Light Headed

Whenever anyone publishes a fictional book, there is always a story behind the story. The hidden story often contains the true events that existed, from the authors personal history, emotions, and research that finally propels that author through the hours of typing to the final result of publication.

Light Headed is the beginning of a trilogy of books, the "Light Trilogy" series that invites you to share the Spiritual/fiction story of my most improbable friendship, with a Trance Channel, which began in 1978. During a very painful time in my life, when I was on a seesaw of highs and lowswe met. At the risk of repeating a much-used clich, the truth ismy life was never the same after that.

Thirty years later, I am finally publishing the first of these three books that takes you on a spiritual odyssey of adventures that my teacher and I experienced. It is a book about the loving, ongoing presence of Spirit that is there to guide each and every one of us, if we only open our intuitional awareness and pay attention.

As with any deeply personal story, my own emotions are profoundly intertwined with the words in Light Headed. I began by writing this Prologue but never included it in the book. At the time, it felt too personal. I believed it should remain my private truth. I now know it is an untold part of the story. And so, dear Reader, I share with you the hidden story behind the creation of Light Headed.

PROLOGUE
Open the box! The thought is quite urgent in my mind. Hesitating, procrastinating actually, my fingers find the dust on the snap lock of the old plastic file box. Of course, it will open without me removing the dust, but I am not ready yet. Memories, happy ones and sad ones that are so powerful they can overwhelm me in an instant, are sitting inside under the lid of this closed box.

Twice now, I had begun to write the book. I started it eighteen years ago, and then burned it. The words in my mind that haunted me then said; You have not lived long enough to write this yet.

Again, several years later, I started to re-write the story. That time I saved the first seven chapters, then put them in the box. This very box I now hold on my lap contains the words I still hadnt lived long enough to finish.

Steeling myself to accept the onrush of emotions that will start once again, I carefully remove the dust with my index finger and flip up the latch. There it is, just as I had left it. A faded hot pink folder holds the contents of my past efforts.

Sadly, lovingly, I open it once more. The pages I last created in 1993 await me. Typed in a very old version of WordPerfect, there lie my written memories of a time in 1978 when I first met her. I breathe in the musty smell of the slightly yellowed pages as I remove them from the box. It is hard to begin to read the words, but the urgency in me to do so is very strong today. Now, is the time to move through the sorrow into the Light and into the loving energy that never has really left me. Now is the time to change the energylook at it from a new prospective.

Her crystal ball sits on top of the bookshelf in the room that I call Spirit Room. How it became mine, twenty years after our last conversation, is part of the magical mystery that surrounds this story. The crystal ball wound up coming to me fifteen years after she had sold it to someone else. Now, it just mutely sits there in my Spirit Room, because I dont really know what to do with it. Like the words on the pages in the box, it reminds me of herand how she used it to start her early morning meditations. It sits there in Spirit Room, glowing in the sunshineis it waiting for me to take action?

Several times in the last six months, I have