Friday, May 22, 2015

Between Now and When: An Excerpt by Richard House, MD

"Dr. Richard House conveys a personally gripping and deeply heartfelt near-death experience.  His story is awe-inspiring and strongly supports the continuance of the human soul after physical death. I look forward to reading it again."
- Dr. John Lerma, MD, best-selling author of Into the Light and Learning from the Light

"A mind-expanding, well-written narrative that intrigues on both a story level and a metaphysical one. Read the book.  Have your mind blown. Understand the universe."
- Marc Darrow, author the Shrinking the Truth


Between Now and When relates a transcendent journey from earthly suffering and addiction into the rarely glimpsed supra-reality of higher dimensions.

The author first experienced the oneness of existence at age seven.  As a teen, he heard a mystical voice that foretold his death at age 33, a prophecy that left him on death's doorstep at exactly that age.  His surrender complete, he was propelled into the fourth dimension, where his body was miraculously healed.

Here we share a partial excerpt from Chapter Fourteen that shares Dr. House's journeys in India.

The town of Meherabad had been acquired for Meher Baba’s work in the 1920s. At the time, there was an old post office building and water tank room on a sloping hill above the railroad and highway, and a few disused buildings on the other side of the road: lower Meherabad.

When I arrive on September 12, 1981, I am amazed as the rickshaw pulls up to the newly completed Pilgrim Center, a large one-story building that looks like a Spanish villa with tiled roof and arched front porticos, the stonework and architecture unlike anything I’ve seen in India. I will learn that it had been designed and built by an American architect (and Baba lover), Ted Judson. It is a refreshing sight and speaks of comfort and security as I lug my suitcase up the stone steps to the shady porch. There are a few Westerners sitting there, one of whom directs me to a small office down the hallway. Inside, I meet Gary Kleiner, who sits back in his chair with hands clasped behind his head.

“So, you’re Richard,” he says simply. “From?”
“California, I guess, but I’ve been traveling. And you?” I ask, taking in his accent.
“Chicago, but this is home now.” He reaches over to give me a lock and key. “So, do you play volleyball? Game’s tomorrow at three.”

My room is small, a bed with mosquito netting, a desk, and a lockable closet framed in aged teakwood from a dismantled Buddhist monastery. A window above the desk looks out to the hallway and the supporting stone arches that circle the open central courtyard. The bathroom down the hall features both Eastern and Western toilets and stalls for the bucket baths allowed every third day. Every third day?

After unpacking and stowing my suitcase, I walk around the stone hallway to the opposite side of the courtyard. Delectable smells of cooking come from the kitchen, where I meet Alan Wagner, an American whose promise to all pilgrims is to provide safe, nourishing fare in the dining room. His culinary skills, I would soon discover, are matched only by his theatrical abilities and operatic voice.

Bushed, I return to my room and flop on the bed, the honking horns of the nearby road a sweet lullaby as I sink into a dreamless sleep.

Kleiner is still in his office, still with hands clasped behind his head, when I awaken in late afternoon,

“So, Richard, you’re going up to Samadhi?”
I nod. “What do I do up there?”
“Well, nothing really. There are no rules. Most people bow at the threshold and then kneel at the marble slab for a few moments. That’s it. You can sit on the mats along the wall after that. When you leave, the watchman will hand you prasad, orange candy usually, a sweet gift from God, so to speak.” Kleiner then motions for me to go on. “You’ll see.”

I walk about 50 yards to the road and again marvel at the utter diversity of noisy travel on it, a moving river of beast and man that I carefully cross without incident. A few yards farther I come to the railroad tracks, no trains in sight, the shiny rails converging to pinpoints as I look right then left before stepping over them.

The gravel path going uphill is bordered by young trees every 20 feet or so, the sun not yet deflected by them. At the top of the hill to the right I see the compound wall around the old tank room, and next to the gate, dead ahead, a small tin shed. To the left is Baba’s tomb-samadhi, a mortared stone building with a white dome atop it, symbols of the major religions along its perimeter: Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and Zoroastrian. There is a shady porch over the entrance to the tomb from whence an old man is coming toward me. It is Nana Kher, one of Baba’s mandali and a permanent resident who often hands out prasad. As we meet, he enfolds me in a tender embrace and whispers in my ear, “Welcome home, son.” This exquisite moment wipes away all fear and opens my heart like a love song from God.

There are tombs of revered saints and perfect masters all over India, the idea being that the presence of these elevated souls remains at the spot where they are buried, the people visiting, taking darshan, accruing spiritual benefit simply by bowing down.
After what I had experienced in Baba’s room at Avatar’s Abode, I can’t imagine what is in store here, at the center of Baba’s life on earth, and even more, of course: the place where Baba left his physical remains.

As I bow and enter the tomb, the fragrance of tuber rose, marigold, and jasmine floats the words welcome home once again. My mind vanishes altogether, and in those precious moments, I prostrate myself on the stone floor, wrenching sobs from the depths of my heart filling my ears with the sound of sweet surrender, the cool marble on my forehead the touch of divine ease and love. When I raise up and look about in wonder, I see God everywhere: in the mortared stone, in the beams of light from the window, in my hands on my knees, in the photo of smiling Baba, and, looking inward, in the very folds of my heart.

I spend many hours in the tomb in the weeks that follow. Each time, the experience is different, but the overall sense is, in two words, LOVE and POWER.
I also spend hours in the tin shed about 20 feet away from where Baba frequently sat in silence. In this small room, I feel POWER and LOVE.

In later years I would understand the metaphysics herein, the tomb a primary energy nexus, and the tin shed a secondary one. There is a vast energetic network all over the world (and universe) that arises from, and is maintained by, primary and secondary energy spots corresponding to 1 and 2, the organizing principle of all that is—and all that is not.

All humans on Earth have the latent ability to consciously experience the energetic organization that underlies the visible universe. In my case, this ability is just opening, and it is astonishing, to say the least. The tin shed will prove to be the most powerful nexus of mental energy that I would ever encounter. It is the source of all secondary spots on Earth. This original secondary nexus located in the tin shed is a partner to the Om point, the original primary nexus that has a physical locus about a hundred miles away from Baba’s tomb-samadhi. It is Baba’s tomb and his conscious connection to it that modulates the flow between these two partnered spots. It is here that avataric consciousness enters and directs all events in the creation, the home place of Christ consciousness, as it were.

The primary energy spots on Earth are analogous to Ida, in the human chakra system as noted in yogic theory—yin in the Chinese system. The secondary spots on Earth are analogous to Pingala—yang energy in the human body.

Just as human metaphysical anatomy contains energy channels called nadis arising from Ida and Pingala, and spinning energy pumps called chakras, the Earth is covered in similar channels of energy storage and flow in a complex system called the grid, made of ley lines that originate from the Om point as primary channels and spots with corresponding secondary channels and spots all over the earth.


It will take years for me to understand this grand system first glimpsed in the tin shed in 1981 in Meherabad.

Dr. House has been practicing medicine for more than 40 years, first as a traditional medical doctor, and for the past 20 years as an acupuncturist utilizing the chakras for energetic healing.
His travels have taken him around the world three times and to most of the United States for meditative and higher-dimensional work.
He lives in North Carolina on an organic farm with his family and enjoys beekeeping and animal husbandry. He holds a second-degree black belt in taekwondo and is proficient with the longbow. Dr. House may be followed on Facebook and Twitter.

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