Reconnected: A Spiritual Awakening Memoir

By Christine Hoeflich

Are you living through a "Dark Night" of the soul? Do you feel lost, worried, disconnected from Source, and even, it seems, from your own self? Could it be you've relinquished the keys to your soul to the outside world? And, do you long to have those keys—the source of your power—back?

Currently, many people are experiencing unsettling events in their lives. Crisis and chaos seem to be the order of the day. Relationship breakups, illness, the loss of a home or job, is leaving many people feeling lost, disconnected and quite frankly, scared.

The good news is, when you discover that something momentous is transpiring at the moment and you understand the purpose of these "Dark Night Times," you will navigate life with much greater confidence, capability and ease. More importantly, you will be initiated into the truth and power of your own Self.

Reconnected: A Spiritual Awakening Memoir follows an Ivy-League scientist's life when she is thrown into a crisis by unsettling events. Enjoyable as well as illuminating, it tackles important questions such as: What is spiritual awakening and "raising your consciousness" really about? How do we strengthen the relationship with our soul, our higher self, and awaken spiritually? How do we "step into the light?" And how do we know we're on the right track to fulfilling our destiny? This book is both a personal memoir and a no-nonsense guide that explores the steps needed for developing trust in our higher self despite societal expectations, accessing interconnectedness, and understanding our soul's bigger plan. 

In addition, the author discovers that when we reconnect to our soul and follow our inner guidance promptly and consistently, we access a power that's much greater than what's possible using our will alone; we gain the support of the Divine. Which means that miracles and magic will occur that wouldn't have been possible through our will, or our hard work, alone. So don't wait a minute longer. Read Reconnected: A Spiritual Awakening Memoir today to gain a unique, deeper perspective, live from a deep connection with Source, and awaken to greater peace, power and joy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine Hoeflich
• Release date: Oct 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386517283

Christine Hoeflich

Christine Hoeflich is the author of Reconnected: A Spiritual Awakening Memoir (original hardcover title is What Everyone Believed: A Memoir of Intuition and Awakening) and The Spiritual Awakening Process: Coming Out of the Darkness and Into the Light. Formerly a materials engineer, she has developed the steps for strengthening our connection with Source, gaining trust in our intuition, accessing our real power, and fulfilling our divine purpose. Her memoir was recognized by North Atlantic Books as “One of 4 Notable Spiritual Awakening Memoirs,” along with Eat Pray Love, The Happiness Project, and Star Sister. Christine has written articles, blogged and tweeted on spiritual awakening and personal growth. Soon after getting on Twitter, she was recognized by Mashable in their article, “Nonfiction Tweets: 70+ Authors to Follow on Twitter,” in the Creative Nonfiction category. She was also recognized by CreativeClass.com in their article, “100 Amazingly Insightful People You Can Learn from on Twitter,” in the Words of Wisdom and Inspiration” category, along with Oprah and Deepak Chopra. Christine blogs about spiritual awakening at https://ChristineHoeflich.com. You may reach her through her blog.

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Preface

It’s strange to say that my intuition writes this story, but this is exactly what happened. By learning to connect with the deepest space within and consistently act on intuition, this book was birthed, and along with it my understanding of my life challenges, as well as the challenges and opportunities facing humanity today.

This adventure began around the New Year 2001, at a time when every important aspect of my life was threatened: my marriage, family, career, and even self-identity. To minimize my family’s, and my own, painful predicament, it became clear that developing this relationship with my inner self was critical. I felt that intuition, rather than conventional wisdom, was the key to navigating this turbulence as solidly as possible.

Seemingly out of the blue, my friend Stacey Hentschel called to urge me to participate in a Soul Recognition Workshop she was hosting the following month at her home. The workshop was designed to support the connection with the deepest part of the self so that a greater awareness of the soul’s yearnings, blueprint, and purpose for this life could be attained.

Not having had much of a context for these ideas, I wasn’t sure what all this meant, but since I needed clear guidance, I decided to make the five-day course work. My three- and six-year old girls would be on winter break part of that time, and I had friends near San Diego who had agreed to care for them while I was an hour north at Stacey’s house. About three weeks later, I packed our bags and we drove the seven hours from Silicon Valley down to Southern California.

My Soul Recognition experience included a channeled reading from the Counsel of Light, who informed me that my soul’s mission was to write a series of popular books on love and life—a life series, books on how life works here—because I was here to represent and make sense out of the frequently misrepresented and misunderstood dynamic of love. Love’s design was going to explain itself to me through my experiences, and then I would share this understanding, first with young children, and then with people of every age. My purpose included bringing the truth of who we, human beings, really are. I was given an assignment for getting started: to look within for inner guidance, so I could discover who I was and what exactly I was to do here.

The reading took me by surprise because it was completely inconsistent with my education and self-image. I had a left-brain, technical background and was far from being a writer. Neither did I have much training in connecting to the inner self and following inner guidance. In fact, I had haphazardly and unsuccessfully searched for the source of my intuition and, up until that point, had mostly followed a path indicated by outer expectations—I had received an Ivy League education, worked in research and engineering, gotten married, and was now a full-time mother of two young girls.

Although I didn’t understand the reading at first, I found the revelation about my mission fascinating. I sensed a vague stirring, like a little spark within, and it felt right enough that I couldn’t simply dismiss it as nonsense. Adding to this was the recognition that I had been searching for this kind of direction for a long time. The mission proposed also sounded important, not only from my own perspective, but from the larger world’s as well. So despite the fact that the project seemed both ambitious and unfathomable, I set out shortly afterwards to prepare myself for a completely new phase in my life—myself as a successful author.

It wasn’t an easy process at first, developing a relationship with my inner self, my heart and soul, so I could figure out what I was going to write or how this mission was to proceed. I didn’t think I had any special knowledge about love or about how life actually worked here. In fact, I was failing in my marriage, and my husband and extended family railed against this crazy new idea, and for good reason too—we were low on money then. But because of the inner connection that I had begun to nurture and the interesting synchronicities that followed as a result, I persisted despite numerous obstacles. Once I felt strongly connected within (when my intuition was consistently confirmed through outer experiences), this book began to flow as if it had a life of its own. I simply listened and followed through on the guidance, while still maintaining the perspective of a scientist—an open-minded scientist who was now asking the universe to show me how things worked here.

In time, my experiences and intuition revealed to me the principles governing the process of life and the interconnectedness between all beings and forces in the universe. Moreover, by focusing my attention on my process in the moment rather than on my ambitious future goals, step-by-step I discovered how to access the realm of intuition, creativity, as well as the flow experience—that often-elusive state of effortless extraordinariness.

When even my physical environment provided me with clues and synchronicities that couldn’t be ignored so that I could put the pieces together and solve the mystery of my life, and ultimately, the mystery of life in general, I became aware of having touched upon something magical. Also, I discovered that the people and circumstances related to my crisis—which I had previously viewed as obstacles to my goals—were, in fact, necessary catalysts and co-creators to my broader mission of bringing this wisdom to the world. In short, I learned that there’s a game called duality being played on earth and I learned how to play it.

I am not a trained psychologist nor a spiritual leader, but an ordinary person who, in struggling to make sense of my own life, discovered ways to access intuition, creativity and wisdom, as well as gain insight into life’s greatest mysteries, so that we can now move with greater ease beyond the experience of duality that we’re currently living on earth and embrace interconnectedness and a greater understanding of love as the basis for a new way of life. (But, perhaps not before I infuriate people in the process first.)

Through relating my own adventure of inner discovery and creative self-expression, I aspire to assist others to connect within, uncover their own life purposes, and experience the magic of interconnectedness. On a personal level, this story might seem like an adventure, but, on a universal level, I believe it is humanity’s destiny.

It took six years (and a lifetime’s worth of growth) from the time I first heard about my mission to when this book was complete enough to be shared. The funny thing is, I had no idea I had all this in me. It is my hope that humanity benefits from my experience.

To manifest what my channeled reading had suggested—to explain love and life to young children first, I began my mission by writing a simple story for my younger daughter Julianne, who was then four. She had inspired me with her sense of adventure and her connection to the dreams in her heart. After all, what is life and love about if not the dreams in people’s hearts?

Once we connect with that sacred space within and follow through on its urgings, life is indeed an amazing adventure.

May 2007 (Original, hardcover title: What Everyone Believed: A memoir of intuition and awakening.

Ebook version: September 2016

Scotts Valley, California

A Story for Julianne

When Julianne was between three and four months old, I often placed her in a bouncy seat geared with pastel-colored toys. Whenever she managed to hit one of the toys with her little hands, it spun and jangled as she gently bounced back and forth, back and forth. This was, I thought, a good way to amuse her, as well as keep her secure.

One morning after breakfast, I put her bouncy seat on the broad kitchen counter so she could watch me as I unloaded dishes from the dishwasher and stacked them in the pantry. As I closed the pantry doors, a soft but suspicious yip! sound alerted me to spin around, to see what’s the matter. Just in time, too, because I saw Julianne—still secure in her bouncy seat—bounce tummy-side down off the top rack of the dishwasher, straight into my arms.

Perfect catch! I thought, feeling startled but relieved. I held her gratefully for a few moments while my mind pondered and speculated. And as I stood there just holding her, I became aware of a special connection between us. Wow, I thought. That’s good.

But, feeling shock again, I made a mental note to toss out the bouncy seat and vowed to pay closer attention to her from that point on. I’m sure, however, that Julianne didn’t concern herself with any of these things. She looked totally content just to be in my arms.

When Julianne was one, our family visited friends who owned two small Bijon dogs. Julianne loved dogs. When they licked her hands and kissed her face, she laughed and squealed for more. One time, bored with the adult company, she toddled around the flower bushes and trees in the backyard, searching for the dogs.

Sneaking up on an unsuspecting pet from behind, she grabbed him and pulled hard on his tail. The poor, frightened dog spun around and nipped Julianne in the face, right between her nose and her right eye.

Aaaahh! she screamed. I ran over to see what’s the matter. A bit of blood trickled down her cheek. We went inside to clean the owie. After I put on a Band-Aid, she stopped crying. I held her, relieved that it wasn’t worse. Then I lectured her on always being cautious and gentle around dogs.

But before I was done with my lesson, she began to squirm out of my arms. I go play, she said, brightening up with that thought. Apparently, this dog incident wasn’t such a big deal, and she went back to exploring the backyard.

The following year, when Julianne was two and Angelika five, the three of us decided to go swimming one hot summer afternoon. Together we gathered our pool things: towels, water wings, goggles, and foam noodles. Loaded down with swim stuff, I opened the gate behind our house and Julianne, now free, dashed off in the direction of the neighborhood pool. By the time Angelika and I arrived a few seconds later, Julianne had disappeared. I was used to this, one moment to see her and the next she was gone.

First, I scanned the pool, but saw no one. Then I yelled Julianne, Julianne! but she didn’t answer. Perhaps this was just a game and she was hiding behind trees or bushes or in the neighbors’ yards, I thought. But then I felt a chill creep down my spine as I stood silent and still by the pool. Intently I scanned the area again, imagining I had the eyes of an eagle, and at the far, deep end of the pool, I spotted a little hand reaching out of the water.

I rushed over like mad, grabbed her tiny hand and pulled her out of the water. Once she was safe in my arms, I said, while mentally noting to remain calm, Were you trying to swim? It’s not easy to swim if you haven’t learned how. Angelika went to swimming school and soon you will, too, but now you must use your water wings and not get into any pool without me or Papa . . . . But after hearing such loving guidance, it was clear she wasn’t interested in any further clarification. I want my water wings, she said as she squirmed out of my arms. Then she got back in the pool.

Then one day, when Julianne was three, unusual noise and laughter blared from the bedroom she shared with Angelika. It wasn’t typical playing or even fighting noise but sounded more ambitious, like some kind of monkey business I ought to look into.

I opened the door and walked in just in time to see Julianne flying across the room, her forehead barely missing the edge of a table. By thrusting herself forward over her soft child’s sofa, it rolled beneath her (though it was square) and when she cleared it, she flew.

Of course I wasn’t thrilled with what I had just witnessed, though I was grateful no one was injured. I picked her up and lectured her on safety. But after listening to my scolding, she didn’t seem particularly remorseful about what she had just done. She wiggled out of my arms and returned to play (temporarily without the sofa, of course).

The next year, when Julianne was four, we planned a trip to Disneyland with her friend Elvira and Elvira’s mom, Ute. All of us were thrilled to arrive at our hotel and discover Disney characters posing for photos at the entrance and Pluto strolling across the lobby.

Once in our room, Ute assisted the three girls with bathroom breaks and unpacking while I went out to park Ute’s minivan. The children refreshed, Ute stepped into the bathroom for only a minute or two before she heard some excitement outside. I’d better check, she thought. She discovered the balcony doors wide open and Julianne hanging over the balcony railing, yelling Hello! and waving to a crowd of people watching from the ground floor—four floors below—no doubt trying to get the attention of some Disney character.

Ute grabbed Julianne from the railing and in a fierce voice that children ought to heed, lectured her on safety. But from the look on Julianne’s face, Ute saw that the warnings hadn’t seemed to get through.

When I returned, Ute excitedly explained what happened, and that Julianne remained unfazed. But I wasn’t surprised by Julianne’s stunt or attitude. Not anymore, anyway. A hint of a smile shone across my face because in that moment, Julianne’s behavior pattern was finally getting through to me.

About two weeks later, this pattern confirmed itself once again when their dad took Julianne and Angelika camping in Yosemite. As usual, both girls were uncontainable by the time they finally arrived at the park. The tall mountains with their misty waterfalls and the groves of trees with their hiding places captivated them both, calling them to explore. But first, Papa announced to the girls, let’s set up camp.

As he and Angelika unloaded the camping gear, Julianne slipped away. For a few moments they were unaware of her absence, not until a man ran over to them, shouting, There’s a little girl hanging from the top of that boulder there! Is she yours?

It was Julianne, of course, about twelve feet up, holding on by her fingertips but still looking calm. Her mountain climber dad took a running leap, scrambled up to the top on the other side, pried Julianne’s hands off the rock, and lowered her legs safely into the other man’s arms. I’m sure she’ll make a good climbing partner one day, he thought, holding her tight in his arms, wondering how she managed to scale that wall. Then he lectured her on being safe. But his impression, too, was, What’s all this fuss about, Papa?

OK Papa, I hear you, Julianne finally said, and with that she went to help set up camp.

By this time, it was easy to see that Julianne was blessed with some very special gifts: She was open to things new and unfamiliar, she followed her heart, lived in the moment, took risks, and had fun. She trusted herself and her world, regardless of what anyone said. The little setbacks did not really set her back. Moreover, she seemed to be so connected to her inner and outer worlds that she got what she needed at the moment she needed it. Her guardian angels always came through. With these gifts, I have no doubt she will follow her joy and live her dreams. I have no doubt she will live her life as a daring adventure. And who am I to say otherwise?

Self-Reflection

Some set sail for adventure, only to discover that the greatest longings are met within the heart.—Lisa A. Blowers

Several months went by and I thought this was it—A Story for Julianne was the one I’d share with the world. I thought it expressed what I wanted to say about love and connection with the inner self. But first, I thought I’d get some critique from, say, a preschool teacher, a friend with a knack for words, and a family psychologist I recently met at a party, before pursuing trying to get it published. Because I still felt some apprehension about it, I wanted the honest opinion of others, especially the family psychologist’s.

For one thing, creative expression wasn’t my strength. I didn’t do creative writing, just as I didn’t paint or sketch. In fact, I still felt somewhat irritated and incomplete with my writing experiences in college. All freshmen in the Engineering College were required to take two writing seminars, supposedly because we had horrible writing skills. (At least that was the standing joke.) Then there was the significant disparity between my verbal and math SAT scores. And one time, a fellow student told me I had the accent of someone who didn’t speak very much, the result, no doubt, of having lived in Poland the first few years of my life and having immigrant parents who spoke only Polish.

After assessing these facts, I enrolled in an archaeology writing seminar, expecting assignments to be of a scientific nature where, using reason and logic, I’d write about such things as the material remains of human life and activities, rather than flowery descriptions of sunsets or, heaven forbid, my feelings. I was reserved and shy.

So when I had dragged out a few paragraphs for that first archaeology paper, I went straight up to the boys’ floor in my dormitory on West Campus to find a kind-looking English major I had met during Orientation Week for my first peer review. I could have asked the women on my own floor, but wanted to spare myself some embarrassment.

He read the first paragraph and then, one sentence at a time, discussed the placement of every single word and punctuation mark. I tried to listen despite his words being blocked out by voices in my head blaring, I don’t have time for this! This will take forever! Forget it! It wasn’t exactly what I had expected—spending so much time on a few paragraphs when I had math and physics assignments due.

I let him finish his lesson and thanked him, but I didn’t return for further clarification. Instead, I had resigned myself to struggling on my own by modeling my writing after the assigned reading. My first paper earned a C-, but I followed the teacher’s suggestions and eventually ended up with a B in the course.

Also, during my college years, I had tried to journal but got nowhere. Dissatisfied with my inadequate efforts, I promptly tore out every page I wrote. In my early teens, keeping a diary had been simple but it seemed impossible in college, as if my expectations and self-criticism had skyrocketed. Maybe because life suddenly became more demanding and so full of choices I wasn’t clear about how to make and I wasn’t sure who I was when suddenly faced with some freedom.

I was envious of my physicist boyfriend Matt’s journal, which he kept in total view on his tidy bookshelf. Matt recorded his daily impressions, created fantasies about dwarves and other subterranean beings for his Dungeons and Dragons games, and even wrote me love poetry. But in my dorm room, a growing stack of mutilated journals lined the bookshelf like empty bottles in an alcoholic’s liquor cabinet. When each journal began to look ragged with torn pages, I bought another one. Then with a perfect clean slate I started anew, hoping that this time I’d get it right and my writing would blossom, taking my life along with it.

I didn’t understand my behavior back then. Perhaps I wanted to jump from point A to point B without having to live the learning part in between. Perhaps I knew that keeping a journal would somehow help me achieve my potential better. Maybe this is why, even years later, I couldn’t totally abandon my desire to write.

After about six years of working as a research and process engineer after college, I enrolled in a creative writing class the summer before graduate school. For the final assignment, I handed in a short story about a national-park-camping adventure from New York to California and back I had shared a few years earlier with my then new boyfriend W. and two of his friends from Munich.

The adventure began when W.’s friend Michael ignored my request to bring a small, collapsible duffle bag of personal belongings because the trunk of my Honda Prelude was tiny. Michael flew into Chicago carrying a hard Samsonite case filled with music and business attire, among other things. At the airport curb, the two engineering guys unpacked my car and arranged and rearranged but couldn’t make everything fit, so they decided my personal-sized cooler had to go. I was infuriated and I was right and it was my car, and there were still four weeks to go . . . .

Although I received a good grade for that story, afterwards I found it superficial, as if it was missing something and I didn’t know how to remedy it. So what if they made me wade through the hip-deep Virgin River in the narrows of Zion canyon dodging slippery rocks with an expensive new Nikon around my neck for what seemed like several miles. Big deal. Bleh. Disgusted once again, I was glad to put the writing idea behind me.

Then several years later, I found myself writing again, this time unexpectedly. I had enrolled Angelika into the Los Gatos-Saratoga Observation Nursery School, or Mountain School as it was called, an alternative school for preschool-aged children that was situated in the dreamy foothills of Los Gatos, California. While observing class, parents were expected to write reports about their child’s temperament and physical and emotional development.

For my first report on Angelika’s fine and gross motor skills, I wrote, great eye-hand coordination—check! What could I have possibly added, not having attended courses in child development? But the teacher insisted I fill up two whole pages, so I had no choice but to get creative. And over a few weeks I got the hang of it: I paid close attention to the children and recorded my observations—their personal interactions and their possible thoughts as they, for instance, hammered golf tees into pumpkins, strung necklaces three feet long, or created art with shaving cream. And over four years, I received a few compliments from teachers and some parents, too.

So there you have it, my creative writing past. Hardly any evidence that I should now devote myself to writing. Clearly, I lacked what it took to be a good writer—the right education, the right background, and the right experience. So now, I was going to write not just one but a series of popular books on love and intuition and connecting with the inner self and how life works here, was I? It didn’t make much sense.

But my Soul Recognition experience must have had me convinced that I would, that I should now forge straight ahead, though I seem to recall that I only enrolled in it in the first place to develop my intuition so it would help me cope with and straighten out the things that didn’t work in my own life: my love relationship, for one. But that is the paradox, isn’t it?

The main purpose of the Soul Recognition Workshop, led by Flo Aeveia Magdalena, was to open up to and recognize the soul’s nudging and yearnings, to help one access inner wisdom for personal growth and everyday guidance, which in turn helps the remembering of one’s blueprint, or true purpose for being here right now. Because right now, the time is auspicious for humanity’s growth and evolution. It seems like a simple enough idea, but when I did the workshop back in February 2001, it was like trying to grasp Einstein’s theory of relativity for the first time.

Unlike academic courses, this workshop was experiential and consisted of guided meditation, exercises for connecting with the soul, the use of expressive arts such as music and dance, and intuitive focus on each participant. For five whole days, a group of thirteen engaged in this work at my friend Stacey’s house.

At the workshop, a few people came up to me in private and suggested I begin journaling to help me connect to my soul and its purpose. There’s something valuable within you that needs to come out in the open, said one participant.

You were very powerful in Celtic times, said another.

Then during my individual focus, while I was under deep hypnosis, I heard Flo comment, She’s very pure.

Another participant, a strong-voiced jazz singer named Brigitte Secard, told me that while I was under hypnosis, I kept saying to her, Please help me with my voice; help me with my voice!

Flo also asked me to write, sketch, and spend time in nature in order to help ease my soul’s unfolding, though being new to such ideas, I didn’t grasp what all this meant. I didn’t know what I had within me, what exactly I was to do and why, what was to unfold, or what this supposed purity was about. (Purity? Ha! My husband would have insisted it was naïveté.)

I did love the feeling though, of connecting to my inner self, my soul. So