The Twelfth Insight - James Redfield [76]
I was just looking at Rachel, puzzled.
“Don’t you see?” Rachel said. “The Document says we can begin to communicate with those in the Afterlife and clear all our resentments and issues with them. All we have to do is use more of our power to tune in and have a conversation. It’s never too late. And there is so much more they want to communicate to us.
“In fact, my mother said they desperately need to speak with us, right now, at this crucial point in history. They know the real Plan for the human world, and it’s time for us on this side to understand.”
She lifted her eyes and looked behind me. I turned around but didn’t notice anything. Rachel moved closer, which I experienced as an embrace of some kind, a hug, even though we were still several yards apart.
“Remember what the Ninth Integration talked about?” she asked. “I’m sure Tommy told you. Each item in our surroundings has its own Feeling Identity, its own sense of thereness to us. Well, that’s true of humans as well. Every person has a Feeling Identity we can detect emotionally.”
I was nodding now, getting it.
“That’s why,” she continued, “when people close to us die, even when we think we are prepared for it, we are often devastated. What is lost is that feeling that is them, something we’ve always felt and taken for granted. That’s why when a loved one dies, people often say it feels as if a part of us dies, too. They’re grieving for the loss of that emotional constant that is no longer there.”
She paused and again seemed to look past me, and I knew in that instant that we really had crossed the vale somehow. We were in the Afterlife.
“Someone here wants to talk to you,” she said, smiling. “Can you tune in to the feeling you remember?”
I knew who it was before she asked. I could smell the cigarettes in his front shirt pocket as though I was back in his lap as a child. I could detect the strength of his being, the way he talked, the childlike laughter of his practical jokes. They were all part of the unique feeling that was him.
Yet at the same time, I realized that part of him had changed—gone was the nervous anger and frustration that he displayed every morning of my youth, forcing everyone to walk on tiptoes in his presence or face the inevitable explosion. And gone as well was the harsh look of disapproval that had instilled in me such a dread and wariness toward others. All of this had been removed.
“It’s your father,” Rachel said.
When I turned around, there he was, radiant and youthful looking. I was now receiving thought impressions that I knew must be coming from him. He told me that the cause of his behavior—his own early family resentments and wariness—had been resolved in the Afterlife with his own parents. The only part that was still incomplete was his need to resolve the resentments I was holding on to.
“Closing off to others,” he communicated, “is a tendency that those in our family inherited, as surely as the color of our eyes. But seeing the history of a problem, and truthfully acknowledging it, allows us to let it go. And now,” he went on, “the Afterlife is changing. We don’t have to wait until reunion over here. You are close enough to us now to reach out to us, so we can resolve everything immediately. Once those blocks are clear, you can understand what we know.”
In an instant, I knew my resentments were gone. I might still go into aloofness out of habit, but less and less without being immediately conscious of it. I knew from the old Prophecy that once we become conscious of the drama we play, its strength diminishes.
With those thoughts, he began to fade until I could