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Authors: Anne Archer Butcher

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BOOK: Inner Guidance
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210

Inner Guidance: Our Divine Birthright

For each of us, the Mahanta, the Living ECK Master is willing to hold a picture of our greatest and highest potential as Soul. He will help us get beyond the limitations we have accepted for ourselves and remind us of the vast possibilities awaiting us, both spiritually and outwardly in our physical lives. He helps us move beyond previous limitations, love ourselves as Soul, and expand into greater states of consciousness with new and more wonderful experiences.

Sri Harold writes, “The test of any true religion is this: Does it help people into a greater state of consciousness and does it help them find love?”32 Eckankar works for me because it does exactly that—each and every time.

These days, there is no doubt: just as predicted, I do have a
wonderful
family in every sense. We are many, and all very close. I have been very happily married for over twenty years to my dear husband, Alden, and my life is replete with joy and blessings. Loving family, children, and friends surround us, and life is beautiful.

As we walk through our days now, our lives are full and rewarding.

Life is good—and my family is wonderful.

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Welcoming Healing

and Health:

Inner Guidance

Provides Protection

Through the Spiritual Exercises of ECK, you
can keep aware of the hints and nudges and
whisperings of the Holy Spirit as It tries to guide
you to the next step to take at any given point. One
of the things you learn is that there is always a
way. Always.

—Harold Klemp

Cloak of Consciousness
33

A
lden and I had been happily married for six years. We both recognized the significance

of inner guidance and how it came through

our dreams.

Alden nudged me gently: “Anne, can you remember any dreams?”

“Yes, I keep having the same dream over and over,”

I answered from a fog of fever and exhaustion. “It’s a village in Africa,” I whispered. I closed my eyes, trying to recall the painful dream that had haunted me through 211

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Inner Guidance: Our Divine Birthright

this week of illness. “I am stretched out on a low-lying cot in my village. I am dying.”

I asked for a drink of water and then continued. “I’m in a small hut, hot and humid, the air acrid, heavy, and filled with the stench of death. I am a native of the area, a small woman with very dark skin. Everyone around me is dead. I may be the only one left in the village.”

Alden pressed my hand with urgency and asked,

“What else do you remember?”

“It’s malaria,” I said. “The worst malaria we have ever seen.”

Alden and I were both perplexed by the terrible health condition that was plaguing me. Alden had an inner nudge, a form of inner guidance, that my dreams might possibly hold a clue to understanding the life-and-death struggle that was before me.

S
lapping my bare arms to ward off the unwanted pests, I moved closer to the blazing campfire. It was a hot night, but everyone at the campout welcomed the fire. It lit the dark night and added gaiety to the gathering of youth and parents. The fire also protected us from the damp night air of summer in Iowa, and perhaps it helped keep away the bugs. The mosquitoes seemed to be everywhere.

That night, we sang and ate dinner by the campfire until I begged to go back to our bunk. I was unusually weary. I told myself I was just drained by fun and sun.

I needed a good night’s sleep.

But back in the cabin, I knew something was not right. I was shivering in the gentle breeze from the fans, and the air flow bothered my skin. On that hot night, I put on my warmest clothes, curled up under a blanket, and went to sleep.

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It was almost daylight when I awoke, drenched in perspiration, my heart beating hard, in pain throughout my body, with shivering chills that caused my teeth to chatter.

“Alden, I think I have the flu,” I said. “I feel horrible.

I need to go home.”

“Maybe some breakfast would help,” my husband suggested.

Food was the last thing I wanted. And after feeling my blazing forehead, Alden realized he had better take me home as soon as possible. Our daughter, Sarah, would stay and return later with friends.

Alden packed up everything, and we headed home.

Days passed as I lay in bed with the flu. Healing requires rest and time, and we applied the standard treatments—drinking plenty of liquids and staying in bed. I had also taken natural remedies, sipped chicken soup, and slept a lot. We assumed I would soon recover.

But I didn’t. A week passed, and the fever persisted.

I grew weaker. Some days I thought I was improving, but soon I stopped eating and could only sip liquids.

Sometimes even liquids would make me ill.

My husband was getting very concerned. It was over ninety degrees outside in the middle of a scorching summer, and I was in bed, freezing, with blankets piled up many layers deep.

“This flu has gone on too long,” Alden told me quietly.

“I need to call the doctor or drive you in to see him.”

“Can’t go anywhere,” I said. “I’m too cold.”

He leaned down and held his worried face close to mine. “That’s exactly what I mean,” he said. “I don’t know how to make it easy for you, but I am sure I have to get you out of here, Annie.”

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I said, “Just call the doctor and ask if there is a flu bug that lasts about a week, accompanied by a fever. Tell him I feel like I was kicked in the back by a horse.” I imagined the doctor would say, Yep, that’s the “Kicked in the back by a horse” flu, and it will go away tomorrow.

Alden dropped down by my side and asked me a couple of questions—not about my symptoms, which we had discussed all week, but something more unusual.

Again he asked, “What about your dreams, Anne?”

“It’s just a nightmare,” I said. “I’m just dreaming about what’s going on here. I am sick and miserable.”

I related the African village dream scenario again.

Alarmed, he put his hand on my hot forehead.

“Malaria? You’re dying of malaria?”

“Yes, in the dream I am. Not here. Only in the dream, Alden. Here I have the flu, but in the dream it just feels the same.” I tried to reassure him, but my confidence was waning.

Alden shook his head. He placed the call to the doctor.

“We have to go to the clinic right away,” he told me.

“The doctor said we should have come sooner. There is no flu like you described.”

Wearing flannel pajamas, thick socks, and my win-ter coat, I left for the doctor on this hot summer’s day.

When I arrived at the clinic, they did tests and asked questions.

“Have you been out of the country?” the doctor demanded.

“No,” I shook my head, my teeth chattering. “I haven’t been out of the country in years.”

“Where have you been?”

I screamed in pain as he touched my aching back.

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Alden replied, “We’ve been to a campout in Iowa with lots of other people who are fine.”

“Nowhere else?”

“I think I know why you think I’ve been out of the country,” I said slowly. “You think I have malaria, don’t you?”

The doctor looked at me. “Why would you say that?”

“I keep dreaming about having malaria, and now I think that somehow I really do have it.”

He nodded. “I think so too. Have you ever had malaria before?”

“No, I never had malaria or anything like this.”

Sternly he pronounced, “I just don’t know how on earth you could have malaria from going on a camping trip to Iowa. We will have to send you to the hospital for more tests, right now.”

T
he doctor and two nurses were waiting for us when we arrived at the hospital. This was totally exhausting, and all I wanted was to sleep.

They determined I was severely dehydrated, so they hooked me up to multiple IVs. Then the diagnosis came back: I had indeed contracted malaria. No one seemed to know how. The tests continued.

Could there be more involved than malaria? Blood was drawn, and more blood. Then the doctor came in with a startlingly long needle. We learned that part of the course of investigation into my illness would be a spinal tap. The sight of the needle hinted at how painful this process might be, but the doctor insisted it was necessary to test further. Left undetected and untreated, other diseases I might have were capable of ending my life in the next twenty-four hours.

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I
felt like I was slipping away, as I had in that dream of Africa. Yet I was not alone, and now I knew I could call upon God and the Inner Master for guidance and protection. I had so much left to do in this lifetime!

I was sure of it.

Inwardly, I began to allow the sound of HU to roll through my heart and mind, and the holy Sound sent waves of love through me.

T
he doctor began to explain the process of the spinal tap. The long needle would be inserted into the spinal canal in the lower back to collect cerebrospinal fluid for laboratory analysis. Though they were sure I had malaria, a parasite infecting my blood, they were also testing for meningitis and encephalitis and other possible infections. The doctor stressed the urgency to proceed, and despite the ominous needle, he did not feel it would be painful.

Fever, fear, and nausea were overwhelming me. I felt I was losing my fragile hold on life. The nurse helped move my body into the correct position for the test: I had to crouch on the table and then curl forward with my knees tucked under me to best expose my spine. My back hurt badly, and it was hard to breathe.

Silently I sang HU and tried to relax. The needle insertion began.

Unbearable burning seared through my back! The pain was excruciating. How could anyone say this was not painful? And, perhaps worse yet, no spinal fluid was forthcoming. None. The doctor reassured us he had successfully done this procedure many times. He would try again.

As the needle entered the area of my spine again, my leg flew out uncontrollably in a violent spasm, and Inner Guidance_CH 22-27.p65

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I shook all over. The pain was unendurable. The doctor had hit a nerve, and I felt it throughout my body. It was the worst pain I had ever experienced in my life.

The doctor tried again. More spasms and pain like a violent electric shock. Still no fluid.

I was certain I could not stand another failed attempt. I turned my head slightly and glanced at the doctor. A trail of perspiration was pouring down his face.

He stood there with another long needle and appeared nervous and upset.

I began to faint, flickering on the edge of consciousness. I saw myself like a small burning candle whose flame could easily be extinguished by the most gentle breeze.

Alden held my hand and stroked my face, and I felt his love, but I knew I was indeed lingering between two worlds.

Inwardly I felt warned. If I were going to live through this, something would have to change for the better—

and quickly.

I
heard the inner voice like a single note of music—clear inner guidance: “Sing HU.”

I was being guided to surrender to the loving care of God. Here we were with strangers in a life-and-death struggle, yet it was time to rely upon this primordial sound and its uplifting vibration. It was time to introduce this doctor and his team to the power of the ancient sound of HU.

I whispered weakly, “We have to sing HU, Alden.”

Alden nodded.

“We have to stop and sing HU,” I repeated. “No more stabbing, please. I won’t make it if he continues. We need guidance. We can ask for guidance.”

The sense of fear in the room was tangible. Everyone was worried and had been from the moment I arrived.

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There was no cheerful repartee or reassuring. And now, with the failed attempts at the spinal tap, it was worse.

Alden sweetly kissed my hand. Then he began to explain to the doctor and nurses about the HU, asking them to please be aware and let us know if they gained any guidance in the process. They all nodded.

“HU-U-U-U,” Alden sang, slowly and clearly.

“HU-U-U-U.” I joined in softly for just a moment, and then the doctor and nurses began to sing along.

As the holy sound of HU reverberated off the stark walls and the stainless-steel equipment in the room, I felt a moment of true peace. Suddenly everything seemed sacred. I was reassured as the sound of HU filled this medical emergency room.

Shortly, the HU faded away, and we remained in silence after Alden spoke these words: “May the blessings be.”


Y
ou must know your exact intentions,” I whispered. It was the inner message I’d just received. Yet it was beyond my comprehension in that moment. I asked,

“What’s an intention, Alden? I can’t even remember.”

Alden leaned in closely and said, “Our intentions are whatever we want to have happen. So we have to know our exact intentions—exactly what we want to have happen?”

“Yes, that’s what I heard,” I said. “But I don’t know what our exact intentions are.”

BOOK: Inner Guidance
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