I’m back in a clearing with about a dozen people in pale purple robes. I can see the Modern Western Mystic, Joel S. Goldsmith. Albert Einstein is in an intense conversation with Carl Jung. Mahatma Gandhi and Dennis Gabor, the developer of holography, are listening quietly, taking notes. An owl quietly shifts from foot to foot in a nearby tree.
In the center of the clearing, a fire is burning under a pot that bubbles and steams as the Greek god, Hermes, stirs it with a caduceus. I approach him.
“What is your wish, my son?” he asks.
I take out my list and start reading.
“I want to learn how to help people heal themselves. People with everything – back and neck pain, emotional stuff – you name it! I want to do it in minutes, not hours, and I don’t want to have to spend another four years in school. I want to bring a little joy back into my own life, and while I’m at it, how about an expansion of my own consciousness,” I tell him.
Usually, he squints up at me and says, “Yeah, right. Come back when you have a cure for the common cold.” But this time, something strange happens. A blissful smile comes over his face, and he hands me a business card.
“Call Charles,” he says. “Tell him I sent you.”