Intertwines: The Threads of Life

By Eileen Goggins

Awakening comes at different times and in different ways. This is the story of one womens quest for greater knowledge of the higher unknown spiritual world. Her husbands death in an auto accident followed by her daughters near death two years and two days later marked her awakening. There was something larger, much bigger than her research had shown, and she would travel the world in search of this higher wisdom.

Her quest touched many cultures and much was learned, but the answer she searched for would not come from her world travels. On a short 130-mile trip from her home, the greater awakening occurred and thus completed Intertwines.

The threads of lifephysical and spiritual, past and presentmerge as she travels through lifetimes and discovers the blending of two diverse cultures.

Prepare to be awakened.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Feb 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504326674

Eileen Goggins

Eileen Goggins has lived most of her life in a small town in Wisconsin. Having been raised on a dairy farm, she lived close to nature and loved the solitude of the country. This quiet life offered her the opportunity to develop an introspective way of looking at all living things. Early in life she began meditating and researching different religious beliefs. This research became her main interest and led her on many travels around the world, some of which are Greece, Egypt, Israel, Italy, France, Peru, and the Yucatan of Mexico. These travels represented a quest, not of the mind but of the spirit. Her quest, to understand how all the different threads that create our lives, intertwine to form life’s individual pattern. Travels through lifetimes and discovers the blending of two diverse cultures. Prepare to be awakened.

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Copyright © 2015 Eileen Goggins.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-2666-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-2668-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-2667-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015900622

Balboa Press rev. date: 02/13/2015

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Part 1

Chapter 1    A Day’s Beginning Does Not Declare Its Ending

Chapter 2    Healing Years

Chapter 3    Completion

Part 2

Chapter 4    Life Continues

Chapter 5    The Answer Begins Unfolding

Chapter 6    Hazelhurst, Wi

Chapter 7    Madeline Island: Two Years Later

Chapter 8    The Legend

Chapter 9    Ancient Healing

Chapter 10    The Perceptive Winter

Chapter 11    Mary

Epilogue

About The Author

End Note

Acknowledgments

The writing of this book has been a gift.

I would like to acknowledge:

My family and two beautiful daughters, Beth and Rebecca.

My dearest Tom who encouraged me to write our story.

My lovely mom.

***

Dear friends:

San and JoAnne, provided tremendous support.

Harvey and Ellen, thank you for always being there.

Carol T, you are forever the catalyst.

Barb, you are my partner in discovery.

Marie, your love of Madeline Island was inspiring.

Introduction

The Story of One Women’s Quest

This story spans many years coming together and first found its way to paper late on a winter’s night. My husband had gone to bed, and after reading for a while, I began turning off the lights when something spoke to me.

You must write.

Pausing, but then going to get my laptop, I set it up at the kitchen table. Not sure of where to begin or really what this was about, I sat with my hands on the keys until thoughts awakened in my mind and my fingers began typing as memories flowed to the surface. I cried that night. At times, I sobbed as long-held pain made its way to the front and onto the paper. I had not realized I’d carried so much inside, and by three in the morning, most of it had been released and lay in front of me, forever a part of me but unbound from that moment on. That night’s writing is the first chapter of this book. The writing continued and found its way into an unexpected manuscript.

I had traveled the world in my quest for greater knowledge of the higher unknown spiritual world. That night, I realized real awakening could only come when we have cleared ourselves. Thus began the unfolding of Intertwines: Weaving the Threads of Life. Physical and spiritual and past and present merged as I traveled through lifetimes and discovered the blending of two diverse cultures.

***

As a child, a guide, invisible to others, walked with me, taught me, and gently led me through my young years. I have a clarity of memories walking through fields with one or sometimes two guides wearing long, off-white robes (such as I would describe natural linen today) speaking to me. When they were with me, there was always an aura of lightness, as if we were floating just above the ground. They explained nature, the universe, and higher knowledge to a young child. They said there was an answer to everything that occurred on earth and taught me how to touch the place of higher wisdom. The ability to reach into what I now know as the Akashic Records, the place where all knowledge is stored, has stayed with me, and I have never questioned it.

As I write this, l realize that all conscious life begins at birth, and with age, we often experience trials of a powerful nature. Those powerful moments are when our authentic life begins. Everything else is a precursor, preparing us as we unveil the pattern of our lives.

Eileen Goggins

Perhaps there is a pattern

Set up in the heavens

For one who desires to see it,

And having seen it

To find one in himself.

Plato

PART 1

CHAPTER 1

A Day’s Beginning Does

Not Declare Its Ending

It was early December, and I was starting to decorate the house for the holidays. Hopefully, it would be a good Christmas. It was time. The last two years had been difficult ones, but we’d made it through the tough times. This year, I was planning a festive holiday filled with all the traditions we’d created and loved since the children were young. I’d ordered most of the gifts right after Thanksgiving, and I was assured that the truck would pull into the yard with delivery in plenty of time for wrapping before Christmas Eve. Now just the decorating remained.

After making a short trip to the florist for fresh greens and ribbons, I was ready. Beginning in the foyer, I would work my way through the house. I particularly loved decorating the curved stairway. It set the ambiance for the entire home as one entered through the front door. We had ordered the hand-carved staircase from a craftsman out East known for his precise architectural detail. The day it arrived was a big day. It was to come in one piece. Would it fit?

Our builder, very nervous about his awaiting curved wall, kept looking at it and saying, I built it according to specs.

The truck pulled up in front of the house late morning, and all watched as the beautiful staircase slid perfectly into place. With smiles all around, the relieved builder proudly patted himself on the back and proceeded to install the wainscoting.

Every year, I would start my holiday decorating with the staircase. Some years, I would put poinsettias on the first few steps. Other years, small wrapped gifts would be waiting there. I liked to have everything real, a little bit of nature inside. I draped and tied the greens on the curved banister with rich, burgundy velvet ribbons. Pinecones, collected over several years, hung in large clusters. Now standing in the center of the foyer examining my finished work, I nodded. It was good.

Moving into the living room, I sighed as I looked at the mammoth job ahead of me, but I’d done it many times, and I was determined to make this Christmas as perfect as possible.

In the late afternoon, I heard the phone ringing. Good, I thought. I can use a break.

Hi, Mom.

Beth, how are you? I’ve been thinking about you.

I’m great. I got a call this afternoon from the photographer. Our photos are ready so I’m driving into the city to pick them up.

Wonderful! When do you want the engagement announcement to go into the paper?

Oh, whenever it works. Rob was up last weekend, and we went to look at rings.

Did you find the perfect one?

Oh, yes. Yes, we did.

Great. I’ve been decorating for Christmas today. The house will be beautiful this year. We’ll open a bottle of champagne to celebrate when you’re both here.

Oh, fun.

Looking outside, I could see that it was lightly snowing. It’s just beginning to snow here. What is the weather like there?

It’s raining right now, but the temperature is still above freezing. It’s supposed to stay fairly warm. I’ll be okay.

You be careful. You know how quickly things can change. Perhaps you could go tomorrow?

I was sure that she sensed the concern in my voice, an ingrained concern that gripped Beth, her younger sister Becky, and me whenever one or the other was traveling on snowy, slippery roads.

No, she said with hesitation, I just got out of class, and I’m excited to see the finished photographs. It’ll be all right.

Okay. Call me later.

I will. Don’t worry, Mom.

Love you!

You, too.

Returning to my decorating, I moved into the sunroom and climbed the ladder to hang a thirty-six-inch wreath in the upper curve of the north window. I thought of how far we had come. Two years and two days ago, my husband, Bill, the girls’ father, died when his car slid on a snowy road and hit a tree. It was the toughest time we had gone through.

On December 11 at 5:20 PM, our lives changed forever. I had just gotten home from work and expected Bill to walk in any minute. He had called to ask when I was leaving my office and to tell me to drive carefully as it was just beginning to snow. He too would be leaving work shortly.

When I got home, I started dinner and poured two glasses of wine that I set on the table. Bill had five children from a prior marriage. Two of his grown children were raising their families in our community, and we wanted to support our whole family as much as we could. The month of December was always a busy time with many holiday events, all needing to fit into the Christmas season.

That night, his oldest grandchild was in a school Christmas program, and our daughter Becky had a basketball game. We decided that I would go to the game and he would go to his grandchild’s Christmas event. But first, in this busy season, we would enjoy a glass of wine and a light supper together.

We’d built our home, a small horse ranch, five years prior. Wausau is built on the Wisconsin River with hills surrounding it on the west and north. We chose one of the hills to the north on which to build. Only a mile from town, we found it to be the perfect place. From there, we could see the lights of the ski hill illuminating the winter sky. It offered beauty and privacy, and it was just a short drive to the girl’s school. We chose the highest point on the land as the location for the home with the barn located to the northeast.

Many people described it as an English Tudor house, but it was actually done in the Normandy style, which is lighter in design than Tudor. The road running in front of the house was a narrow two-lane avenue, heavily treed on both sides. One could follow our driveway to the garage, head straight back to the barn, or turn onto the circle in front of the house. Everything was in perfect balance with the contour of the land, and the small farm was a lovely, welcoming place with huge, old oak trees filling the yard.

With dinner almost ready, I wondered what was taking Bill so long. Then suddenly, I felt a thud in my center chest. It hit me hard. I stiffened and froze where I stood.

What was that? I felt shaken and confused. I looked around in a panic to see what it could have been. What had just moved through me? Trying to calm my breathing, I was drawn to the back window. From there, I could look out over the hill to the narrow road that led the way to our drive. I saw the lights of police cars and an ambulance. They were on the high spot to the east, clearly visible just before the cover of the trees began. Something inside of me knew what I was seeing.

Then my eyes moved over our east lawn, and I saw an image of Bill hovering above the garden area in his gray cashmere coat.

He said, I’m so sorry. You’re going to have to put the horses in their stalls tonight.

He knew I loved the animals but did not like bringing hungry horses with snow-encrusted hooves into their stalls.

I knew. I watched as the flashing lights were turned off. All became dark as the emergency vehicles left the accident scene. The red and blue flashing lights of the police car were the last to be turned off. Only the police car’s headlights remained. I watched as it began to slowly travel in my direction on the narrow road. I followed those headlights as they lit the canopy created by the snow-covered trees and then turned onto our drive. It climbed our hill toward the front circle.

A sinking feeling moved through me as I walked from the back of the house toward the front door. The lights of the moving car shone through the large dining room windows, eerily lighting my way through the interior of the house.

Reaching the foyer, I saw the police car, now without lights but clearly visible in the early evening. Two silhouettes were walking toward the house. I opened the door. An officer and a neighbor stepped in.

There was a pause, a moment of uncertainty, but then the officer spoke the words. There has been an accident. I am so sorry. Your husband has died.

I will never forget the numbness that immediately entered my left arm. Instantly reacting to the sensation, I began rubbing it. I then knew a part of me was no longer there. After a few more words, the officer left. Closing the front door, he walked back to his squad car. He had probably just delivered the worst news that he’d had to deal with that day.

The neighbor, who had been on her way home from work when she happened upon the accident, stayed for support and helped me make the necessary phone calls. She called her son to come and help bring the horses into their stalls and give them their nightly feed. By the time we got back to the house, people were already filling it.

A friend later asked me, How could you have opened that door?

I answered, The door was already opened. I knew.

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