Dr. Honourable Renee Webb

Bermuda

You really do know everything…

From out of nowhere the darkness fell. It became pitch black in an instant. I instinctively turned and ran for the dune buggy which I could hear but not see. The engine was still running in case I needed a fast get away from the male nomads crossing the desert. A lunar eclipse, I thought, my mind racing ahead. I had been to Saudi Arabia often enough to know that night does not fall at two o’clock in the afternoon, and never as suddenly as this darkness.

My thought had not finished before the wind and the desert sand began to swirl. It raged,   engulfing me. I kept moving, in the direction my mind told me to head for. Every orifice was filling up with sand. My nostrils, my ears, my hair, and every inch of my body and clothing were thrashed with the red-hot desert sand. Luckily, I had recently returned from skiing in the Swiss Alps and was sporting my new ski shades which adequately protected my eyes. My eyes avoided the blinding desert sand which was a blessing, although the darkness prevented me from seeing anything.

I continued to bounce over the dunes, without any understanding of what was going on. The words “sand storm” never entered my mind; I had no point of reference for what was happening. Although the wind was forcing sand and darkness upon me, I had no fear. I certainly did not fear the wind for I always loved the havoc that it caused in the storms and hurricanes of my childhood.

The desert had been calm; the skies a clear radiant blue as I bounced on the rich red sand in my matching sand-coloured dune buggy. I had no particular destination; I wanted to explore what I had not seen. The ability to drive freely as a woman on Saudi soil was a relief. I found a new freedom of womanhood as I drove over the private estate which covers thousands of acres. I drove for miles, and what seemed like hours. I stopped now and then to gaze at the vast desert, the stillness reminding me of the ocean.

I had suddenly come upon the nomads and their camels as they moved along under the hot desert sun. They looked quite startled to see me; all stood still. I came close to them wanting to capture the moment in photographs. I dismounted from my jeep, but kept the engine running. I was not familiar with the temperament of desert nomads and I wanted to ensure a quick escape if I needed it.

I was clearly a mystery to them; they looked at me as if they had seen a UFO. They were in fact gawking at a western woman dressed, not in the normal Saudi attire, which I wore outside of this private ranch, but one in blue jeans, a red sleeveless top, and ski shades; riding in a bright red dune buggy in the middle of the desert!  They stared at me with curiosity, amazement and caution.  I was clearly not something they were used to looking at. They did not utter a word but continued to stare at me and not move an inch.  I was indifferent, although the sound of the camels, which grew louder the nearer I approached, was disconcerting.

Now I found myself racing across the desert with the stinging force of nature being driven by a raging wind hitting me from all sides. I drove for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. In the distance, near what turned out to be our encampment, there were fifty or so cars, trucks, and dune buggies lined up around the desert’s edge to guide me back all of their lights blazing.  My Saudi hosts, who are members of the Saudi royal family, were relieved to see me return for they knew the treachery of desert storms and being buried alive when the sand shifts in an instant.

After I had washed myself from head to toe, we had a feast in one of the huge tents. There I heard of the dangers of sand storms. Mine had died down as quickly as it had come. The day meandered on as another dry, hot, calm one.

This was my first brush with what could have been my demise. My innocence, my ignorance of the events occurring around me, and my love of the wind had protected me. There was no panic or adverse emotion. I was simply detached from what was going on.  It was just another great adventure.

While my Moslem friends thanked their God for my safe arrival, I had no time for religious dogma. However, I knew that something was protecting me, it always had. I was yet to learn to what that was, for the concept of the God of religion I had long dismissed as outrageous.

I came into the world born on a 21-mile square rock in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean knowing that there was more to life than what I could see, touch, and feel. From an early age, I knew much about the world of the unobvious. I remembered as a child that I came from elsewhere and that ultimately I wanted to go back there. I remembered past lifetimes and I did not understand why I could not return to them. I could vividly remember other places that I had no other way of knowing existed. I believed that my parents were not my parents and that my real parents would come back for me.

I was accused as a child of being “a know it all who always has the answers for things she should not know.”  I was born into a family who had low tolerance for “mouthy” children, and an education system that tolerated them even less.  The criminal offence of physical abuse of a child was an unknown entity back then. I was subjected to beatings at home and at school for rambling on about whatever subject entered my mind.

I had a tumultuous childhood. My family and neighbours lived for the day, from pay cheque to pay cheque. They partied on Saturdays and some went to church on Sundays, although mine was not a particularly religious family. The children were sent to Sunday school a lot, but this was mainly so that the adults would have a Sunday break from us for none of them went to church except for weddings and funerals.

There were the fun times of basking in the sun and swimming in the ocean from sun up to sun down, of raiding the gardens of our farmer neighbours and having “cook outs” in the trees with watermelons for desert.  These summer days I wanted to last forever.  We played games in the sea, swung from branch to branch in the trees like “Tarzan”, and sent telepathic messages to each other. I had a large contingent of family and neighbours to run and play with. There was never a dull moment when we were exploring the hills, and jumping off the cliffs into the ocean below.  I have the many bodily scars from being a child among children warriors to prove it. I had my head split open with a bottle, my chin busted open with a stone, and was thrown from a cliff.  The other child warriors and I survived it all; none of us died, but there were some close calls from dog attacks, and near drowning.

I was considered a bright child who skipped classes and succeeded in entering the best high school on the Island.  When asked by the teacher in religion study class (who happened to be the head master) whether I believe in God, I promptly announced that I did not. The God of the Bible was a punishing vindictive God who would allow people to burn in hell. I thought that was wicked and evil and I did not want to follow that God, and I never did.

My mother adored me.  She was proud of the fact that I was cute, bright and “light skinned.” Being a bi-racial child in a country founded on colonialism, racism and segregation meant that I would have a better chance to succeed than my “dark skinned” cousins. I was made to feel that I was special, could do anything, and should not marry anyone “darker then me.”  I rejected the marrying bit very early and chose never to marry at all, like my mother and some of her siblings had done.  Children were sired without due regard for the institution of marriage. I grew to learn that being born within or outside of wedlock made no difference whatsoever as to how we functioned or did not function as an adult. It was a moot point in my family.

I grew up with three sisters and thirty-six first cousins. We were relatively poor, working class, and a force to be reckoned with.  We were always getting into trouble in school. If there were neighbours of our school who had windows broken, gardens crushed or anything else that naughty children got up to, the headmistress would march us to the front of the assembly hall to confess our crime. I don’t remember that we ever did.

Throughout my life, I had a deep and profound love for women (love, as I understood it to be). I was raised in a house of females with their children. Mine was a strong matriarchal family. Women were in control of everything and were clearly the dominant sex during my childhood. They were also more numerous than the men who they seemed to rule and dominate, although they suffered physical and verbal abuse from them. My mother, aunts and grandmother were all bossy. They displayed overbearing characteristics which I would later understand to be a form of protection.   It was difficult to define their place. They all worked and in some cases were the only breadwinner for their children.

My grandmother, who left her 10 children, some of whom were quite young, to go and live with her lover, was feared.  I remember her as beautiful and kind although aggressive sometimes.  It was with her that I spent my first night away from home at age twelve. I was so traumatized at being away from my mother, sisters and cousins I could not sleep. At first sign of light, I was off running to find them. The thrill of adventure and change had not yet taken root.

I was not reared around male strength or kindness. The men in my life I saw were abusers of women, drunkards, and fathers who abandoned their children. I had one uncle who regularly sexually abused the girls in my family, another who slept with his wife’s thirteen-year-old daughter and another who raped my eleven-year-old cousin. None were ever punished or ostracized for what they had done.  The women stayed with their men while the child victims were sent to live with other relatives or had to stay in their abusive environment.

Unfortunately, the incest and abuse that occurred when I was a child was passed on to my generation. I have a first cousin who sexually abused boys, another who sexually abused younger female cousins and another who was having sex regularly with his thirteen-year-old daughter. The first and the latter cousin were sent to prison for their crimes unlike the abusers of my mother’s generation. While I was not sexually abused, knowing what was happening to my cousins hurt and affected me deeply.

My father did not love me, and although I never knew him to drink alcohol, or sexually abuse children, he had abandoned most of us. He was certainly an abuser of women; I had seen that first hand with my mother.  He did not play a significant role in my life.  He did not know me aside from my very public life later on.  He had eight children from three different women and did not interact with most of us. I did not know much about him until I was a grown woman. There were no phone calls on birthdays (I doubt if he knew the date), or spending time together.

 My father’s grandfather had left Italy at sixteen by boat, eventually landing in Bermuda and marrying my grandmother at age nineteen. She was on a boat that was shipwrecked there when she was eight.  My mother’s ancestry was a combination of Indian and Caribbean. My ancestors from both my parents were seafaring people who had left their homeland seeking a new life.  Adventure, seeking the unknown, and something different, is in my DNA.

The men in my life when I was growing up seemed to bring about so much pain.  It was a major shock to me when my father hit me with a broom at age seven for “dancing to Christian music.”  It was another shock when my 5th grade male teacher strapped me with his belt for “talking so much.” I withdrew emotionally that year and went from being near the top of my class to 3rd to last place in a class with thirty children. I knew hate for the first time in my life for I despised that teacher.

In my adult life, my childhood influenced me in my natural love and preference for the company of women.  However, I also grew to be an abuser, both verbally and physically. Genetic propensity and the social environment in my upbringing had its natural outcome. I was also very much into control, a do as I say kind of person, who was not happy if I did not get my way. My way or the highway was how I related in intimate relationships. I did not know how to communicate feelings, nor did I desire to. I was happy with superficial interaction - nothing too profound unless it was philosophical. I did not know who the real me was, and whoever that me was my sensitivity, insecurity and pain would not allow me to find out.

In spite of my childhood which was very often lonely and sad, I lived a great life. I grew to love adventure, and was motivated to get away from home to find out who and what I really am. I studied abroad and travelled all over the world. I attended university in Canada, the United States and France. I lived in Europe and spent time in the Middle East and many other places. I am a born adventurer who was ultimately searching for me.  Even in all of my “fun” times, I was always aware that something was profoundly missing.

 I grew to love different cultures, and the diversity of people around the world. I spent time in Egypt, India, the Far East, Australia, Central America, the Caribbean, the United Kingdom, Ireland, Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and countries in Europe too numerous to mention.  My travelling was a journey, a calling to find myself. I did not understand why or what, but I knew something or someone was beckoning me.

My twenties were filled with adventure and discovery.  I partied a lot, and was sexually promiscuous.  It seemed like the natural thing to do.  I rationalized that unless I participated I was not qualified to talk about or to judge whatever the world was doing. It was the 1980’s in Paris. Everything was so new, and exciting. I learnt to speak my first foreign language, and had friends from around the world.

It was the time of all night disco dancing, drugs floating around and lots of drama and adventure.  I was all about being in control of myself yet being wild with the exhilaration of the moment.  I had difficulty committing to a relationship although I had quite a few over the years; relationships always seemed to get in the way of my “pick up and go” attitude towards life. I did not want to be tied down under any circumstance. Freedom was my mantra - freedom to be wild and undisciplined.

My love for knowledge was the only thing that kept me grounded. I loved studying, and learning new things. I would learn through experiencing places and cultures and through knowledge found in books. I learned about every major religion, travelling to many of the holy sites of the Jewish, Christian, Moslem, Hindu, and Buddhist religions. These observations, and experiencing the practice of religious dogma firsthand, only confirmed why I was never tied to any religion. I knew instinctively that there was more to life then what they had to offer. Therefore, while my three sisters, with whom I was raised, were all into different sects of Christianity I had absolutely no interest. My mother was like me while my father followed a Christian sect. The fact that my mother was not religious, and I was not raised as such, boded well as my future unfolded, for I did not suffer the profound guilt of many of my friends for what they perceived as “wrong.”

Through my love of learning, I acquired degrees of high learning up to an honorary PHD in Humanities for my life work. I worked in various places, including Paris where I lived for   almost nine years. I eventually came back to my country of birth to contribute in the field of   business and politics. I believed that the political field was a way to help to evolve my country forward.  I was elected in 1993 and served three terms in office during which I rose to be a Minister of Government.  There were some great moments, but for the most part the political arena was a very frustrating time for me.  I was always thinking and speaking "outside of the box” in my political career. Therefore, I was often undermined, ostracized and politically assassinated for it.  However, that did not stop HRH Queen Elizabeth II from awarding me the lifetime title of “Honourable” before my name.

Politics, like religion, I soon discovered would not give me the impetus I needed to find me.  Both are about controlling the masses, keeping them believing that all would fall apart without politicians or religious leaders to “guide” the way.  Neither is about taking personal responsibility for all of the choices we make in our life. The inequality of the sexes, how women were treated by both was evident. The press and male dominated political system treated women differently. There is an unspoken delineation of standards and expectations with respect to women politicians and leaders.

 I had a very public resignation from the Cabinet when the Premier chastised me for defending a pregnant female member of the Cabinet. When I approached him to discuss his treatment of women members, including myself, he berated me with “you cannot get over me or under me young lady, I am the man!” I resigned on the spot; I was and am the woman! I resented him initially, but this incident actually brought me closer to my destiny that was calling.

Inequality towards women practiced by all religions was also disturbing to me as all relegate women to a lower class. Women are not allowed to be priests and can be excommunicated from the Catholic Church, the mother of all churches, for seeking to be one. There are no women Imams in the Moslem religion, and no possibility of a woman Dalai Lama.  Who and what is the god of this creation, of inequality, and “tradition?” I often pondered.  Once again, as I had done at twelve years old, I rejected that God.

Many memorable events took place on my journeys to foreign places in search for truth and knowledge.  I mention a few which inspired my trek and hunger to know life. The fact that I created chaos and a near death experience in a sand storm propelled me forward. I simply went to where I was being led, always with a sense of adventure.

I have been to Egypt many times, during which I visited and studied the pyramids at Abu Simbel, Luxor, Aswan, and in Upper and Lower Egypt. I examined their interior but to this day not the three famous ones at Giza, although I went there a few times. What is the mystery of the foreboding feeling that I get whenever I go near these three grand pyramids? I pondered whether this was a rendering from an experience of another life. I do not know the answer but fate has kept me out of them despite three attempts to enter.

On my first visit to Egypt, my Saudi friend and I decided to horseback ride as far as the eyes could see into the desert while keeping the three huge triad structures of Giza in view. We raced the horses at full speed over the sand dunes, only to return to find the pyramids were closed.  A strange gas was emanating from inside the structures so they would not be opened to the public. 

On my second visit years later, I arrived for a visit to tour the three magnificent edifices. I stood in line to purchase my ticket, only to be told once I reached the counter that they had just sold the last ticket to the person in front of me. They had reached their quota for the day, and no one else would be entering.  I felt indifferent and climbed them instead, peeped into the entrance, and walked away to climb and discover the Sphinx.

On my most recent visit, I was travelling with my ten-year-old daughter, and some friends. We had planned to visit the pyramids at Giza and take in the sights there.  We drove to Alexandria, to go to the beach, to visit the great library and other cultural sites. On the day we were to set out for the pyramids we were delayed for some reason. We arrived in the early evening; the structures were closed so we settled for the magnificent light show on the outside of those three marvels.

I have visited many beautiful pyramids on my many visits to Egypt, including the beauteous ones in the Valley of the Kings and Queens. I have also visited many other wondrous structures, temples, ruins, and the like. The Avenue of the Rams with its numerous ram- headed sphinxes with the body of a lion leading to the temple of Karnak fascinated me. My tour guide, who was a renowned Egyptologist, could not answer my query as to for who or what reason the rams were there; they felt so familiar to me. The answers of why they were there, like why I had not entered the pyramids at Giza, remained a mystery. I had mixed feeling of “déjà vu” and foreboding.

There were some other “too close for comfort calls” in life that were cause for pause. The Air India flight that was blown up by terrorists a day or so before mine; the flight that crashed in South America and never connected to mine. Taking one of the last flights out of NYC on September 10th., the day before the World Trade disaster, because “I just don’t want to be here tomorrow.”  I often was near danger, but not near enough to be affected by it.  However, an incident in Israel in 2004 was too upfront and personal.

Our arrival at the Allenby Bridge and the crossing over from Jordan into Israel was smooth enough. We were a party of seven, three men and four women with various nationalities. There was an Egyptian, an American, a French woman and me. I was travelling on my British passport.  There were two Palestinian men, who also held American passports, and a Tanzanian. We were visiting Israel and Palestine for a few days. We knew that it could be risky as suicide bombings, and shootings were common.

It was with eager anticipation that I crossed the threshold onto Israeli soil. This trip had been decided the night before as we dined with a good friend who is a special advisor to King Abdullah of Jordan. “Renee,” he called out from across the table, “would you like to go to Israel and Palestine in the morning?”  “The last time I checked the Pope was still Catholic,” I retorted. 

An early morning departure had been set up for the next day. Abe said that there was one problem: my Egyptian friend, who was travelling with me, would not be able to go since it was difficult for Arabs Moslems to get visas for entry into Israel. I would not accept this fate for her, insisting that she be included and travel with us. It was eleven at night; we were to leave at 9 a.m. the next day.  Miraculously, (or should I say it is who you know) the visa entry was arranged and off we went that morning. The Palestinian-Americans, along with the others, had their visas arranged previously. Khadija and I were to get our visas at the Allenby Bridge entry point which divides Israel and Jordan.  We would be travelling with the others who were on a business visit to Israel and Palestine.

We checked into the Olive Tree hotel in Jerusalem and headed directly for Old Jerusalem.
Jerusalem is a beautiful city, with friendly people from all over the world. While the others went on their business appointments, Khadija and I spent the day visiting some of the holy sites many of which you can see from each other. The Dome of the Rock, The Wailing Wall, and the Church of the Holy Scepter are some of the most holy sites of the Muslim, Jewish, and Christian faiths.  Our trip that day included a visit to Bethlehem to see what is purported to be the birthplace of Jesus. We also visited the baptism site on the river Jordan and the crucifixion site which we had seen on the Jordanian side. We participated in whatever ritual was going on although neither of us is religious. We maintained respect at all times, although the Rabbi was not happy when he pointed out to me that I was taking a picture of Khadija who was sitting on Jesus’ grave!

We were then headed for Palestine which we entered by a route over hills and dales. The two Palestinians with us wanted to avoid the border crossing from Israel. They feared confrontation with the Israeli border control officials who they viewed as dangerous and erratic. It was great to see the countryside and life as it exists there. We were on our way to the capital city of Ramallah.

 I was amazed at the stark difference between Israel and Palestine. Israel projected wealth and hope, while Palestine emanated poverty and despair. There were fences separating them not just physically, but mentally as well. The city of Jerusalem was pristine, with European-style buildings, sidewalk cafes and a great nightlife. Now before us was Ramallah with worn out buildings, most of which are covered with bullet holes. We spent the evening in Palestine at the house of a Government official. We listened to stories of the tragedy of people who had been killed in the name of religion, and their fight for sovereignty. Fahad lived on the same street as Arafat’s (head of the Palestinian Liberation Organization, “PLO“) compound. We had a great evening of delicious food and wine with him and his family. We heard about the tribulations between the two countries.

As it was getting late, it was decided that Khadija and I would be driven back to Palestine getting dropped off by our Palestinian driver at the border, and picked up by our Israeli one on the other side. The others travelling with us were to spend the night in Palestine. 

We approached the border into Israel walking between the concrete walls leading up to the checkpoint desk. Suddenly, we were hollered at and told to halt in Hebrew and Arabic as eight or so Israeli border police approached us with machine guns. Sirens were sounding all around us and we could hear people in the distance behind us running. There was immediate chaos. Time stood still, and so did we. Khadija, who was used to hearing and seeing such confrontations on the television, went into a complete panic. I calmly looked at her and said, “Nothing will happen to us.  It is not my reality to die on the Israeli Palestinian border.  This is not my fight and I will not die here this night.”

In the meantime, I focused on the woman with the machine gun pointing at me. I was relieved to see that it was a woman holding the gun for in my mind there was no way a woman would kill me. I began to ramble on, making fun and light of the situation. I often do that in uncomfortable situations. The hot dry night with dusty streets, barking dogs and screaming voices eventually subsided and we were allowed to pass. The chaos turned out to be a drill - I had no way of knowing until it was over!

In 1988, while travelling through NYC on my way to or from somewhere, I met up with a friend who had introduced me to the teachings of her Indian guru. The last time I had seen her two years earlier, she had talked incessantly about this female guru. On this trip however, she spoke incessantly about her new teacher, “the Ram.”  He did this, or he said that, I was intrigued, particularly when she talked about him being channeled through the body of a woman. There was something very familiar about this. To this day, I can vividly remember hearing the name “Ramtha” for the first time in Brenda’s car on a street in New York City.

She gave me The White Book which I immediately read. I loved it and I felt like I was reading my own story. I could not put the book down:  its contents, like so many unexplained occurrences in my life, were familiar to me. I read it line by line, repeatedly, before moving forward, highlighting and making notes of the salient points that resonated with me the most.  I knew this story and knew that I was a part of it. From that day Ramtha, the Enlightened One became a part of my life. I have read this book on his life many times over the years.

There was an event in NYC soon after that on November 12, 1988. When I flew there to attend it at the Marriott Hotel at Kennedy Airport, it had been cancelled. I began ordering books and videos from then up until 1993. I talked to Ramtha over the years and knew he was listening, even challenging him to appear to me.

I was elected to Parliament in 1993 and my daughter was born in 1994. My life took on a new turn, and I became very busy.  I continued to seek knowledge, and talked to the Ram but I did not try to attend another event. It did not seem to matter. I went to Seattle a few times on business over the years and would always lament, “The Ramtha School is near here somewhere,” but never attempted to visit.

When I resigned from the Cabinet in 2004, I invited my travelling buddy to go on an adventure trip with me to Pyrenees Mountains in France. We stayed in a spa and did adventure activities by day. We climbed mountains, and rode bikes down them. We went whitewater rafting, and I parachuted from a mountaintop.  During my parachute jump (with a trainer), I was acutely aware of how small we all are.  Life itself appeared to be very small as the parachute circled drifting in the wind. I landed, folded up my parachute, and said aloud, “Now it is time for me to go to the Ramtha School.”  I did not know where the thought came from, but the plans were now in motion once it came. 

Whether being in the co-pilot seat over the Sinai desert, whitewater rafting in India or watching the sunrise over the Himalayan Mountains there, meditating on Table Top Mountain in  South Africa, flying around the world in private jets; meeting with Condoleezza Rice, Hilary Clinton, Jimmy Carter, Ted Kennedy, Tony Blair, Queen Elizabeth II, Queen Rania, and other leaders from around the world; my life has been full of discovery.  My cultural, religious, social, and political exposure has brought me to where I am today. I have lived a life of which most people can only dream.  A life that has brought me to the realization that there is much more to it then what we live every day.

While on the election campaign trail in 2003, I was canvassing in one of the neighbourhoods that I represented in Parliament. I decided to stop by my brother-in-law’s house. I could hear loud music coming from inside and began banging on the window where it was coming from. He finally came to the door drenched in sweat. “I was doing one of my disciplines,” he exclaimed, “I go to a school in Washington State.”   “You go to Ramtha’s School?”   I interrupted him in shock.  I knew John to be a staunchly religious elder in the First Church of God. I was enthralled with his stories of the orbs, the entities from the unseen that manifest, as he spoke about what had happened to him at his events.  He, on the other hand, was taken aback by my knowledge of the Ram.

In August 2005, I attended my Beginner’s Event in Italy, and then other events while still serving in Parliament until December, 2007.  My adventure in the Ramtha School of Enlightenment, a grand school of ancient wisdom, has been a great one.  I have loved every moment.

I have learnt much in this lifetime about the external of myself, but my conscious awareness is now pointed inward. The awakening of me who has been a sleeping god has begun. My search for knowledge and happiness has brought me back to myself, and back to my master teacher, Ramtha, whose teachings are a marvel.  I now have a true understanding of the meaning of life, why I am here, and what I must do to find the god that lives within me. I am committed to learning about me, peeling way the onionskin of my past. It is an arduous journey giving up the known and going inward to the unknown. It is a constant journey of self-discovery and reflection. I am learning who I am and to love me.

Ramtha is the first man in this lifetime that I have truly loved. It is ironic that he channels through the body of a woman. He is the father that I never had. He is a friend, and a remarkable teacher. He is the one who has shown me the path to me, and the god that I am.  He has taught   and given me the desire to know and to love myself. Not the love defined by my past, but one that lives in the moment and always is. I now understand what Yeshua Bin Joseph (Jesus), who I once rejected, meant when he said, “The kingdom of god is within,” and “in my father’s house there are many mansions.”  There are many mansions of potentials in my mind. I can build, create and manifest them not by being in control, but by letting go and letting god. I am giving up my past and the emptiness I feel inside and filling that void with the love of myself. Yes, it is a long journey back home. My master teacher is giving me the tools to get on the trail and to go there. I now know what Yeshua meant when he said, “Be silent and know that ye are god.”  My god dwells in the silence within me, and yet is everywhere around me.

The lanterns of the future now are burning for me. My master teacher awaits my return. My God awaits my return. I am humbled to be taught by such a loving being who just is. I am humbled to be sitting at the feet of greatness, learning such profound knowledge, and hearing such resounding wisdom. I am humbled by the love I am experiencing.

I know the long journey home is but a breath away. If I listen quietly, I can hear it in the wind.

I thank you Ramtha for being in my life, for your love of truth and me. I thank you JZ for the sacrifice you make to let Ramtha happen. You are both greatly loved. So be it!