Journal to the Center of the Soul

By Laurie M. Knight

Through one of lifes ironies, it is the Spirit of Deathnot Lifewho helps Lila wake to the nudges of her soul. On the brink of a career move, Lila is befriended by Death who whispers secrets of the soul in her ear; Death asks that she write down these secrets for all of humanity.

Lilas habit of daily journaling soon uncovers answers she never imagined might flow from her pen. Death, a brilliant and beautiful mystic, teaches Lila the many truths of society, humanity, and what connects the earths inhabitants. The lessons range from health and nutrition to dreams and intuition, and show how each subject is linked directly back to the soul.

For seekers and finders, Journal to the Center of the Soul speaks to the power of the journal through its story of two soulsone a student, one a teacher. With simple concepts, it narrates the story of one souls journey through journaling and of befriending the spectacular spirit guide of Death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 23, 2009
• ISBN: 9781440153334

Laurie M. Knight

Laurie M. Knight is a lifelong knowledge seeker and finder, discovering many answers to questions through journaling. Knight lives in Trussville, Alabama, with her husband, children, and dogs.

Book preview

DEATH’S ENTRANCE

INTO MY LIFE

How it Happened

Through journaling, we often hear or observe ideas, people, places, and concepts which seem foreign to us, but they come from a place deep within. We look back at what we have written, wondering where the ideas came from. Journaling can free up voices we are unaware of. Just let them out! As we establish a writing practice, we can begin to discern which voices are of the mind and thoughts and which voice is the voice of the soul.

Soul has a way of revealing itself if we are but aware of its nature and intent. It cannot stay quiet for long; even when we would rather deny its existence. This story is of my own soul and how my life took on a great deal more meaning once I allowed my physical self to accept the path that the soul wanted to take.

For most of my adult life, I felt I had a book locked up inside my body. Some years it was a long-forgotten sweater neatly packed in a cardboard box placed in a dusty, distant corner of the attic. Other years it was a creature, a prisoner. It was starved, cramped, angered at its being ignored. It was never in my head, obviously not in the heart, but more like in the soul. The key could not be found. That inmate sometimes begged for release, sometimes created such havoc so as not to be ignored but always, the lock stayed fastened. Its words, its voice crept out through journal entries and through various impromptu essays and poems over the course of my teaching life. It refused to die.

The idea of my writing a book, actually releasing this prisoner, was nothing more than a distant desire. I felt for years my life and existence here in this universe as not particularly exciting in relation to the works of the real writers or memoir publishers who are politicians or celebrities. People buy books written by people they have heard of, and have seen in movies. Much of the world enjoys reading tales of others’ pains, misfortunes, drug problems, abuses, and their immoral ways of making money. I don’t have any of that to share.

I had often sat, peering out at not what was in front of my physical presence but what was beyond. I often wondered what caused people to make certain choices. I enjoyed reading about psychology. I wondered what happened in my own family as a unit to have produced a drug addict sibling amidst four. I even earned a degree in hopes of finding out this sort of thing. It didn’t work that way though. Academia often fails to lend true-life answers in its simplistic form. Only through using all experiences to gain more understanding can one truly learn.

In this life of roles, I am wife, mother of two, teacher and coach. Although by nature, I belong to groups with members bearing the same titles, I have found myself on the outside of so many circles because I simply didn’t feel I fit. And because this lack of belonging forced me to the fringe of the groups, I realized things regarding those on the inside. I know we need people, for social and community reasons, but sometimes, being on the outside allows for behaviors, drives, and actions to reveal themselves more clearly than what they appear on the inside of the throngs. If we are a bit disconnected from the unit we are able to see those things that are happening around us.

One morning with a cup of coffee in my hand, I sat pondering. That particular morning, I had been reading a book on writing a book. I wondered if there was anything I knew enough about to actually write a book. I had asked a published writer once if it were even possible to find someone to publish my work having no credentials behind my name. She looked at me and smiled. Her simple response was, Honey, living gives you all the credentials you need. I had no idea how true her statement would prove to be.

I gently closed the book, sat back on the couch and pulling the cup of coffee to my mouth sensed a very distinct presence in the room with me. I knew what I sensed was not human, and it had a very clear soothing feeling emanating from it. It wasn’t a scary feeling as so many people and the media like to misconstrue when the topic of spirits, ghosts, or any paranormal activity arises. Very gingerly the presence came toward me as if a breeze had directed it, and it snuggled in beside me on the couch practically outlining my own position. A palpably cool voice delicately tickled my ear as in a whisper from behind a cupped hand and said, I can help you with your book.

Not at all startled and completely unafraid of this presence, I wondered what it meant. I mean, I am a relatively smart lady and I know what the words mean but how? When? Why me? Am I crazy for hearing a presence speaking to me in my home about the innermost desire I had carried around for most of my adult life? Yikes. Did this really just happen?

She started in the most melodic tone I had ever heard, "I can reveal things to you because you are open to the truth. You are not caught up in pretences or how society might want you to be. You are honest, you are genuine and you want to write a book for the right reasons. You are not out to hurt anyone or defame anyone. You have what it takes to stir people’s souls. You can rouse their interest. Your story can urge people to think.

"People go through their lives assuming various roles often finding themselves at the end of their days, realizing they never really lived. You see this already and it lives in your head, your heart, and your soul. I can teach you everything of which you long to know the truth. In the process, a book will be conceived. When the time is right you will have all it takes to bring these truths forward.

I have been here from time to time and sat with you but it wasn’t until this morning, this moment did you fully seem prepared to hear me. I am here, and ready to get started whenever you are.

Not saying a word, I again wondered who this presence was, and what I was to do with this information. Had I been a religious person, I would have wondered if it were a demon or an angel. Were I unstable I’d have wondered if I was losing touch with reality. If I were a serious drinker I’d have thought I’d had too much the night before or needed more at that moment. And if afraid, I’d have hopped up and shut the presence out of my life for good. None of this happened. I simply thought, How do we get started?

You listen to what I say and you record all that you feel moved to record; write down anything and everything you think is important. After some time, a format will come to you in which to place the lessons. You will work on the content, play with it, write, re-write and write again. It may even take years just to get it organized, but this is your task to complete.

Her words settled in on me like the shaking out of freshly laundered sheets. The brisk shake had caused quite the whirlwind yet as her words settled, I quickly settled. The crisp fresh feel of the new idea was comforting, inviting even.

Do you have a name, and did someone or something send you here? It seemed like such a ridiculous question, but one that needed some semblance of an answer.

My name is Death. You invited me. Her answer, so happenstance, left very little room for questions. The finality of the word death furrowed my brow. How can death help? Death is always deemed negative. It’s bad. No one wants it. People spend their entire lives researching the meaning of it, and what actually does happen when it arrives. Here I sat, facing Death, and she was none of that. What I could see of this almost ethereal figure was radiant, beautiful, and ready to explain to me why it was that I had invited her here. She continued, There is a group you should know of. We gathered together to decide on the right time to see you. We have been watching and waiting for the perfect time for me to reveal myself. As you grow to trust me, I will begin to appear in more human form, and you will be able to actually speak to me, see me, and touch me instead of the speechless talk we are now doing. I came to you because you aren’t part of the unthinking majority, and because we agreed you could reveal the truths in a way that people could begin to accept. There is a silent revolution going on right now Lila, and you are going to be one of the leaders marshaling the way into a phase of life that is pivotal for humans’ existence. I know this doesn’t make a lot of sense right now, but believe me it will, and very soon. I must go now to report in to the others. Remember we are here. I am here. You and I were meant to join for this purpose, and you have an enormous task at hand. This is not the first time in history we have done this. We have spoken through many writers before you, and we have writers we are currently speaking through besides you. She must have sensed a need for my complete understanding because here she paused.

I thought of what she’d just said: that I could help people into another phase of life. The enormity wouldn’t settle in for quite some time yet that moment, captured like a subject of a famous painting, would never be forgotten. It seemed to elevate me somewhat. I felt I had suddenly been thrust through some layer of existence I hadn’t been aware of. I realized I felt more alive than I had in some time. I also realized she was right.

She continued as if she knew I had just reached a stratum where her words would be more tangible for me, I must also warn you here: There are others doing the same in opposition to what I will help you learn, they are trying to perpetuate more lies and scare people. It is of the utmost importance at this particular time in your life that you do this deed for the good of those people standing on a ledge of change. I am not asking you to think this over because you haven’t a choice. I am asking that you begin to rearrange your schedule so that meetings with me can become more regular, and you can build trust in me and the truth I will expose to you. Parts of humanity depend on you right now.

And with those words, she vanished in a cool wind. I simply sat, stunned. A smile crept across my face very much like the first stretch of the morning upon awakening. I suddenly felt light and ready. I took a minute to look around me as if to fully capture the moment, and to hold it steady, just for that moment, because I knew that forever more, my life would be changed. I knew for sure that what was about to unfold in my life would be something I would share with all.

And with that, I pulled out my notebook and my favorite pen and I began.

Voice of the soul: I reside deep inside and I long to be an integral part of your life. I am the vastness that connects you with all that is.

Okay, Now What?

When we choose to journal honestly and openly, we allow the deepest part of us, the one filled with wisdom and free from confusion, to speak up. That voice can guide us to the answers and through the places we otherwise would not dare to tread. We simply must write.

As it would happen, the day went on, inundating me with the surreptitious daily grind: phone ringing, dogs needing to be let out then in again, kids demanding my help, husband asking questions, and the list goes on. I wondered if my meeting with Death was a daydream. I wondered if what I thought of as one of the most important and pivotal times in my life were only a figment of my imagination. Something in my head was perhaps not quite right anymore. I thought of her words, of the scenario, of the feelings I had when she appeared and disappeared, and I knew beyond all that I had ever known before that it did in fact happen and that I did, in fact, have a serious job ahead of me. Wondering what to do next filled me.

There was a still and small voice, one I could barely hear, coming from somewhere. Was it my conscience? Was it God? Was it something else telling me to go and sit? Then it said to go, sit, and listen. This voice, different from that of my visitor, vaguely resembled my own voice, yet more pure and stress-free. Without an idea of what would happen upon sitting, I somehow knew I should do just that: sit and listen.

I am a believer in the plausibility of things both great and small. I believe in the extraordinary, but because I wasn’t raised with religion, the term miracle wasn’t one I used. Those acts of the Bible were a bit hard for me to swallow and yet, I pride myself in being open to the possibilities. I suddenly wondered why I had my own contradictions: Either I accept the idea of miraculous occurrences or I don’t. I decided that the term God just needed substance, more explanation for me. I believe in totally unexplainable, inexplicable events happening which are beyond our current reach for understanding, but saying they were acts of God did not work for me. Not knowing how to explain why I thought of such things, I usually just kept this information to myself. This needed exploring further, I decided.

I believe we are capable, as human beings, of being happier, more free and overall of achieving more of what actually matters in life. My own life, though full with the busy-ness that life of a married, mother of two who also teaches and coaches, seemed somewhat empty at times. I easily recalled the blissful moments, though short-lived, which filled what can only be described as spaces in the overscheduled life I had led for what seems like most of my life. Oftentimes over the years, I explored books that had invited me after having one such moment. Memories of these spaces of bliss urged me to find out if there was more to this life. These spaces were times when I realized I intuitively knew things. Other times, dreams had startled my world enough to have me wonder if there were connections from the dream land to the waking life. These clear brushes with what I could only define as bliss or space gave me the reassurance that, yes, humanity is capable of being more.

I wanted to be more.

To begin my quest for more I know I need an area where I won’t be interrupted. I venture out the back of my house and to the rock. This is a two-SUV size rock that sits jutting out onto a lake, which is more the size of a large pond. Here is where many things can become clearer if one is ready to hear them. And I sit. And I wait. And I listen.

The breeze is palpable, the chill of the September air surprising for Alabama, the rock cool beneath me. I close my eyes and ask What?

Shambahla is one word I heard which seemed pointless and unclear. Lama is another. Sanskrit is another. I think I am making this up so I decide to try and focus on the nothingness I had heard which is able to evoke a certain calm in people. As I do, I see that I cannot do it. I cannot focus on nothing. I hear words like kabbalah, dream, soul, fear, lies, truth, help, real, breakthrough and others that do not particularly hold any special meaning. I hear a strange array of distant music, a thousand voices in the airwaves of an astute realm, and yet a stillness that I could not recall ever having heard before.

I ask, Death, can you reveal yourself here and help me out? I don’t know yet what to do or how to do it, and I just thought maybe you could help. But, of course, I am not saying this in an audible voice but in one that can only be heard by my higher self, or so I think. Then I wonder if this is what prayer is all about. Do people sit and ask God to help them figure things out? Do they chatter to God? Is this okay? Is it what He wants?

I simply don’t know what to think about His answering prayers of the entire world. That’s too much to listen to. Wouldn’t He get confused about who wants what, and when, and so forth? Again, I realize my mind is wandering so I decide to stop. Then I apologize with silence.

Again, my mind is slowed. Again, I have random (or what then appeared to be random) words and phrases shooting, cascading, hopping across and all over my mind’s slate. Some I focus on, but mostly I saw myself seeing the words and phrases then saying in some quiet way something like, Okay I see you, and now you can move on. I need things empty, white, and quiet. Those words and phrases had the monkey or puppy-feel when the two beautiful creatures are wriggling and making noises just because they can. As if the words acknowledged my wishes, they scampered away. Closer to white, closer to quiet I became.

Life takes us to strange places on our quest for recognizing the soul, and this is no different. In fact, this perfectly illustrates the adventure.

Right when I think I need to get up and get going as I am wasting my time, she whispers yet again, "Lila, this is what you must do to hear my lessons. Sit, at peace with yourself, minding your mind and listening to nothing. Meditate. No questions, no talk, no prayer (and yes that is what people do to God, they chatter too much—a lesson I will explore at great length with you but not now). For now you simply need just a quiet mind and a listening mind. All the lessons, the secrets, even some you don’t care to hear will come through. I will also come through with information while you are writing. You mustn’t judge anything that wants to come through the pen, you mustn’t filter or focus on the words, just allow them. When you are in this particular non-judgmental place, I can take the reigns and let spill forth onto your page what is too confusing for your humanness to understand, yet as it sits upon the paper it will begin to resonate. It will blend with your established life, and will make sense by the time this is to come to an end. Through your dreams, truths will reveal themselves, and do treat them the way you treat the writing. Don’t insist they make sense. During meditation more truths will come. This is why you simply must create the space and time for sitting. I will also send information to you through what you call coincidence. Such events as seeing someone twice in one day, hearing the title of a book from several different sources, flipping through channels on television and seeing an advertisement which holds a particular word or sound or look that catches your eye, are all important; don’t dismiss them. You are to pay attention to all things. You are to stop multi-tasking and be fully present in all that you do whether cleaning the toilet or taking a bath. Clear presence is essential so that no lessons are lost or missed. There will also be very obvious conversations you and I will engage in where you can ask questions, and you can talk candidly to me as I appear in human form. You simply never know where the lessons will emerge, and you categorically must adhere to all that I have said so you do not miss this. This message, these truths, and all of the lessons you will receive are very important to the future."

Words jar me into the place I sit upon the rock, my eyes fly open, and I am left to wonder yet again of my own sanity.

Voice of the soul: Through space, I speak. In quiet, I come to you. It is important to slow down, to seek peace, in order to be able to hear me.

The Beginning: A Relationship with Death

When we allow the deepest part of us to speak, the voice is sometimes abrupt, crude even, but that only happens so that we may begin to see the variations within. It is not uncommon to be able to use words you otherwise didn’t realize you knew, or to write from a place that seems to be out of character for who you believe yourself to be. Always, it is the soul simply making contact with the humanness.

What better place to start than at the beginning? That day at the rock seemed to be a test. I’d been given all the information and the directions about how it would happen, and then I was supposed to construct the time to set up what she said