another example of how you just insist on “worrying” … and tying yourself in knots … about anything. Worry is the game nobody wins.

Fought in a battle where nobody won
Left ourselves a mountain to be overcome
You can’t run away
The past is said and done
I need us to carry on

Oh my gosh, Michael … that song … that song! Do you remember when we discussed the Symphony in the Key of Love and you compared the effect of our childhood experiences to hearing the Symphony through various kinds of audio equipment?

Yes, I remember.

I just love that analogy so much. You said [reference Installment #3, November 18-25, 2010]:

Okay, so … if we are the symphony … our childhood is the instrument through which we hear the music … the filter through which the music flows to our sense of hearing. Every note of the entire composition is filtered through this instrument.

You don’t have to be a musician to understand this. Anyone who has ever bought a radio can relate to this … different instruments transmit a different tonal quality. For example, a transistor radio with one earplug gives a mono or one-track reproduction of the symphony. The bass is muted; the treble is dampened and both are condensed into the midrange. So we are not hearing the symphony’s fullness through that instrument. We are getting an estimate of what the entire composition sounds like rather than a clear and true reproduction. A computer’s speaker system is similar in a way; it does not give the listener an accurate reproduction of the entire symphony because the quality of the speaker system in a computer is poor to mediocre.

A decent stereo gives better audio quality because it can separate the midrange from the bass and treble and give a truer reproduction of the tonal quality of the entire production. But we aren’t there, yet, are we? A Dolby-enhanced system gives an even truer reproduction, especially when it includes a separate woofer or bass speaker to truly give depth to the bass sections. A recording studio is the truest, most accurate reproduction of each individual note in the symphony because each line can be adjusted or modulated to give the listener the effect of being in a concert hall, but it’s kinda big and wouldn’t fit in everyone’s home.

So, each person who is listening to the same symphony is hearing the symphony through the filter of the system or instrument through which it is being played. Therefore, each listener is hearing something different … from a rough estimate to a true reproduction of every instrument … or having a different experience of the entire symphony. Right?

Yes, I remember.

That conversation (Installment #3) went on to describe how we all experience life through the filter of our childhoods and how our every thought, word and action is impacted by the judgments and definitions and labels we absorb from our experiences of childhood. We carry those judgments and labels throughout our lives. In other words, our childhoods don’t really “end” when we are 18 or 21 because we continue to see ourselves … and life … and God … and everything … in the way we were taught to view them.

Exactly! We are all born into a societal and cultural story. That story is inculcated into us through parental, educational, religious and secular authority figures from the moment of our birth into this physical life. We absorb it almost by osmosis. We are taught very early on not to “rock the boat” … not to “upset the status quo” … not to “disturb the adults” in our lives … and, for heaven’s sake, “never upset the apple cart.” 

As we grow into adulthood, we are a reflection of our experiences throughout our childhoods because they have shaped and molded us to interpret everything we experience from the perspective of those judgments and definitions. We reflect both the “good” and “bad” influences of the stories we have been told by those authorities … and those we have told ourselves … throughout our childhoods.

Many of us continue to tell ourselves those same stories with little change throughout our lifetimes, accepting them as the truth of who and what we are. You did, didn’t you?

Yes, I sure did for a very long time … until I didn’t.

Right! And I did … until I didn’t. But we don’t fulfill our purpose if we continue to tell ourselves the same stories about life and about ourselves over and over again, whether they are true or not, do we? We just keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again … both personally and collectively. How often have we heard the phrase “History repeats itself?” However, we never hear anything about how to stop that repetition; we’re taught that that’s just the way it is and there’s nothing we can do about it … and we accept that … unless we don’t.

Are we just here to “blend in” … to “get by” until the end? To many, that is the goal and purpose of life. Not making waves is all they ask of the life they are living. Any challenge to their accepted concept of life is unthinkable, intolerable, dangerous and needs to be “put in its place” … if not outright killed. If we believe those voices that we hear in our heads telling us that we are imperfect, not worthy, ugly or whatever … and we really can’t ever aspire to be anything better than imperfect, unworthy, ugly or whatever because that is our nature … what’s the point of life?

We’re on a mission for the everlasting light that shines
A revelation of the true enchantment of our minds


How do we change the world if we just accept and retell the old stories that have made it what it is to begin with forever and ever and ever? 

Or are we here to evolve, to grow, to challenge ourselves to improve our performance in the play of life … and to develop new stories that paint a truer picture of who and what we are … NOW? If we examine those stories we have accepted without question for most of our lives and decide that they are not working for us anymore because we are interested, perhaps, in expanding our ideas of ourselves … or developing a new skill like … I don’t know … let’s say … drawing and painting … or writing … can’t we change those stories to include our new interest and to more clearly refine our definitions of who we are and what we are capable of … NOW? If those old, tired stories from our childhoods don’t define the person we wish to be in the present moment precisely enough, do we not have the ability to choose to question those previous definitions and arrive at a fuller and deeper understanding? 

It’s just like your ‘psychotic’ DVD player; it wasn’t working for you anymore so you replaced it. I assume that what you replaced it with works better, right?

Oh yeah! I replaced the ‘psychotic’ DVD player with something that is fairly new on the audio technology scene called a “soundbar” that sits in front of the television set. It is about three feet long and about 1 1/2 inches deep and high and it has a wireless subwoofer that sits on the floor at the back of the room, so it simulates a five speaker surround sound system, but there are no speaker wires snaking all over my little sanctuary.

The thing is that I have been playing with this thing ever since my husband bought it for me for Mother’s Day a couple of weeks ago. I have never heard music so clearly, with the possible exception of the In The Studio seminar I attended in Los Angeles last year by Brad Sundberg. He played a lot of your music on some absolutely fantastic (and expensive) speakers and the clarity of those speakers, even at the “are you nuts” level, (approaching the decibel level at which you liked to listen to a playback in the studio) was amazing. Absolutely NO distortion in any of the frequencies. The song Childhood played on those speakers … and the video of the recording session that accompanied it … were an emotional experience that I will never forget; your exuberance during the recording of the song changed my whole understanding of that song forever. Previously, I had envisioned it as a melancholy song (as, indeed, it is depicted in the short film release), but while you were recording it, your emotional timbre was anything but melancholy; it was exuberant, triumphant, joyful and you were literally uplifted by the orchestral accompaniment … it was visible and palpable. Anyway, back to the topic.

This soundbar approaches that level of clarity (at least in my little Sanctuary); your voice played through this thing is indescribably delicious.

[Michael laughs.] Indescribably delicious … I love it … wasn’t that a candy bar? First, I’m a ninja butterfly-whisperer, then robins … and now, a candy bar! I’m slipping.

[Jan laughs.] Yeah, a Mounds bar, wasn’t it? I think. Anyway, when I first got this thing, I had to play all of your albums sequentially; it was like hearing your music for the first time. We are not talking about a transistor radio with one earplug here, Baby … or even my previous five speaker surround sound (which I thought was pretty good quality but which I have since discovered really wasn’t all that good at all. I’ve been told that they don’t put really good quality speakers in those systems. Who knew?)

We are talking studio quality reproduction of every little thread and nuance in the tapestry of your music … your beat boxing percussions in the background that so often form the foundation of your music are clear as a bell through this soundbar … your intricate, double and triple tracked harmonies are breathtaking, a rhapsodic rapture to which I could easily become addicted … your heartbeat in Smooth Criminal sounds like I am wearing a stethoscope … your pure, nearly unaccompanied voice in Childhood and Be Not Always and the a capella versions, from I’ll Be There through Xscape are nothing short of swoonworthy … well, the list could go on and on into infinity. Suffice to say … I am in audiophile heaven over here! I had absolutely no idea of all that I was missing in your recordings and short films.

There ya go. You don’t determine that something isn’t working for you and go out and get something that works less well; normally, you want something that works better … that allows you a fuller or deeper experience of the music, in this case … an improvement over what you had before. Yes, you were satisfied with your surround system while it lasted, but no technology lasts forever. How long did you have that system?

Gee, Baby … I don’t know … maybe ten years? That feels about right. I had had that system for a couple of years on the day the earth stood still … and that was six years ago.

Ten years? Wow, that’s really good! I mean that’s a really long time for something like this. In the years since you purchased and set up your surround system, technology has marched on. It has changed the entire field of audio technology in that time. IT HAS EVOLVED!

We have talked in great depth about Earth Song before [reference Installment #37, July 30 through August 6, 2011]  and the years that I worked on it. During those years of work, from the initial inspiration to the final outcome, the audio technology EVOLVED; it actually changed so that I could get the depth that I wanted to hear in the playback. I think you called it ‘apocryphal.’ When I started on the song, apocryphal just wasn’t possible, regardless of the fact that that was the way I was hearing it in my head. However, by the final release, the audio recording technology had advanced to make what was previously impossible possible.

Okay … so when something doesn’t work for you anymore … what do you do?

Well, I guess you could ignore its failings and cling to it out of desperation. I did that for several months, but I’m not terribly good at that option, especially as it relates to your music. You can try to repair it and return it to its former satisfactory status, but, in this case, I was told that repairing that system would be much more expensive than just getting a new one. Or you can replace it.

Exactly! Now … let me ask you this. When you are faced with a choice to replace something in your life, do you replace it with something that is exactly like what you had before to the letter? Do you regress and replace it with something older, less advanced, with less functionality? Or do you look for something that will do MORE than what you had before, BETTER than it did it?

Well, I usually opt for the best that I can afford unless my husband is with me when I am looking. In that case, he pushes what I can afford further and gets me AWESOME! [God bless him!] I usually want MORE and BETTER and more inclusive.

You are too easy! [Michael laughs.] And I love you!

Yay! I get to say, “I love you MORE!” this time.

That’s okay … I love you MOST! 

But back to our discussion. Quit trying to distract me.

That’s called EVOLUTION. Your taste in audio equipment has evolved. In addition, technology has evolved to allow you a deeper and fuller understanding of the music.

Life is the same way; it evolves. So, as adults, we look back on those judgments, labels, definitions that we acquired during our childhoods and we are faced with the same choices if we determine that they are not working for us anymore. 

We can, as you said above, “ignore their failings and cling to them out of desperation” and a lot of people choose this as the wisest path because they don’t want to “rock the boat” much less “upset the applecart.” It’s much safer to stay rooted in what we know, have accepted and are comfortable with than to stretch that comfort zone to include new information. The old stories were ‘good enough.’ Why fix what ain’t broke? 

However, they weren’t working for you anymore, so you tried pursuing your new interests and releasing your old resentments and, in the process, wrote a deeper and fuller understanding of your story by including new, more current information. You didn’t throw the whole thing out; there was no throwing the ‘baby out with the bathwater.’ You just stretched the confines of your story a little bit (because they were too limiting) to include new information you had acquired as a result of your experiences in the last couple of years. But as a result of your expansion, your story has changed and you are not telling yourself the same ‘broken’ and ‘wounded’ story you had grown up with. Your personal story has evolved into a truer, more refined definition of who and what you are … NOW.

Gnosis - An intuitive knowledge of Spiritual Truth Reproduced here by permission of commissioner

Gnosis – An intuitive knowledge of Spiritual Truth
Reproduced here by permission of commissioner

The same applies on a societal, collective level. We have been telling ourselves the same cultural story for thousands of years … generation after generation after generation. And we are repeating history with every generation … more killing … more wars … more devastation … more children dying … more planetary upheaval. Our stories have not evolved and kept pace with our evolution in technology, medicine, invention, science. We are trying to apply 1st Century solutions to 21st Century problems. I repeat:


If this statement weren’t true, why educate ourselves … why improve our technology … why increase our understanding of medicine, develop vaccines, eradicate diseases … why attend churches, develop faster communication and more efficient transportation? Why set our aims higher, travel to the moon, explore outer … or inner … space? If we’re not allowed to question the stories we’ve told ourselves … what we’ve believed in … and what we’ve accepted and been satisfied with … as true for thousands of years, there would be no point in rising above the level of cave dwellers. What would be the point?

The drive toward evolution was implanted in the human being at its creation, and each and every one of us has that chip in our genetic code. We strive to improve our standard of living, our education, our understanding of science and mathematics, our knowledge of the way the world works, the way the universe was created, the way our bodies work, the way our minds work … just as you tried to improve your audio technology.  The one thing we do not allow ourselves to question is our understandings of God; challenging those understandings will start a war or get you stoned real quick. 

However, when we refer back to the cultural story we have all been indoctrinated with, the story we find is antiquated, outdated and just plain doesn’t work anymore (and really never has, when you get down to it). Look at the world! You don’t have to look very hard for the proof of this statement.

Nevertheless, most of the world ‘ignores its failings and clings to it in desperation.’ We make anyone who challenges the stories we have told ourselves for thousands of years wrong … anyone who questions them bad … anyone who lives a life of pointing out their failings a freak.

Now, I suppose you could have done that with your DVD player. After all, calling a piece of technology wrong, bad or a freak would probably have relieved the frustration you felt with it as you clung to it in desperation out of respect for my request to never get rid of it. However, you and your appreciation of the music would not have evolved. By replacing it, you’ve expanded your understanding of the music and gained a fuller and broader experience of it. Just by making room to include your newly evolved sensory perception of the currently available technological advances and exchanging the old, outdated system with something that more closely aligns with the evolution of your sensory appreciation, you have “made a little space” for the evolution of your experience of music.

The same is true of life. We are not our stories. We are the authors and editors of our stories. We are not the ‘dramas’ and ‘plays’ we have carried with us since our infancy … and the human race’s infancy; we are the actors and directors and screenwriters of our plays and dramas. We have the ability to stretch the stories we have been told for milleniums to make a little space for a more accurate portrait of ourselves … our world … our beliefs … our God … according to more currently available information. As a matter of fact, that is what we are here to do. We ARE here to change the world.


Oh my GOSH! THANK GOD! THANK GOD! THANK GOD! Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!

Michael, may we shift gears a little bit here?

[Michael jumps a little at my exclamation … like he’s startled.]  Of course … what’s up?

My Dear One, I awakened this morning (May 28, 2015) to be greeted by the news that Judge Beckloff has handed down his ruling in the case of Wade Robson’s claim against your Estate. The Judge ruled that his case was dismissed based upon the expiration of the statute of limitations. The rule of law has triumphed; precedent remains intact. This ruling is an answer to my prayers for the last two years … many, many meditations and visualizations and I am ready to dance in the streets … uncork that magnum of champagne … and “bathe in the moonlight!”

[Michael laughs.] God bless you! Go bathe in the moonlight!

Only if you come with me.

You do drive a hard bargain! Deal!


Soul's Embrace

Soul’s Embrace

Soul’s Embrace

My heart flies to you to rest upon your breast.

Fleeter than a hummingbird, softer than a dandelion tuft

Yet more sure in flight than a heat seeking missile

I bond with you more tenaciously than a babe at its mother’s breast.

Though my eyes wander, my heart never strays

For you are the milk of my becoming

The marrow from which my platelets are born.

Your song is the beat that pumps my heart

The sighs in my silences are filled with your music

Within your eyes I find a world of vision

Your fragrance inhabits my every breath.

When fear or uncetainty threaten, I run

To crush myself against your breast

And you paint me in vibrant hues

As just another part of you

Only in our Soul’s Embrace am I content

We wander, hand-in-hand

Through heavenly fields of wildflowers

Where desolate, cold winds of winters of separation are forgotten

Resolved in everlasting blossomings of remembrance.

Angry, gray clouds transform into riotous exuberant color

To delight all our senses in waves of splendor

Assaulting the battlements of self-protection

With the battering rams of joy and discovery.

As I discover you

I discover me

There is only WE

And I rest in our Soul’s Embrace.



Installment 93

April 15, 2015

Beloved, I know that we have discussed the topic of dreams several times before, but there has been a kinda new wrinkle in this topic for me and I wanted to tell you about it, although I assume you already know. Do you mind terribly if we talk about dreams?

No, not at all. Why … have you been dreaming? [I get a visual image of Michael rocking back and forth on his  heels with his hands behind his back, whistling innocently.]

I knew you already knew about it. Don’t give me that innocent act. Yes, I have had two REAL dreams … both of which involved all my senses visual, auditory, tactile, olfactory. These were real honest-to-goodness dreams … in as many weeks. My regular readers are aware that dreaming is a rather unusual experience for me and they are aware of some of the reasons I have been unable to dream for a major portion of my life. They are also aware that we have been working on this lack since before the trial of Conrad Murray, beginning with visualizing the outcome of the trial working out for everyone’s highest and greatest good and progressing with my afternoon visits to Neverland.

I have had a couple of experiences that I thought were kinda ‘dream-ish,’ but on those occasions, in discussing them with you, we determined that they were visitations and premonitions of immersion in the Oneness from which we all are born into this physical realm of separation and while both were awesome, they did not involve seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling in a physical sense.

Yes, I remember … and what did we say about that?

You told me that labeling these experiences is really irrelevant, that our minds analyze these occurrences in order to evaluate them … or place a value on them … or determine their validity or invalidity, but the heart and soul seeks only to experience them and take joy in them.

Exactly. The value of the experience (by the external world’s measures) is minimal, at best. Regardless of the label you apply … out of body experience, astral travel, creative visualization, dream or *only* imagination … the logical world ignores the experience (and experiencer), at best … or ridicules the experience (and experiencer), at worst. 

Only you can determine the experience’s value to you and assign it validity. In order to do this, you need to experience it fully and openly, with no fear and no preconceived definitions … innocently like a child … and in doing this you can fully appreciate it in joy. Then, resist the mind’s temptation to analyze, dissect, assign value, explain, define, label, stereotype and all the other ways we attempt to dismiss our soul’s promptings. We are very, very good at this.

The only questions that have any relevance in relation to these unexplainable occurrences is: Were you in JOY when you were in the experience? Did that JOY carry over into your physical life? If the answer to both of these questions is, “Yes,” then that is the value of the experience. And let me be absolutely clear about this … there is no greater value in the world than this! This is why we are here to begin with, to experience ourselves as joyful, worthy, fun-loving, playful, beautiful children at play in our sandbox.

So, do you want to tell me about your dreams?

Yes, I would love to. The first one occurred about two weeks ago and I wrote a full account of it in my journal the following day. Not only did I dream, but I remembered the dream in a lot of detail, which, again, is not something to which I am accustomed.

I was hiding in the shadows during the filming of the ‘panther coda’ of the Black or White short film (and it is an interesting sideline that photographs of the panther coda have been posted a LOT since I had this dream). There were a lot of people around … a lot of talking and laughing … everyone was having fun … equipment was being moved from place to place … cameras were whirring … and you were there … very visible (and beautiful, I might add at the risk of embarrassing you.) You were dressed in the black pants, black shirt, white t-shirt, armband, taped fingers, black fedora, locks of hair over your right eye swaying with your movements. There was a very loud fan somewhere, blowing on you to ruffle your shirts … just like in the film. The playback was LOUD and so clear (no transistor radio with one earplug here … we are talking full scale recording studio) … really, really, awesome surround sound system … and I could feel that beat pulsing in my legs and spine. I was hiding so that no one could see me because I was fearful of getting kicked off the set. I just wanted to be near you, so I didn’t want to be discovered, least of all, by you because I was afraid you would be angry with me for invading your filming.

[Michael laughs.] There were always people around during filming. Sometimes, Elizabeth was there. Gregory Peck visited on occasion. Mac’s folks and brother. You shouldn’t have been afraid.

Nevertheless, I was scared to death that you would discover me and have me removed. So, I didn’t move or breathe, hardly … hanging back in the shadows behind all the cameras and speakers and cables running along the floor to power all that equipment. I was kinda afraid to move because those cables were thick and heavy and I was afraid I would trip on one and my jig would be up.

You ran through the entire sequence after which there was a break while the cameras and playback were prepared for another take and you were feeling kinda uncomfortable, I thought, just standing there while all this activity was happening all around you. So, I thought quietly, “Relax, Baby, you are beautiful,” just like I did that February night in 1997 at Elizabeth’s Birthday Gala in support of her AMFAR Foundation. (I remember on that occasion how fidgety you were just sitting there in full view of the audience as they trickled in to find their seats. But after I thought, “Relax, Baby, you are beautiful,” you seemed to relax and sit back against the chair and I wondered, “Did he hear me?”)

Just then, you started looking around to find the source of the thought (or at least that was my interpretation … that you heard or felt my love and encouragement on some level) and you saw me standing there in the shadows.

“Oh, my God, he heard me! Did I say that out loud? Oh, no,” I thought, “he’s seen me. That’s it! I’m dead!”

What? That I was going to have you shot or something? I told you before about my sensitivity to thought and emotional energy. Didn’t you believe me?

No … not shot … just surrounded with maybe six of your beefy bodyguards and carried off, kicking and screaming, no doubt. Of course, I believed you, but it’s one thing to believe something like that and a totally other thing to experience it … to think a thought and have someone look around for the source of that thought is a bit unnerving.

Your thought is energy; your thought of L.O.V.E. is the most powerful and creative energy there is. Nothing can stop it, overtake it, slow it down, cast a shadow on it. It is Invincible. That thought of L.O.V.E. can change the world, as you discovered with our visualizations in the past and as you and your friends are discovering with your new initiative.

Anyway, you started walking toward where I was hiding and I froze. I wanted to run deeper into the shadows or find an escape route, but I was literally frozen in place. I could not move. It was that walk … the slow steps with your hands hovering at your hips and swaying from side to side with every step … usually accompanied by cocky, fluid neck rolls … even your fingers become animated during that walk. Darn thing is a dance all by itself!

[Michael chuckles.]

The thing is none of the other people involved in the filming noticed you walking towards me. How could anyone NOT notice that walk? I mean, it’s classic and breathtaking, frighteningly beautiful! But no one else seemed to notice you walking towards me and, more importantly, they didn’t seem to be able to see me. As you took every step, my heart rose higher and higher in my chest and throat. I was absolutely petrified. However, you didn’t look angry. Your eyes were kind and full of love and curiosity and fully focused on mine, baring me to my soul … and there was a little smile on your lips. My eyes were locked on yours. Your walk seemed to take FOREVER … every step was unconscious grace and determined purpose and you seemed able to avoid tripping hazards from the cables without even being aware of it. It seemed like I was holding my breath, savoring each and every movement of your feet and legs, your hands and fingers, even the way your shirt was blown by the fan.

Oh my, I can still feel it as I am describing it to you, my Anam Cara! Have I told you lately how much I love you and how grateful I am for your presence in my life?

No, but I think I get the drift. After all, you spend every waking moment … and some sleeping moments, apparently … writing to me, writing about me, writing with me, drawing me, painting me. Honestly! You are obsessed! And I am just as obsessed with you. I always love you more.

Anyway, at the end of eternity you reached me and my world turned first black as your shirt came closer and closer … and then white as you gathered me to your chest and your t-shirt completely filled my field of vision. You raised your arms to me, but I still couldn’t move so you closed the gap between us while my heart beat fast enough to choke me. You held me so tenderly. I saw your t-shirt, felt the softness of the Egyptian cotton. I saw little beads of sweat on your neck. I wanted to BE those little beads of sweat! [Michael laughs again.] I smelled your cologne. I felt the firmness, yet gentleness, of your hand as your fingers entwined in the hair at the back of my head, the beat of your heart. I went from petrified to absolute bliss in the space of a heartbeat. All I wanted was to stay there wrapped in your arms forever and ever.

When you released me, you stood staring down into my eyes and your love communicated itself to me as you lifted my chin with your index finger and moved forward to kiss me. Just as our lips were about to touch, I woke up! It was 3:00 AM and I used the restroom and then returned to bed, begging to continue the dream where I had left off … but no such luck. However, the next morning on the way to somewhere with my husband in the car, I remembered this dream in full detail and determined to write it all out in my journal so that I didn’t lose any part of it. The sights, the sounds, the clarity of the playback, your appearance, your tenderness, my fear and my joy are precious to me and not only because this represents the first REAL dream I’ve had in a very, very long time. This is the first Michael dream I’ve ever had.

Do you remember when I told you we would be working on this and that your dreams would return as we progressed?

Yes, I do, Beloved One, very clearly. And that is one of the first thoughts I had upon recalling the dream the following day. “He said we would be working on it together … and here we are.” I do know that I was beginning to give up hope. I mean our original conversation about this topic happened a fairly long time ago … three years, I think … and I was beginning to feel that I was just a person who could not dream.

What’s your hurry? Where’s the fire? You’re right … you have absolutely NO patience. Your world has told you that you need to accomplish daily so when you sit and contemplate your satisfaction with your new art studio, you feel that you haven’t accomplished … and you feel guilty. You have, you know. You’ve accomplished satisfaction and a sense of peace and belonging and total appreciation.

You didn’t put those dream blocks in place  and cement them in securely, I might add, in a day or a week or a month. It took years to become so firmly entranched in … and invested in … being a non-dreamer. It makes perfect sense that they will not dissolve in a day or a week or a month. Just as the Berlin Wall took years to be dismantled, your dream blockers will take a while to become dislodged. [Michael chuckles.]

But can you exlain how this is happening?

Noooo! [Michael laughs out loud.] And there ya go trying to dissect and analyze, again. It doesn’t matter how it is happening. What matters is that IT IS HAPPENING (as I told you it would.) 

I think there are a lot of factors involved in the mechanics of the thing and they are all equally important or equally not important.

If you’ll recall, we started out slowly with visualizations intended to envelope the courthouse in love, but, at the same time, we were also releasing your resentments against Conrad and giving you some peace of mind, returning you to a more positive, less fearful perspective. Which of those two is the important factor? Or are they equally important? 

At the time, you didn’t think you would ever get to the point where visualizing was comfortable and natural for you, but you did. You even employed the very same technique on your own when you cleaned up your art studio … naturally. 

Then, we visualized with the Come Together Initiative … and The Library at Neverland … and Neverland Power Naps during which we discussed so many of the issues that had been holding you back from fully experiencing yourself as the beautiful child you really are, while at the same time, again, releasing resentments and clearing negative outlooks to free you from those burdens so many of us carry around with us for years. Which of those factors is the important one? Or do they go hand-in-hand? Is one more beneficial than the other? Is one possible without the other?

Break of Dawn

Break of Dawn

During this same time frame, you were drawing me and finding joy in your progress and keeping your outlook positive and joyful and your attitude playful. You called it ‘playing around’ and ‘fiddling’ and feeling guilty because you weren’t accomplishing anything. What did I tell you about that? 

That I was developing a new skill set and learning as I was playing. You told me that each drawing or painting was a Conversation … a union … a sacrament that we shared. You told me that you played around all the time in the dance studio and that was how you had become who you are … by playing.

Exactly. In this way, you were becoming re-acquainted with your Inner Child, the one the world had taught you to leave behind so very long ago. You were re-discovering those parts of you that you had lost along the way, just as I did. And because you were ‘in JOY’ while doing all this ‘playing around,’ you had managed to release so many of the resentments and angers and frustrations and ‘poor, poor pitiful me’ feelings that you carried around with you all the time. I mean major things happened during this period of ‘playing around’ that almost totally passed you by. Sneddon died, for heaven’s sake … and you almost didn’t notice. You just let all the anger and frustration and hatred and resentment you held against him go. You just let them go. You didn’t fight against them or push against them or set up wars against them. They just became irrelevant … unimportant … no longer needed.

You discovered that you are not your story … that you are so much more than your story. And that you are given the opportunity to rewrite your story every single moment of every single day.

Did you have any kind of intution about this dream as you remembered it?

Yes, I did. This dream seemed to follow a pattern of waking ‘visions’ that I had had through the years in that I was an observer … a witness … rather than a participator in the action. I seemed to be there to support you … to give you strength and encouragement … to love you through these events. These visions began in 1993 and we have talked about it a lot in previous conversations. For those unfamiliar, I saw you in Bangkok, Thailand, pacing the floor of your hotel room as the story of the first set of allegations broke in the world’s press. I saw your pain, felt your heartbreak … and my heart went out to you to comfort you. I sent my love in prayers and in a seven-word telegram.

The second happened in November 2013 during a meditation while I was laid up with a respiratory infection and ‘playing around’ with some of the concepts featured in the books I was reading (like time being flexible and virtual reality). I saw you in the early morning hours during the trial in 2005. Karen and Bush had arrived to help you prepare for the grueling day ahead and you had fallen to the floor in major distress, repeating, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” You all knelt in the guest cottage at Neverland … and I joined you on the floor holding you close … to pray that you would have the strength to show up with dignity. I joined you in those prayers and held you in love. Afterwards, I wrote an essay entitled “In Service to the King” about this vision.

The third occurred during another meditation at around the same time. I was in the room during the photo session at Neverland in 1993, my eyes locked on yours through the entirety of the vision and beaming you love, repeating over and over, “You are not humiliated. You are beautiful and strong and innocent. It is they who humiliate themselves with their callous disregard for your humanity.” I don’t believe I ever wrote about that vision but it, like all the others, was very real. Although terribly distressing, I was and am grateful and honored to have been there to witness and lift you up through a few of the horrors you experienced among us.

In all of these occurrences, it appeared to me that I was there as a witness to lend you strength and to hold you in love. This dream seems to be a continuation of the series of visions. I remember the flap over the ‘panther coda’ so clearly and the misrepresentation you endured and, once again, my role seems to be as a witness and, in this case, to give you my love firsthand, in a way. I feel so blessed and honored to have been a witness to these events.

Yes, I see. These were moments when I drew on your love (all of you) to help me cope and survive the trauma to my soul. That’s an interesting interpretation to put on them. 

Do you remember your first monthly prayer vigil on my behalf?

Yes, indeed, very clearly. It was June of 2010, I think. I had cut out little slips of paper on which I had written brief summaries of events that had, in my opinion, caused your soul trauma and anguish. I tried to meditate or pray for about 20 minutes on those events and then, I burned the slip of paper I had chosen that day for my vigil. It was my attempt to validate you and help heal those wounds.

Yes. Do you think these events were represented in those intentions and slips of paper?

I’d be very, very surprised if they weren’t, Michael. Wow! That’s a connection I hadn’t made.

Star Secret Friend

Star Secret Friend

That is very, very interesting. You asked to be allowed to be with me with your love … to have me be aware somehow that your love was present to help me heal these wounds in your prayer vigil. And one by one these events are being shown to you because you are open and available to them. It doesn’t matter HOW it is occurring. The fact is that it IS occurring and you are witnessing how the love energy of all of you was sensed by the physical as well as the non-physical Michael Jackson. “Fascinating,” as Spock would say.

That is an amazing connection that I had never, ever imagined. Thank you, Beloved … food for thought!

Now, you said you had two dreams. Do you want to tell me about the second?

Absolutely! This one was not as detailed, but it was still visual and auditory … and it happened just last night (April 15, 2015). I was, apparently, looking at houses, for some reason. I say it that way because I have always sworn that I would never move again. My intention is to die in this house and let my kids clean it up … hehehe … serves them right. I truly abhor moving; nonetheless I was looking at houses.

Anyway, the house I was looking at in this dream was your house on the grounds of Neverland in which you kept all your awards and all the gifts from the fans that you collected throughout the years of your career. It was like a 3-bedroom, single story house … and it was just packed to the gills … in every room … every nook and cranny and closet … with STUFF! Your awards hung all over the walls and were scattered on tables and shelves throughout the space and there were boxes of gifts, cards, letters, photographs, drawings, paintings, scrapbooks, stuffed animals everywhere (under tables, in closets, lining the floors, on shelves). And there were little paths like forest trails leading from one room to the other to protect these items that you had saved up for all the years of your career. Baskets, bins, boxes, shelves, tables, walls teaming with STUFF! There were Michael Jackson marionettes hanging from tall shelving units by their crossbars and strings (at least one in your Billie Jean outfit, like mine … I know where that one came from). There were mannequins standing at the windows in police uniforms.

[Michael laughs.] I had some of those!

I know! I could hear soft music playing from outside as I tried to make my way through the paths that had been laid out through all the boxes. And I was able to reach out and explore individual items (like an antique shopping expedition with my husband). It was awesome to witness all the love that was housed in that building! I felt the care that went into the crafting of some of those items when I would hold them in my hands; the energy of that would wash over me when I touched them. I recalled the time and effort so many of your fans would put into the gifts to please you and your joy in discovering that and holding it in your hands.

See? Thought energy … L.O.V.E energy! There’s nothing like it. All you have to do is be open to it and it will rush through you like a tidal wave.

You were not present physically in this dream, but the feeling was that I had been invited, that you welcomed my presence and exploration, and that you could walk through the door at any moment. So, the emotions were joy to be allowed to see this, excitement, a feeling of being a very special guest (because I know that you did not show this house to just anybody) and anticipation of your arrival. It was not a long dream, but any dream to me is a special occasion. This one is no exception.

And, again, did you have any kind of intuition about this dream?

Yes, like the dream and visions before, it seemed that I was there to witness and to re-affirm in my own mind your words about L.O.V.E. being an energy that we can manipulate in prayer or meditation, in art or in writing, in song or in dance or just by living artfully and with mindfulness.

Good. Always pay attention to what your intuition tells you about these events. Often, if you are aware of your intuition, you can save yourself a lot of time and energy in analysis, dissection, and applying labels and values to them. Your heart knows their value to you; no other is relevant.

God bless you. I love you.

I love you M.O.R.E.


Moon Whisperer


Moon Whisperer

In radiant beams,
Your gaze captures me
Its silvery streams cascade gently
Presiding benignly over the star-studded, comforting blanket of night
Whether your full, round face or the tiniest silver crescent
You captivate
Your gravitational pull sets the tides of my blood’s ebb and flow
And swings the metronome of my heart in rapid synchopated rhythms
Hovering over trees or snowy fields,
Shyly peeking from behind forested hilltops,
Playing hide and seek behind billowing clouds, or
Confidently floating motionless in an endless ocean
You call to me in silent breaths,
Whisper your mysteries in songs of captivating allure
Undulating sinuously in the reflections of my heart

I cannot escape you
Nor would even try
For your voice is my harp and your heartbeat my tamborine
Whether your mood sets a thrilling cadence
Or a sleepy lullaby
I close my eyes
I spin wildly
Held together only by the centrifugal force of your love
A dervish enslaved in the twirl of motion that hides only silence
My skirts rustle around me
Gaily colored and striped
Tiny parasols spun between your fingers
Optical illusions that evoke only gentle laughter

Oh, empty me of my stories,
Ancient One
The ones I’ve told myself for lifetimes
Those I’ve been frightened by but cling to so tenaciously
Fearsome tales populated by monstrous lies of unworthiness
Ogres of lack
That jump out at me from beneath the bed of my resistance
In your soft glow
Shine the light of your life
Into all the dark hiding places and corners
Illuminate them with your unquenchable brilliance
And in your presence

Empty me of my pride, my hubris
And fill the gaping spaces with your humility
Content in your purity to reflect God’s radiant love
Heal my discontent
And shine in me as She shines in you
With the soft astringent of your smile
Wipe clean the streaks of my ego which distort the image of your incomparable grace

I so long to be your vessel
Fill me, Beloved
With your vast beauty
Spray the perfume of your compassion to cover the stench of my apathy
Color my dullness with the bright hues of awareness,
The piercing sharpness of your wit
Paint me with the brush of your healing love
A love that perceives only beauty in all that it surveys
Only love
As far as the heart can reach
Erase the me who no longer sees illusions of imperfection,
Self-righteous judgments that judge only self-righteousness
Marring the incandescent landscape of her mind

Implant in her place
Your vision
One planet
One world
One people
One race
One religion

A world no longer embroiled in strife or fascinated with dangerous toys
A world with more than enough for all
For every girl
For every boy
A world where each is honored irrespective of status
The beauty of difference recognized,
A world where all are given a place
Not to hoard or barricade against the dark in fear
But to share in open welcome in the light of truth
A world where every voice is heard
Even the most timid
Whose whispers speak only truth
And in whose face lies and distortion
Find not the smallest crevice in which to hide their shame
A world where no more is taken than is given
And what is taken is taken in grateful submission and humility

Oh, Moon Whisperer
Whisper to me of love
Only love
Let me take up the task you left undone
Let me bring the awareness
That at long last
We are ONE



Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 336 other followers