A Soul Promise: A Spiritual Quest

By Donna Kenworthy

Donna Kenworthy's first book, A 1?900 PSYCHIC SPEAKS, told of her experiences working as a professional psychic. Her memoir, A SOUL PROMISE, relates her lifelong spiritual quest. From her first mystical experience with the Divine Light as a young child, she felt a longing for her true home. Questions filled her mind that traditional answers and dogma could never satisfy. Ever the seeker rather than a follower, she allowed herself to remain open to esoteric teachings, personal supernatural occurrences, and inner knowing. In the late 1970's, her life changed dramatically when she had an out-of-body experience and returned in the company of a spirit guide. In the ensuing years, Ms. Kenworthy became a channel for her guide, who offered psychic as well as philosophical information. In 1986, shaken by having had foreknowledge of the nuclear accident at Chernobyl, she left behind her native California to seek the reason she had been given such remarkable information. In the midst of her quest, an astounding vision captures her soul. As she chronicles her personal spiritual journey, sharing her fears, doubts, and wonders, she continues to try to decode the mystery of a recurrent message, "Now is the Time!" It would take many years for her to discover that her earthly mission was to learn who and what we really are. In the end, she acknowledges that her younger self knew all along We are not these physical beings, but spiritual beings whose true home is with God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 19, 2006
• ISBN: 9780595844531

Donna Kenworthy

Donna Kenworthy was born in Los Angeles. Her education includes degrees from U.C.L.A. and California Lutheran University. She is the author of A 1?900 PSYCHIC SPEAKS. Presently she resides in Virginia Beach, VA with her husband. She is the mother of two daughters and a grandmother.

Book preview

FIRST ENCOUNTER

It was on a Saturday morning some time in the late spring of 1950. I was approaching my fifth birthday. It must have been rather early, for Mama was still asleep. Daddy had already left our Spanish style duplex in Los Angeles for a half a day of work at the office furniture store to be followed by an afternoon at the racetrack. Horse racing was his passion.

While sitting on the living room carpet eating a bowl of dry cereal, I thought I had heard my name being called without actually hearing it spoken. I had been beckoned outside. Although I had been strictly instructed by my parents never to go out of doors without their permission, I only hesitated a moment before opening the front door. I quickly sneaked outside. I remained on our small cement porch for a few moments, so that I could run back inside if I heard Mama’s voice calling me. However, as the sense of being beckoned intensified, I soon found myself walking down the street heading eastward. The sun was still low in the sky.

The sun. THE SUN!

Suddenly the sun grew immense more than trebling its normal size. It had lost all of its golden hues, turning very white. At the same time, the leaves on all the trees and shrubs within my field of vision turned into bright shining green emeralds.

As much as this sight beguiled me, my mind became totally focused on the white light of the sun. I had never experienced anything like this before. I lost all sense of my surroundings, as my mind focused on the white light. It seemed as if the world that I had known had actually disappeared. The houses were gone, along with everything else. The palm trees, the bushes, the sidewalks, and the street itself had completely vanished. Everything had become invisible, except the light. Even the emerald lights had faded into oblivion. Nor could I perceive any sound. No human voices, nor sounds of passing cars, nor the chirping of birds penetrated the aura of silence around me. It were as if I had been taken out of the world and transported to a world without form. There was only stillness and the white light.

All at once, a feeling of pure joy spread throughout my body. It was a glorious sensation. I had begun to merge with the light. If only this feeling could go on and on forever. Unfortunately, the joy was instantly replaced with an entirely different feeling. My heart became full of a deep gnawing ache of intense homesickness. I knew without an iota of doubt that the white light was my true home. The pain in my heart arose from the realization that I had somehow become separated from the light. With this knowledge, the sense of being separate increased. Oh, no. I did not want to go back to the duplex. Merely thinking about returning to my everyday life filled me with dread.

Take me home. Take me home, I cried out to the light.

NO, said the light.

Again I begged, Please, please take me home. I want to go home, I whined like one who had become lost in a crowd of strangers. NO. REMEMBER THAT YOU PROMISED.

A chill ran through my body, when I heard this negative reply. Somehow I knew that what the light proclaimed was true. Even though I could not actually remember where or when or to whom I had made such a promise, I still knew deep within me that I had indeed sworn an oath to fulfill an assignment. I would have to go back to the other life.

As soon as I accepted my return, the white light instantly disappeared. In its place, an insignificant yellow sun again hung in the sky. The physical world reappeared. The leaves just looked like leaves again, instead of shining emeralds. With sadness, I turned around and headed back to the duplex with my head down and my gaze upon the pavement. I inexplicably knew I had agreed to be this person, even though in my heart I did not want to be.

Dejected, I climbed the three stairs onto the porch and opened the front door and walked inside. I looked around the living room and with glum resignation said to myself, Oh, all right, I will be this girl named Donna.

As you will see, I kept my promise.

1     

AN UNKNOWN VOICE

I didn’t really know who I was.

But how could I have? The person I thought I was…I wasn’t. I had imagined myself to be a personification of a Balaboosta. That’s Yiddish for, A wonderful little homemaker.

What a joke!

Of course, it’s easy for me to say that now. It’s more than twenty years later and hopefully I’m a bit wiser. If the old me had heard me say that, however, she would have been greatly offended. The reason is that a Balaboosta takes herself quite seriously…as seriously as she takes the job of finding the freshest poultry and the sweetest strawberries, not to mention the best wallpaper hanger.

All the smart gals went for their MBA’s, while I was fossilizing myself as a homemaker. Even though homemakers may have many admirable skills, they do not attract prestigious high-paying jobs in the marketplace of American commerce. As we all know, woman’s work has never been highly esteemed by our society. Yes, while I stayed home creating silk floral arrangements for every room to match all the various hues imbedded in the upholstery, history was moving forward. I didn’t realize that I was becoming as extinct as the dinosaurs. Nevertheless, I would eventually discover that my quaint species no longer had a meaningful place in the modern world.

As much as I would like to, I really cannot blame anyone but me for sabotaging my future. I kept on my blinders and continued to play house. For many years, I tried my best to block the truth from myself. Deep down, though, I actually knew I wasn’t in the best marriage. But I would drug myself into denial, not with Valium, but rather by planning another party or deciding to decorate another room. I did whatever I could not to notice what was really going on.

Actually the marriage was not all bad. We had many days of happiness and tenderness stuffed between the arguments and resentments. And those good times helped me forget the negatives. It was like smearing delicious frosting over stale cake and saying to myself, Oh my, what delicious dessert!

But other forces were at work in our lives…such as our destinies.

But we shall get to that topic later.

Let’s gaze at a scene or two from the past through my rose colored glasses.

Oh, there I am! What a picture to behold!

On most days of the week, I would take a quick shower. However, on Fridays, I would usually indulge in deep soaks in the bathroom tub. It was a small ritual that mentally prepared me for the week-end. I had adopted my mother’s habit of leaving a thin stream of hot water running during the bath. My accumulated stress from the previous week usually evaporated with the steam.

In another month, the term of my second pregnancy would be over. As I lay there soaking, I enjoyed watching the baby’s constant kicks protruding from my huge mound of an abdomen. I could actually make out the shape of a foot, when it stretched out a leg. Every so often, I would massage the infant beneath the taut skin.

On this particular Friday, I was having difficulty relaxing. It was just a few days after the February 9, 1971 Sylmar earthquake, which had registered 6.6 on the Richter scale. I kept re-living those moments of shock and panic.

My husband, Harvey, and I had been sound asleep when the earthquake hit at 6:46 in the morning. We awoke with a start when the bed began to roll and shake. Behind our headboard, Harvey had installed a wall of mirror tiles. During the quake, two heavy metal lanterns that hung above the nightstands kept swinging back and forth toward the wall of mirrors.

Harvey, grab the lamp! I shouted, while I clumsily propelled my very large pregnant body out of the bed and reached for the lantern on my side.

Forget the lamp! I’m going to check on Rebekkah!

It was hard to remember when the trembling actually stopped, because I was so caught up in fear. Only when Harvey walked back into the bedroom holding our sleepy, eye-rubbing, one year old daughter in his arms, did I realize that the quake had ended. The baby had slept peacefully through the entire ordeal.

After checking out the house, we counted our blessings. Not one thing had broken, not even one mirror tile. We in Orange County were much more fortunate than those living forty to fifty miles to the north near the epicenter in the San Fernando Valley.

Thoughts about the morning of the earthquake kept flooding my mind, as I lay there in the tub. I kept thinking how truly lucky I was. A loving husband. A precious daughter. Another baby due soon. Harvey and I were still in our early twenties, but we were fortunate to already have a four bedroom house with a large yard. So much to be thankful for.

And so much to lose.

A month later, Halley, our second daughter was born on March 5th. She was healthy and robust at 8 lbs. 2 ozs., with blond hair, blue eyes, and dimples. The labor and delivery had gone smoothly without complications. We had been blessed again.

Harvey proudly stated that our little family was perfectly balanced since Hal-ley’s birth. We were now complete. He had this thing about even numbers. He would comment about how tables were sold with four chairs. He would point out how so many items were sold in sets of four, like placemats, napkins, china, and flatware. He knew about these things because he was a housewares buyer. Furthermore, four people fit comfortably in most cars. Almost every day, he would think of another example of how well a family of four managed in the world.

I look back on those years when our children were small as the happiest years of my life. I knew then that those years were precious and I wanted that period of time to stretch out and last as long as possible.

Of course, like so many other young families, we were under financial stress. We had taken on so many responsibilities. When we purchased our house, it had definitely been a fixer-upper. Every improvement was an added strain to our budget. Somehow, though, we managed to repaint the entire house inside and out, install new vinyl flooring, upgrade the worn out carpeting, and much more. All these things were accomplished because Harvey performed most of the labor himself.

My own father was literally incapable of hammering a nail into the wall without taking out some plaster. So I watched Harvey with tremendous pride as he taught himself another how-to. He would verbally attack a new project as if it were an enemy, whom he had to outsmart. Harvey was one of the few people I ever knew who could make profanity sound comical. When friends or relatives would come over, they would want to know who in the world Harvey was cussing at.

Just another inanimate object, I would say. This week it’s an air conditioning unit he’s installing into a wall in the family room.

Creating our perfect little home was very important to us. Hence, there was rarely extra money available to hire a sitter and go out to dinner or a movie. But that did not really matter. We were happy just to stay home and spend time together. We truly enjoyed each other’s company. We often played board games like Monopoly or Scrabble. Our tournaments would go on for years. If there were a basketball game on television, then Harvey and I would make a deal. He would get to watch the game, if he agreed to massage my back during it.

Our life together was very good. I simply could not understand why I was having bad dreams…dreams that undermined my sense of security and made me suspicious of Harvey’s true character. The one I remember the most was a particular recurrent dream that began when Halley was only a couple of months old.

Harvey and I are together in some kind of waiting room. The walls are white without any decoration. He and I are the only people present. We sat in metal armchairs waiting for something or someone for a long time. I had no idea for what or for whom we were waiting.

Finally a slim woman in a white dress with a full head of long black curls entered the room. The next thing that happened was that Harvey stood up and walked over to the strange woman. He took her into his arms and began to kiss her passionately!

I could feel my cheeks turning very hot and beginning to burn with humiliation. I started to cry. Still Harvey continued kissing her, while ignoring me completely. I ran over to them and begged them to stop. They acted as if they could not hear me.

Harvey, what are you doing? Why are you kissing that woman?

By this time I was sobbing uncontrollably. I could not believe that Harvey was being blatantly sexual with another woman right before my eyes.

At last Harvey stopped kissing her. They both turned their faces towards me. I could not make out the features on the woman s face. In fact, her face remained a blur. But the look on my beloved husband’s face was one of utter contempt.

At this point, I fell to my knees and began to wail.

Honey, wake up. Wake up, Donna.

Oh, my God. I had such a horrible dream.

I could tell, said Harvey. You were moaning and groaning in your sleep.

You were so cruel to me, I said. You were kissing another woman right in front of me. You didn’t even care how badly you were hurting me. And when you finally stopped, you looked at me with such cold eyes.

Oh, Sweetheart, you know I could never do such a thing. I love you, Donna.

But, Harvey, the dream was so real.

It wasn’t real. It was just a dream.

I could feel my frustration rise. I sat up and yanked the pillow out from behind me and threw it across the room.

Don’t tell me it was just a dream. This is something more. I can feel something real here, like a terrible omen, I said, as I got up and walked out of the bedroom.

Throwing his arms up in the air, Harvey yelled after me, Wow! I’m in trouble because of what I did in a dream. Can you imagine that?

I had the same dream a couple more times that month. I could not really shake the awful feeling that some day the dream would come true. Poor Harvey. Here I was accusing him of betrayal, when he hadn’t even done anything wrong.

Not yet, that is.

When we moved to our fixer-upper in Anaheim from West Los Angeles in August of 1970, the only people we knew in the area were my Cousin Julia and her family. Once or twice a month we would drive into L. A. to visit family and friends. Packing up the high chair, the portable crib, bottles of formula, diapers, and extra changes of clothes for the girls was like preparing for a week’s vacation. After a couple of years of trekking back and forth, we thought it was time to put down roots in our own backyard in Orange County.

My first act of reaching out was to contact the nearest Reform Synagogue. The rabbi’s secretary suggested that I call someone in the young couples club that was affiliated with the congregation. Once we joined this group, we were soon busy socializing. By this time, our house was fairly presentable, so we felt comfortable about offering our home for meetings and parties.

Harvey and I had reached a level of satisfaction with our lives that filled us with pride. It seemed like we had attained almost everything we had envisioned for ourselves for the present. Unfortunately, this equilibrium did not last long. What would become a recurrent theme in my life raised its ugly head. Whenever my life seemed to be in order, something inevitably happened to disrupt the peace.

By nature, I have always been a night person, even when I was an infant. Waking up early in the morning has usually been a painful endeavor. My mother said that once I became a mother, I would be automatically transformed into a morning person. Wrong. I have never changed. It can take me up to an hour and a half after my first alarm goes off to bring myself to full consciousness. I come to very slowly and in levels. In fact, unless I have the opportunity to spend at least thirty to forty-five minutes in a transitional, in-between state, I tend to be groggy and irritable upon arising. My energy level and sense of well-being are usually only at their best after the sun goes down in the evening.

I was still floating in that in-between state that sits between sleep and wakefulness on a morning in January of 1973, when I heard a deep booming voice relay the message: In three months time, a freeway will be built behind your house!

Not only was I instantly awake, I literally bounced out of the bed!

Whose voice was that? Where did it come from? Even though no one else was in my room, I heard this voice with my own ears. What was going on?

What did it say? That the freeway would be built in three months? But that’s impossible…Or was it?

No. I knew the message was absolutely true. It was so. I could feel it. Now this was strange. How could I just know something was true?

This was really unpleasant news. Behind our house was a large undeveloped piece of land. Whenever the infamous hot and dry Santa Ana winds blew in from the desert to the east of us, dirt from the open field behind our back fence managed to deposit itself on every available surface inside the house. The dust entered the house through the edges of the doors and windows. There was no stopping it. And breathing it in made me very sick. Not one antihistamine on the market could quiet down my allergic reactions. I could just imagine how ill I would become from all the dirt that would blow our way from the construction activity involved in building the freeway.

What were we going to do now?

I had better tell Harvey.

Listen, Honey, I’m sorry to call you at work. I mean I don’t want to bother you or anything, but I’ve just received some bad news, I said.

Is something wrong with one of the kids? Harvey asked.

Oh, no. Nothing like that, I said.

So what’s going on?

We have to move.

What? What did you say?

Harvey, this morning a voice woke me up and told me that the freeway will be built soon. You know, the new Orange Freeway.

A voice? What voice? First you drive me crazy with your cacamamie dreams and now you’re hearing voices, too?

Harvey, I’m telling you the truth! You have to believe me. I had this kind of knowing a couple of times before. Like when I was around ten years old, I felt I had to warn Aunt Hester and Uncle Zack about possible danger concerning traveling on an airplane. I begged them not to go on their trip. Well, they went anyway, and they actually did experience some trouble flying on a small private plane. And then there was another time when I was about ten years of age that I knew something psychically. The information just poured out that I knew my best friend’s father was alive, not dead like everyone said. Mama accused me of eavesdropping on her private phone calls, which wasn’t true. I swore to her that I could hear her thinking about Sharon’s dad being alive inside her head. Mama was really nonplussed over that one.

Donna, we’ve only been living in the house two and a half years. Our real estate broker promised us when we purchased the house that the freeway would not be built for at least ten years.

That’s what makes me so upset. I thought we had lots of time before we had to move. Oh, dear, both girls are crying. I gotta go. Would you please call up the city planning department and find out exactly when they’re going to get started on the freeway?

Do I have a choice?

Not today, Harvey.

By that afternoon, Harvey had obtained a definite answer from the planning department. Work on the proposed freeway was going to begin in April! In three months time!

The information from the voice had been precisely accurate.

However, the story does not end there. Harvey decided that we should call our real estate broker after dinner that evening and ask him to put our house on the market immediately.

As soon as we finished eating, we went and changed the girls into their pajamas. We were almost ready to tuck Rebekkah into bed and to put Halley down in her crib, when the phone rang. It was our real estate broker, Mr. Short, on the phone. He wanted to know if we wanted to sell our house, because he had a buyer for us. What an astounding coincidence!

Mr. Short was pretty amazed when I told him that Harvey and I were planning on calling him this very evening to ask him to list the house. He was even more astonished when he learned about the voice waking me up and telling me about the freeway.

As caught up as I was in the day’s freeway and real estate adventures,