A Prelude to Light

Today’s channeling session pushed my boundaries and encouraged me to take a leap of faith. Knowing that I wanted to self-publish my first channeled book, A Tryst of Faith, by the end of this year and have encountered a number of unexpected delays, I was guided by El Morya (who is also known as Melchior and who plays a lead role in the book) to include the prologue toward the end of the transcription. I hope you enjoy it. Namaste.



“Please be quiet, everyone,” the young girl requested. “I’m trying to think.”

“Silence is required for proper reflection,” El Morya concurred. “And, as the woman has often said, ‘Only in silence will man hear the echo of his heart’s longing.’”

“I don’t know where that saying came from,” the woman said, knowing that it had been almost twenty years since the words first sprang to mind.

“You began hearing our realm long ago,” Maitreya stated, joining their conversation. “You were unfortunate in that your creative abilities were rarely nurtured when you were growing up, much less acknowledged as being naturally strong, nor was your home environment clear of toxins. Smoking is extraordinarily difficult for the soul’s light to penetrate, particularly when one’s mindset is not yet attuned to the soul’s knowledge and wisdom. Yoga provides the prana necessary for men and women to begin working through challenging emotions that were often stifled throughout their formative years. You know full well that your emotions were difficult to contain, particularly when you were presented with a situation that brought up the anger you were not taught how to contend with in a healthy manner.”

“Funny how ‘contend’ and ‘content’ are so similar,” the fool then observed.

“There are many words that are similar, as I mentioned a few times throughout A Tryst of Faith. You haven’t decided which Introduction to use, Chela,” El Morya then said to the woman.

“You gave me a few to choose from. I still don’t know why you did that.”

“Well, there is a lot to talk about. In fact, the Introduction could’ve been an entire book, in and of itself. You do know that you can decide on your own which one is best. Alternatively, you could share a single version and ask readers to provide their input.”

“El Morya, there aren’t enough people who read this to begin with,” said the cynic.

“I have an idea which might prove beneficial, then. Upload a chapter at a time and ask if people have difficulty following along with the story line. You could always upload the prologue, just for fun. It will definitely give people a taste of what they’re in for.”

The young girl pondered El Morya’s suggestion and said, “Well, that isn’t a bad idea, considering the man she left behind and the man she met in Mexico have been talked about a few times, lately.”

“What do you think? Is that such a bad idea?” El Morya asked the woman as he winked at the young girl.

“I have an even better idea, though,” said the young girl. “Why don’t we post the poem, ‘Awakening,’ instead?”

“The poem will make more sense to those who have read the prologue.”

“Very well, then,” the woman said. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Are you ready?” the fool asked, displaying the manuscript.

“I am,” she answered.

“Insert it here, then,” El Morya recommended, opening a window and revealing a vast expanse of stars. “Let it be sent out to the Universe and shown to the world for all to see.”

“There’s Orion’s Belt,” observed the cynic. “It mirrors the Great Pyramids in Giza.”

“Yes, it does,” El Morya concurred. “Mirrors are important. The soul will often bring together people whose souls have been connected for thousands of years to teach humanity how to embrace the soul’s light. Sometimes, a person will encounter a single man whose unique perspective alters the course of humanity’s thinking, as in the case of Lord Sananda, whom many know as Jesus. Other times, a single soul will obtain the cooperation of two polar opposite souls to incarnate at the same time in order to represent the vast expanse of human emotions mirrored within that single soul, and that trinity will similarly begin to alter the course of humanity’s thinking, simply by retelling the story of the aftermath of their reunion on Earth. There is a single story that needs to be told, and it took place a number of years ago. When A Tryst of Faith is self-published, this story will be clearly revealed. The aftermath of many intimate encounters has yet to be dealt with by thousands of men and women—if not millions, if the truth were to be told—and yet, as many stories store ease, some are meant to be retold and woven throughout a series of messages from the ascended masters, archangels, and the Elohim so that the truth can be seen clearly. Today, you are being presented with a unique opportunity to review a portion of the manuscript in the link provided. And while some may balk at the idea of a single woman beginning to alter the course of humanity’s thinking, just remember what Lord Sananda came here to do and the impact he made when A Course in Miracles was channeled.”

“Why are you saying all that?” the cynic inquired.

“Because it’s important,” he said, handing the woman a single daisy. “When your paternal grandmother intervened, the sign that was chosen was unmistakable. When your story is retold, thousands will begin to understand the importance of paying attention to those signs. It’s time to shine a light on how humanity can heal the bridge between their hearts and minds, as well as our realm and your own. Heaven and Earth are filled with the soul’s glory, and as Lord Sananda began to show them the way all those years ago, so are all the lightworkers on Earth who have divine gifts bestowed upon them also being called to shine a light on what they know will benefit humanity’s evolution. ‘A Prelude to Light’ is the best title that I can think of.”

“Simply stating that it’s the prologue to A Tryst of Faith would clarify things,” the fool said.

“That would certainly make things extremely clear, but if you were to pique a person’s interest, his or her heart’s light might well begin to peak, as well. The more light, the better,” said El Morya, looking at the young girl who had been doodling a series of daisies on a piece of paper.

“How beautiful!” the Queen announced after the young girl handed it to her. “May I borrow your pen for a moment, please?”

Turning the piece of paper over, the Queen began writing, and four words immediately leapt to the woman’s mind.

“’Thy will be done,’” said Maitreya. “Am I correct?”

After the woman looked at the piece of paper, she replied, “Yes, you are.”

“Then it’s time. Starting today, I’d like you to step in to what you came here to do.”

“I’d like to repeat something,” said the cynic. “’Only in silence will man hear the echo of his heart’s longing.’”

“It would be best if you shared a portion of my words,” El Morya replied.

“I know exactly what to do,” the young girl said, instantly transporting herself to a beach to watch the sunrise. The others followed.

“’I stand alone, on a beautifully imperfect shore,’” said the woman, reciting the first two lines of the poem.

“Save the rest for another time,” El Morya recommended. “Honour the part of you that was determined to share A Tryst of Faith before the year came to a close.”

“I will,” the woman said, looking at the manuscript and editing the title of the prologue.

“You changed it to A Prelude to Light,” El Morya observed. “Mind you, you’ve also chosen to change your name and use a pseudonym instead, but you had good reason to do so.”

“Everything is as it’s meant to be,” she replied.

“And so it is,” El Morya answered.

“And so it is,” echoed the wind.

~ Channeled December 29, 2018




“A Prelude to Light,” the prologue to A Tryst of Faith, channeled by Sheridan Cooke

A long time ago, a beggar came to town and people remarked that his image looked unkempt and disheveled, but there was a young boy who befriended him, and then helped him to return to his former image. While the beggar was perceived by the soul to be perfectly imperfect, exactly as he was, his outer image was only a projection of how he felt within, and the poverty and lack he knew to be truth were only illusions designed to challenge him to correct his misperceptions. Both the beggar and the young boy benefited from their union, as the compassion and understanding that were taught to the young boy were priceless gifts the beggar’s soul had chosen to bestow.

“Life will destroy or rebuild you,” the sage said, “but sometimes the innocence of a child is all that man needs to bring him to the point of salvation.”

“Don’t get all religious on me,” the fool said.

“Religion is not the true purpose of salvation.”

“I honestly thought you were going to say, ‘salvation is not the true purpose of religion.’”

“Actually, it is,” the sage commented. “While the perceptions of men and women have changed over the millennia, no single religion provides them with the inner light that is needed for this to occur.”

“Why not?” the fool asked.

“Because it has been there all along. While they were created as equal, you will find they have been unified and are simply referred to as ‘man’ within what I am about to give to you.” Holding out a journal, the sage stated, “This is something you want as well as need.”

Accepting it, the fool replied, “Whose journal is it and how do you know it’s what I want and need?”

“There are esoteric principles I know that cannot be learned except through the experience of another, much less described in any sort of coherent manner, other than to be written about. Even if it appears simple at first, sometimes matters that are more complex are best seen when they are woven into those that are not. The fabric of life has always been woven together, and this is only a small example of the tapestry offered by the entire Universe. You might find it of value to read the journal when you have a moment. There is another one like it, but I have yet to be told when it is to be given to you.”

“It seems rather short. How could it be of value to me? Why is it so important that I read it?”

“Not everyone will believe it is of value. Those whose love of another is blanketed in fear might not find it useful; others who understand that a spiritual awakening can take different forms and journeys and who have also been in a relationship mired in emotional turmoil, but who have escaped and have yet to heal from it—or who might also know someone in a similar position looking to find the courage to change their circumstances—might find it priceless. There are also those who are stuck in old belief systems and are continuing to struggle with shifting their thinking as they lack a role model to learn from, even if it means looking at another through a different lens than the one they have been habitually using. Maybe it seems unlikely, but two of the characters that are written about are much like you and me, and everyone who knows us has met one who is often a fool or who is often wise at one time or another. Most everyone has been both, but not all of them have broken the boundaries of societal or religious beliefs that have held them captive in order to broaden their personal perspectives. Man cannot do so if he accepts being pigeon-holed as his truth.”

“Yet a homing pigeon knows how to find his way home, even if he was let out of the cage, doesn’t he?” the fool asked.

“If his true home is not felt within, then he would have to break free from what is known in order to find it,” the sage replied. “This is one of the reasons why it is something that you want as well as need.”

“Even if I don’t think I should alter my thinking or pursue a different path?”

“How often have you felt lost in your life?”

“A lot—more times than I can count.”

“Perhaps you have been repeating many of the same patterns and continue to expect to get somewhere.”

“That could be.”

“But you can’t find out what can be unless you break free, which is yet another reason why this journal is being given to you. It is known that many who are struggling at this time are doing so because of an intense need to awaken their inner light. Circumstances unforeseen may often be the impetus for such an awakening to occur. Were your inner sceptic to release its hold on what is right or wrong, what is wrong might be righted, or least the edges blurred so they could blend into each other. A rainbow does the same thing; even up close, the edges blur entirely. What if you were to find your true home by blurring those edges yourself?”

“I’d feel like I was on a magical carpet ride of sorts!”

“This journal was written to allow the reader to find the magic that exists within, which is where man’s true home exists. Let us begin, shall we?”

The fool nodded his head.

“Excellent,” the sage replied. “Now, I could teach you all that you need to know, but that wouldn’t make me a true teacher, would it?”

“I don’t understand. Isn’t a teacher supposed to give me what I need?”

“That would be correct.”

“But what’s the difference between being a teacher and being a student?” the fool asked.

“One is taught and the other is learned. As you know, ‘learned’ has more than one meaning, not to mention more than one pronunciation.”

“That’s true. I guess those are also edges that could be blurred.”

“You’re much smarter than you think, although being head smart is not the same as being heart smart.”

“That’s something I definitely need to learn!” the fool admitted.

“Or remember.”

“How could I remember it if I don’t know it?”

“You know wit, but that isn’t the same as understanding the humor within it.”

“I get the picture.”

“But do you get the point?” asked the sage.

“I’m not sure I do,” responded the fool.

“Then I have just given you another reason to read the journal. Teachers and students are intrinsically linked, much like you and me.”

“I see things a lot differently than you do. How can we be intrinsically linked?”

“While you also have a point, some things are meant to be torn apart so the benefit of their separation can be seen clearly. Imagine the rainbow starts at one end and ends at another. At which end would you choose to be?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“If two people who are known on a soul level to be twin flames have been torn apart and set at opposing ends of the spectrum, they would still sense a connection, even if they aren’t anywhere near each other. You must remember: not all students come to their teachers and expect to be taught—that’s the wrong way around. But a stubborn student cannot be taught unless he wills himself to be so. If a man does not believe in his inner genius, no amount of learning or teaching will break him free from his self-inflicted prison.”

“Much like the pigeon in the cage,” the fool acknowledged.

“Dear One, the willing student must come to the teacher with an open mind. Teaching the heart to be open might begin by suffering a broken heart, or perhaps even a shattered one.”

“You’re painting a pretty bleak picture.”

“Am I? Remember that a diamond is formed by intense pressure, yet its inner strength cannot be broken, even though it might feel like it sometimes. What lies within requires careful excavation or it cannot be seen otherwise.”

“Then perhaps being shattered would be the fastest way to find out.”

“The carbon’s purpose is served by acting as a catalyst, and the human heart needs an outer force in order to be broken open; neither will be seen if they are not broken apart.”

“I guess that’s true,” the fool agreed.

“Then perhaps that’s something you need to know, otherwise you will drift in the shadows. Take darkness and light, for that matter: at which end of the spectrum would you prefer to be if you wanted to find your way home?”

“The light is the obvious answer, at first glance.”

“That might not be the choice available. Some need to journey a great distance within darkness first. If man’s inner light can only be found by encountering one who knows this as truth, then what do you think would happen?”

“That would depend.”

“How so?” the sage asked.

“It would depend on the inner truth of the one who encountered darkness.”

“My point exactly. This is one such story.”

The fool sat in wide-eyed anticipation.

“Before we begin, I would like you to listen to this conversation. It occurred a while ago between a woman and a guide by the name of Melchior, who is an Ascended Master and a member of the Council of the Great White Brotherhood.” The sage leaned over and switched on the recording.

“Wait for me! Wait for me!” the fool exclaimed, as he settled himself in beside the sage.

Shortly before the conversation began, a palpable silence was heard.




I needed time on my own to figure things out. Too much had happened that I wasn’t proud of.


What did you do that you weren’t proud of?


Where do I start?


You can start with the first thing that comes to mind.


I met another man while I was married; actually, I met two.


When did you meet them?


I met one of them about a year and a half before my marriage officially ended, and I met the other one a few months before I left. I only knew the second man online; we didn’t meet in person until shortly after I moved out.


What made you finally decide to leave?


I had a dream that turned out to be an epiphany of sorts. In it, I admitted I was both depressed and no longer in love with my husband, but I was too scared to leave because I didn’t want to hurt him. When I woke up, I knew it was time for me to leave. My husband told me just over a year and a half before I had the dream that our marriage was over, but we stayed together. The following summer, we agreed to cross that bridge after I finished college.


            What were you studying?


Interior design.


            An apt metaphor.


But I didn’t stay in the program. I left shortly after I had a meltdown.


            What happened to cause you to have a meltdown?


I was working on the last drafting assignment of the semester before Christmas, when I suddenly realized I had drawn everything in the wrong scale. I had been working on it for hours. I was an emotional wreck and was barely holding on. My marriage was crumbling, my parents were both sick, and I was taking anti-anxiety medication so I would stop waking up after sleeping for only two or three hours. I was having a lot of panic attacks.


            It sounds like you had a lot on your mind.


I had so much work to do; I wasn’t sure how I was going to get everything done without sacrificing a lot of sleep for at least a week. Something inside just snapped, and I knew I couldn’t complete the program. I only had a few months to go before I would’ve received my diploma.


            And you just quit.


I had already taken a year off at that point to finish my electives. It was the best decision I could have made. I struggled a lot during my first year, although my marks didn’t reflect it. I absolutely loved my second year; that was when I discovered I had a passion for writing and psychology. My English instructor was a godsend and inspired me to spread my creative wings.


            Let me rewind … what made you decide to take interior design in the first place?


I was at a crossroads and couldn’t decide whether to go back to school or have a child. A friend who was a practicing astrologer suggested I have my natal chart done. My “house of children” turned out to be empty, and she was the one who suggested I take interior design. It rang true to me, so I applied. My husband didn’t want children and gave me his blessing. It was a difficult program to get into, and it also had a reputation for burning out the students because of the workload. I lacked the self-confidence to allow my creative abilities to flourish and being a perfectionist was my Achilles heel; everything I worked on seemed to take a lot longer than I expected. I only slept an average of four or five hours per night and rarely took a day off. Sacrificing my sanity wasn’t something I signed up for, and it didn’t feel like the right fit for me anymore. I loved the aesthetic aspects of interior design, but the mathematical part drained me. I was always second-guessing myself. In retrospect, I’ve done that a lot in my life.


            You aren’t the first person who decided to change course midstride. Even though embarking in a different direction might seem illogical to many, your intuition guided you to do it for a reason. It was worthwhile that you paid attention to it.


It certainly set a lot of changes in motion; taking interior design was definitely the catalyst. I’m still having a hard time processing the relationship I had after my marriage ended, though.


            Melchizedek was the one who asked you to leave.


I know. It’s still difficult for me to talk about.


            Why is it difficult? Can you tell me about it?


Now, it’s my turn to rewind. When I was thirty-three, I had an inexplicable desire to go to Mexico. I had been feeling unsettled and hoped a romantic holiday would reignite the spark in my marriage that seemed to have long since gone out. I wasn’t prepared for the inferno that followed.


On the second night, a giant sea turtle emerged from the ocean to lay her eggs and lumbered toward me as I enjoyed a nightcap and admired the view. I was astonished by her speed, and couldn’t imagine how challenging it would be to carry all that weight for one specific purpose. The bartender and I were the only ones around, and he mentioned that touching a sea turtle was “good fortune.” The next thing I knew, I was standing right in front of her; without hesitating, I reached over and put my hand on her shell. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, and then he guided her back toward the ocean.


The following night was Monte Carlo night and I decided to go to the bar while my husband gambled. I was still feeling unsettled and had no desire to participate. When I was about to leave, I noticed a young man enter the casino with another man. The moment I saw him, it was as though I was watching a movie in slow motion.


Everything real became “reel.”


That’s exactly what it was like! Anyway, I was captivated by his eyes and couldn’t stop myself from staring at them. They joined a third man at the bar, and I continued watching him. I tried to get their attention and managed to do so when I ordered a shot of tequila. I signaled a salut, and they cheered me on. A few minutes later, we were all drinking tequila. I barely recall the rest of the evening, except for two incidents: waking up beside a fountain in the main courtyard with the young man watching over me and running into my husband at the beach bar shortly afterward. That was when he told me our marriage was over. The rest of the evening is a complete blur. I didn’t think I drank that much, but I definitely figured that out the following morning.


When I woke up, it was almost noon and I still felt a bit drunk. The room was empty, and I vaguely recalled seeing my husband leave our room at sunrise. I put on a bathing suit and cover-up, and then went down to the beach. When I was walking through the water, I noticed the young man playing volleyball on the beach. The friend he arrived with at the casino tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, waved, and began jogging toward me. My mind was racing, and I grappled to find the words to ask him if anything had happened between us. When he stopped in front of me, the club photographer suddenly appeared and asked us if we wanted our picture taken. We glanced at each other and nodded in agreement. I hadn’t bothered to do anything to my hair and I wasn’t wearing any makeup, but I didn’t care. Normally, I’m so self-conscious. I purchased the photo later on and put it away for safekeeping. Although I didn’t look my best, I was glowing.


We went dancing together later the same evening with another couple and then wandered down to the beach for a stroll. There was a dock in the distance, and we wove our way through the palm trees hugging the edge of the bay until we reached it. After we walked to the end of the dock, we looked down and watched a few fish as they circled a light dangling a few feet below the surface. I was tempted to jump in and swim, but I knew there was a lot of coral at the bottom, and I wasn’t sure how deep the water would be. The young man’s English was limited, and we barely spoke to each other. In spite of the language barrier, I tried to make conversation; still, the silence seemed to say the most. As it was, I could barely articulate my thoughts, so it was a bit of a moot point.

            Or perhaps a “mute” one. Silence is sometimes the greatest gift the soul can give. When man becomes attuned to it, he begins to understand—and know—its meaning.


The only thing I knew at the time was that my heart was soaring.


The following afternoon, we lounged by the beach and briefly held hands. We were with the couple we had been dancing with the previous evening and hardly spoke, yet again. After lounging for an hour or so, we went for another walk and he kissed me. We didn’t see each other until later on that evening, when he asked me to join him to watch “Dinner for One.” The play is broadcast on television every New Year’s Eve in Germany, and he told me that watching it was a tradition for him. We sat in the theater, surreptitiously holding hands. They seemed to fit so perfectly together, it was difficult for me to tell where mine ended and his began. My heart was over the moon, I was so happy. The play unfolded with a banquet. There were only two characters in the play: the butler, James, and his mistress, Miss Sophie. In addition to serving, James played the roles of the guests, who were Miss Sophie’s long departed friends, each of whom drank a toast as the individual courses were presented. By the time the dinner was over, James could barely string a sentence together, much less stand upright. The parallel wasn’t lost on me. The last line of the play really stood out, for some reason. When Miss Sophie requested the dinner be repeated the following year, James said, “I’ll do my very best.”


We only had a few hours left together, as he was leaving the following morning for a four-day tour of Mexico. Yet again, we went down to the beach, as we had done the previous night. I was not in his arms this time, nor were we watching shooting stars. We simply walked in silence, until we found ourselves wandering back to the fountain. I didn’t want to say goodbye and asked him if he wanted to exchange addresses. He initially replied, “I’ll find you,” but I couldn’t imagine how that was possible, considering we lived on opposite sides of the world from each other. After finding some paper and a pen, we frantically wrote down our respective addresses and went back to the courtyard. I don’t remember much of the first night, but our final hours were imprinted into every aspect of my being.


It took every ounce of strength not to break down and cry, and a single tear trickled down my cheek. He brushed it away and asked me not to cry, and then we held each other for a few moments longer. As I watched him walk away, I felt an indescribable sense of loss. I went down to the pool and had a few cigarettes. I had no desire to smoke when I was with him. I reclined on a lounge chair and saw a shooting star a short while afterward. I’m sure it wasn’t anything other than a meteor; still, I decided to make a wish: to be able to see him again. The rest of the trip was a blur, even though I stayed stone-cold sober. The song, “Return to Innocence,” by Enigma, was broadcast throughout the main entertainment area every evening after dinner, but the last song I heard before leaving the resort was Luciano Pavarotti’s version of “Nessun dorma,” from Puccini’s opera, Turandot.


I arrived home at dawn the following morning and immediately went to my parents’ house on the pretense that I wanted to pick up the cat they had been pet-sitting for me. When my mother and I were alone, I told her about meeting the young man. After I finished, she asked me to follow her into the living room, and we listened to “Nessun dorma” while she held me. The tears I had bottled up inside finally started flowing. I don’t remember the last time I cried that hard. Well, I suppose that isn’t entirely true …


            It certainly sounds as though meeting him was challenging for you, emotionally. What did you learn from this experience?


That I’m an idiot when it comes to men, or at least an enormous fool.


You aren’t a fool, but you have made unwise choices. I’ll bet some have been useful, were you to examine them more closely.


The one I learned the most from was the relationship I had after I left my marriage, though.


How so, Chela?


What do you mean by “Chela”?


It is a term for a spiritual aspirant. Remember, not all spiritual guides have had a pristine background. In fact, the ones who we most admire for their courage are the ones who have chosen a dark path and who have come through it with valuable gifts to share with others. Dr. Wayne Dyer first comes to mind, as do Marianne Williamson, Doreen Virtue, and the recently departed Debbie Ford. All of them have taught mankind a great deal.


I don’t know much about Caroline Myss, but I’ve read a few of her books, too.


While Debbie and Caroline are well versed in the topic of archetypes and both have taught thousands of people to examine their inner lives, you also have much insight to offer in this regard, do you not?


Yes, I do.


Let’s talk about the man you met a short while after you moved out.


I’d prefer not to—my heart still feels a bit raw. Besides, it would take too long to talk about it.


Are you able to sum it up and just give me the Coles Notes version?


We initially met as friends; before too long, we decided there was more to it than that. We just seemed to “click.” I had never felt so in tune with anyone in all my life. We met in a chat room. I happened to stumble upon it when I was searching for an interior design chat room a friend had mentioned. Although I wasn’t in the program any longer, I was still interested in exploring new decorating ideas. Even when I was a young girl, I used to map out a floor plan before moving the furniture around.


            A shift in energy is always beneficial—it often helps to shift one’s perspective.


That’s true. I must’ve needed a lot of shifting, because I’ve done that all my life. The idea of not being able to rearrange furniture made me feel stifled—even trapped. Even if I settled on a layout and decided I didn’t want to move the furniture around, I always liked the option of being able to. I moved the furniture around a lot in the last place I lived in—it was one of the reasons why I loved living there.


            Don’t forget the reason why you were asked to leave.


Let’s talk about that another time, okay? This is hard enough for me to talk about as it is.


            Very well. Still, I’m sure you agree there is a certain amount of freedom in broadening one’s vision. An expanded viewpoint will always present an opportunity to transform what was seen into something far greater than what previously existed. It’s one of the benefits of alchemy.


As a Scorpio, I’ve always identified with the concept of birth, death, and transformation. I guess that’s a form of alchemy, too.


It is, and I have no doubt it served you well in interior design.


I suppose it did, to some extent. One of the projects really challenged me, emotionally.


            Do you care to tell me about it?


Not right now, if you don’t mind.


            Judging from your reluctance to discuss your last relationship, I gather it was also painful for you.


It was. Why it is that I always end up feeling so much heartache when it comes to men? I just don’t get it. It’s not as though I set out to meet either of them.


            The soul’s blueprint does not always follow mainstream beliefs. If anything, it will often challenge them.


This one challenged me more than anything I’ve ever experienced. I remember the first time we started chatting, something flashed before my eyes, like a bolt of lightning. That had never happened to me with anyone before, except for the man I met in Mexico, that is.


In fact, it has happened with every soul contract that was made—even the ones you made with friends—and especially those who have taught you the most. Soul recognition is instantaneous and something unusual will often accompany it, although the signs might not be obvious.


I guess I never really thought about it that way before, although I do remember several things started to catch my eye in the years leading up to when I met the man I left behind. Then, it was almost as though the Universe started displaying them right in front of me, one after another.


            You were meant to notice those guideposts for a reason. The Universe operates under an intelligence many people fail to acknowledge. Carl Jung referred to these guideposts as “synchronicities.”


I have a magnet on my fridge with one of his quotes on it: “The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”


Indeed. All significant relationships are determined before birth, including the two men you met while you were married. Look at your life now. Where do you think you would be now if you hadn’t met either of them?


I’d probably still be trying to make my marriage work out, even though it had been dying a slow death.


In point of fact, it was you who had been dying a slow death, Chela. It happens to millions of people who aren’t living in integrity.


What makes you think I’m living in integrity now?


Much of your life is in alignment. There are a few parts that need to be corrected, but your life patterns were also chosen as an act of service to others. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t chosen any of them. Both your darkness and your light serve your highest good, although it might not feel like it, by any stretch of the imagination.


That’s for sure. It’s been a long haul, though.


If you are ready to put down your burdens, your entire life will become whole and you will finally be at peace … that is what most people want, despite their beliefs otherwise.


Do you mean that even if I screwed up, I’m worthy of being loved?


There is no question about it. What happened with the man you met after you were married? When you were with him, how did you feel?


For the first few months, I felt happier than I had ever been. Then, things shifted and there were times when I could barely keep my head above water. I always seemed to be twisting myself into a pretzel, trying to keep things afloat, and I never knew when the next tidal wave would hit.


I once dove for seashells at a beach in Hawaii that was notorious for its undertow. I guess I was a strong emotional swimmer, too.


            Just because you were used to the undertow, doesn’t mean you should’ve subjected yourself to it.


I once bought a postcard that said, “If you’re not riding the wave of change, you’ll find yourself beneath it.” I had that on my fridge, too, and it pretty much summed up how things were when I was with him. The highs were exhilarating—those were what I lived for. I always seemed to forget the heartache I felt whenever I heard from him.


            A codependent relationship is often tumultuous. It is said that every addict requires a codependent.


We both struggled with addiction.


            But yours was to him.


Yes, I suppose it was.


            Overall, how were you treated when you were together?


We never really spent enough time together to answer that question.


I thought you were in a relationship?


Yes, but it was long distance. We were only ever together three times. The first time felt like a honeymoon. The last two were cut short.


            What happened?


I don’t want to talk about that, either.


Where did you meet?


The first time, he flew across the country to meet me, and we went to the mountains. The day we took a long hike, it felt like we were playing like two little kids; at the same time, it felt as though we were the same person. I’m not sure how else to articulate that.


            I understand. On a soul level, he is known to be your twin flame. What you experienced is a common occurrence, albeit a challenging one.


I’m not sure I know what you mean.


            Twin flames will frequently choose to represent the polarity of the soul’s expression as an act of service to humanity. Your soul contract covered many aspects of this expression. That being said, being apart will often be as challenging as being together.


That would explain the emotional rollercoaster I was on. I’m sure it wasn’t fun for any of my friends to watch—or my family, for that matter—much less for me to live through. Looking back, a number of them did everything they could to try to convince me to leave. I’ve often said that it took nothing short of Divine intervention for it to actually happen. It was almost as though someone put blinders on my eyes.


            No, Chela, you were refusing to look.


That’s true. When I read the book, Women Who Love Too Much, by Robin Norwood, it clearly drew a parallel between being a love addict and being an alcoholic. I had a horrible cold for three weeks after I finished reading it.


            The body will often become ill while it is processing an emotional release. The emotional body frequently uses the physical body to purge what no longer serves it.


That didn’t stop me from jumping right back on and hanging on for dear life, though.


            You rode it out for a reason.


I obviously did, but the logic still escapes me.


            Man’s intuition isn’t always as logical as he expects it to be. Why do you think were you so insistent that you loved him and wanted to be with him?


This feels like an interrogation.


I’m just trying to put all the pieces together.


Good luck—that’s what I’ve been trying to do for years.


Would you rather we talked about your childhood?


I suppose that would be a little better, but it wasn’t a cakewalk, either.


            That would certainly explain why you were so desperate to be loved.


I didn’t think of myself as desperate; in retrospect, I suppose I was. He once told me I was obsessive—or at least bordering on it.


            Are you referring to your husband or the man you left behind?


The man I left behind. Well, actually, I left both of them behind.


            Your husband is not the man I would prefer to discuss. Judging from how you reacted when he was mentioned, I did not expect he was the one who stirred up such inner conflict within you. That was one of the gifts of your relationship with the man you left behind—so that you could work through all that you had buried. The path to the future is often littered with obstacles the soul has determined need to be overcome. Man will frequently attempt to skirt around these obstacles in order to avoid the climb that will eventually propel him forward, and many gifts are missed as a result.


That’s just it, Melchior—every time I thought we were moving forward …


I should think you were trying to recapture the first stages of your relationship. That’s hardly “moving forward.” Let’s return to your childhood.


The first thing that comes to mind is that, when I was very young, I used to bring home dead birds and ask my mother to bury them. My mother repeated that story many times. I don’t recall ever doing it, though. A few years ago, I realized I must’ve mourned their inability to fly.


            Or your own …


The other thing I remember is that, when I was about eight years old, I kept having a recurring dream. It was always the same: I was standing in line at church, awaiting the sacrament of Holy Communion. I was thirty-five, but didn’t know how or why I knew that. I was preoccupied with trying to find out who was standing in line behind me. At some point, it occurred to me that everyone in line was an older version of me, and each one was looking back to see the next oldest version, to no avail.


In order to know a veil, you need to be able to see your way through it.


My mother used to say that children were supposed to be seen and not heard.


Being seen and being “scene” are almost the same, except that one is a perspective of the ego, and the other is the view from the soul.


When I was a teenager, my stepfather told me, “Just be yourself.” For some reason, it made me feel as though I wasn’t good enough the way I was.


That must’ve been difficult.


It didn’t help that, at the same time, a friend repeatedly told me, “You should change.” I had no idea what I was supposed to change into. I felt like a chameleon: I could blend, yet I didn’t quite fit in. My junior high years were absolutely awful. A few other things happened, but I don’t want to talk about them.


I would hazard to guess a lot more happened to you when you were younger, as well.


I told you it wasn’t a cakewalk.


What makes you think I don’t want to hear about it?


I don’t remember a lot about my childhood, although there are two or three unpleasant incidents that stand out. I’m not ready to talk about them, either.


When you’re ready, the opportunity will present itself.


Actually, talking about it already feels like a burden is being lifted.


I’m glad. The thorn will always exist beneath the rose, but the pain you feel depends on what you look at. Knowing where the thorn is will allow you to tread carefully around it—to manage it with kid gloves, so to speak.


That reminds me of what it was like to be around my mother, a lot of the time. I always felt like I had to walk on eggshells and placate her moods.


That explains why you were able to tolerate the emotional roller-coaster you were on during your last relationship.


I once told him that my childhood was perfect training ground for our relationship. I did gain a lot of insight from it, although I always seemed to revert back to patterns that I knew, deep down, weren’t healthy for me. I thought we were the perfect match, but I was getting burned out. When things were going well, I was on cloud nine; when the storms hit, I was always able to remember something about our relationship that made me happy and I focused on that, instead. In retrospect, we didn’t know each other well enough to build a solid enough foundation; still, I was convinced we were meant to be together and that we could work everything out. Denial is a very wide river, as they say. I could turn every morsel of love he gave me into a banquet.


            You seemed to have skipped right past the main course and went for desserts, instead.


I’ve always had a weakness for sweets. I’m ashamed of some of the things I did to try to get his attention. I was like a junkie, trying to get my next fix.


            That’s one way of looking at it.


As opposed to …?


The opposite perspective will also present itself.


Still, it didn’t make leaving the relationship any easier, at the end of it all.


I know, Chela. I would venture to guess there were a few people who were perfect teachers for you.


That’s for sure. Not that I didn’t rebel against them, too. Whenever people have tried to fit me into their safe little boxes, all I wanted to do was to rebel and get out.


It’s not a crime to not accept being pigeon-holed as truth.


But it always made me feel like I was doing something wrong.


Your truth is your truth. Perhaps being a chameleon helped you to survive your childhood; perhaps that’s when you started to die a slow death.


It’s funny you should mention that. When I had the recurring dream, I often felt as though I was at a funeral, but it was mine. I had my meltdown on my thirty-fifth birthday.


            A breakdown is often a breakthrough.


I’ve heard that on more than one occasion.


            But there is some truth to it.


I wouldn’t disagree with you.


            Let’s talk about your natural father for a while. What was he like?


He was diagnosed with MS when he was in his early twenties, and had lost the use of his legs by the time I was born. I only remember scant details about him. My cousin was able to fill in some of the gaps for me. My father’s love of music and sense of humor were what carried him until he died when I was sixteen. I found out he had been given his last rights and went to see him right after school. The last thing I ever saw him do was mouth my name. I was devastated when he died a few days later. I was planning on spending as much time with him as I could.


Who told you he had died?


The same person who told me he had been given his last rights: the priest at my high school. I only saw my father a few times after my parents divorced. I carried a lot of guilt about that for a long time. There was so much bickering between my parents and my father’s family before they split up, and I just couldn’t stand it. I didn’t hear from anyone on my father’s side of the family, either—not even at Christmas or on my birthday. Our entire family was split apart, and I didn’t want to rock the boat by going to visit. It felt like an invisible barrier I wasn’t allowed to cross. When my mother remarried, our family finally seemed stable; well, at least on the surface. Financial problems always seemed to come to the forefront.


            That explains the sense of inner poverty you’ve been attempting to overcome.


Things got worse after my father died.


            How so?


I was written out of his will, and my mother ended up having to repurchase my father’s half of the house from his side of the family so we could stay in it. That’s all I ever seemed to hear about for a while.


            How did you feel about that?


Like it was my fault.


            The decision was not yours to make.


I know, but I could’ve changed the course of things, had I pushed the boundary.


            You made up for it later on.


I know. In spite of it all, I really missed my father, but my grandmother and I were especially close. The last time I saw her was at my father’s funeral. She was shielded from me, and when I caught a glimpse of her, my heart ached to see her in so much pain. It was agonizing to not be able to reach out and hold her.


I read about her death in the newspaper seven and a half years later. I felt like a ghost—there was no mention of me at all. Fate played a part a few years later when my best friend ran into my grandfather in the cemetery, and she approached him. They spoke for three hours. She knew I wanted to see him again, and I was elated when she told me he wanted to see me, too. We reunited within days, and in the years that followed, I did everything I could to reunite my family.


My grandfather told me that my grandmother often cried out for me. When things started to fall apart in my last relationship, I walked in the rain to the graveyard and prayed at my father and grandmother’s gravesite for help. Suddenly, two sparrows flew close to the ground on either side of the headstone. When I turned around, they were gone. I walked home feeling an incredible sense of peace.


            What else did you feel?


The presence of what I can only describe as two enormous angels walking on either side of me.


            One of whom was Archangel Metatron.


Who was the other one?


            Archangel Michael. You have been watched over for your entire life—even during the times when you felt most alone.


I was made fun of a lot during school, and my classmates assumed we were rich because our house was larger than most of the other ones in the neighborhood. My mother helped design it to make it easier for my father to maneuver throughout the house in his wheelchair, as well as access the house without needing a ramp. I never would’ve dreamed she would end up needing it for her own wheelchair. She was diagnosed with MS shortly after I married; by the time I left my husband, walking was becoming a struggle for her. When she agreed to meet with my grandfather, she wanted her illness to be kept a secret. It was just another lie that was swept under the rug.


            Lies often become people’s truths, but we have more to talk about in that regard. How often did your mother tell you that she loved you?


Almost daily. I don’t remember my father ever telling me that he loved me, though.


            The love of the soul is often far different from what man perceives. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I know your father loved you.


My father spent a lot of time in and out of hospital while my parents were married, and I never knew when I’d come home from school and he’d be gone. If I did know in advance, it must be something else I’ve blocked out. I do remember being happy to see him when he was home, but I can’t, for the life of me, remember him telling me that he loved me, or really ever showing it, for that matter.


            I’m sure he did.


Actually, I do have a few very fond memories of him.


            People show love the best way they know how.


Some people just aren’t as expressive as others.


Some people don’t express it at all. Believe me, Chela, love exists beyond the doubt of shadows. What was your relationship like with God?


I’m still having a hard time with the definition of God as being a male father figure. There’s got to be more to God than what I was taught—not just some Zeus-like persona, sitting on a throne, deciding my fate based on my actions.


You certainly have a lot of anger tied up with that definition.


I’m sure a lot of people do.


            Many of the definitions people hold are bundled as mistruths, and not in that category alone. It’s a common occurrence.


It’s what I was taught.


            The belief systems of most mainstream religions do have merit, but the scope is much broader than people think. Your uncertainty is justified, although your misinterpretation is worthy of reconsideration. Let’s try to loosen your ropes, shall we? Pick up the slack, as it were.


That’s an interesting analogy.


Why are you still imagining yourself holding onto the ropes?


You’re reading my mind.


            I’m simply drawing a parallel. Everything has an opposite, but most people don’t take the time to think about what lies at the opposite end of the spectrum. The Universe is full of parallels, metaphors, illusions, as well as truths; in fact, the possibilities are endless. Why do you think God would put limits on how the concept is expressed?


Are you telling me God isn’t a man?


God embodies all Universal energies—both masculine and feminine. Have you ever heard of Mother-Father God?


Yes, I have. That makes me think of one of the Ten Commandments.


It is a parallel I was intentionally trying to draw.


That definitely resonates with me.


What’s your perspective?


I went to Catholic schools and was expected to go to church every weekend. I seldom went after my parents separated. When I was in my 20s, I took my granddad on my mother’s side; it was the only time I had with him on my own. I usually went back to my grandparents’ house and had lunch with them afterward; then, my grandmother and I would spend the rest of the afternoon talking. She always listened and made me feel heard.


            Your friendship with her is also a soul contract.


Then I’m certainly grateful for it. I never felt like I had to wear a mask. We talked about God from time to time. I had a difficult time surrendering to a doctrine that set a woman behind a man.


            It was never the intention of Lord Sananda that the perception be created in the first place.


Who is Lord Sananda?


            It is another name for Jesus, just I am also known as El Morya. It doesn’t matter what name we are given. Man’s inner name will often have much more meaning in the grand scheme of things, but we’ll talk more about that at another time. The soul’s name is also one that man might not resonate with until he begins to vibrate on a more compatible frequency.


When will I find out what my soul’s name is?


            Further down the road. There are many twists and turns the soul requests of man. Not all of them will “break” man, but some will, in fact, “brake” him. You must learn to stop your mind chatter.


I’ve always been a daydreamer. I was disciplined for it in fourth grade, and I daydreamed in church, too.


            Were there any other reasons why you went to church?


I went because it made me feel closer to my father, not closer to God. The parish priest was the same one who often visited my father at home and brought Holy Communion, and attending his sermons was sort of like being with my father.


            That was also Lord Sananda’s intention when he shared the sacrament of Holy Communion with his disciples and taught them of the importance of being in communion with the body of the Christ. All men belong within the body of the Christ, even if they feel as though they don’t belong. You’re still afraid.


Of what?


            Of being accepted by God.


Why do you know what I fear?


            Why is it that you fear God?


Because challenging what I was taught feels like a form of blasphemy. I never questioned my father’s belief in God, but I often questioned whether God would love my father more than me because of the way he practiced his faith. I didn’t feel Catholic inside my mind, if that makes sense, nor did I feel Catholic inside my heart. I wasn’t sure what religion, if any, would best suit me; I wasn’t entirely convinced in what I had learned, both at school and in church. I was under the impression that any derivation from the teachings of the Catholic Church meant I was unworthy of God’s love, and that, at the rate I was going, I would wind up either burning in Hell, or spending a very long time in purgatory, awaiting punishment for my so-called sins against God. I was also taught that God wanted all His children to return home to the Kingdom of Heaven, and I struggled to believe that God would let me in. I already felt unworthy enough as it was, and believing I had little chance of being considered worthy in the eyes of God left me feeling puzzled by the fickle nature of God’s love.


            Sadly, millions share that belief. You must remember the truth of love.


What is the truth of love?


            That’s what all men must discover for themselves. The same goes with God. In a manner of speaking, you’re either going to or away from the soul, as well as God, depending on how you choose to define love, as well as God.


Why didn’t it fit for me?


            Did your definition of God fit for you?


No, I suppose not.


            It’s just as well.


Why, Melchior?


            Because the definition you learned wasn’t meant to. Your intuition guided you to push past the boundaries holding this belief as truth. The same attitude would serve you well in other areas of your life. Getting back to your definition of God …


I don’t mean to interrupt, but what definition was I supposed to have?


You’ll remember when you’re meant to. That’s all I can tell you at this point. There is no reason to fear, if that helps. Do you feel you’re at a crossroads again?


Yes, I do.


If you distrust it, perhaps you’ve built it into your inner foundation and it needs to be “dis-trussed,” so to speak. When your foundation becomes more stable, you will be able to rebuild.


My life does feel as though it has been falling apart.


And it will continue to do so until what you no longer need is a part of you.


What is a part needs to come apart—I get it.


            Now you’re catching on.


It doesn’t seem that difficult.


            Man will make of it what he chooses to make of it—his beliefs will largely determine “reality,” as he perceives it to be. Don’t bolt the door if it isn’t there in the first place.


What do you mean?


Your fear of love acts like a barricade, locking you into a secretive silence. The soul wishes to teach you the secrets of silence.


Sometimes I feel as though I’ve been stumbling blind.


            There are valuable lessons for you to learn; when you have learned them, your self-value will correct itself.


Do you mean my low self-worth is an illusion?


            Among other false beliefs, yes, it is. You learned to find your way through darkness because of your life circumstances, which were chosen by the soul, as well as the patterns of behavior you developed as a result of them. For much of your life, you have also maintained the false belief that God doesn’t love you. The soul is the doorway.


But I thought you said the doorway doesn’t exist.


            Yet you were just imagining one.


There’s so much light coming through it—it’s practically glowing! That’s strange, though …


What is, Chela?


The door knocker is a heart.


            Ah, there you have it—now, all you have to do is find the keys to open it.




After the conversation ended, the fool looked down at the journal and said to the sage, “I have a feeling this is a story about the woman finding the keys to her heart.”

“Not all of it,” the sage replied. “The rest will guide you to understand the mysteries of the soul, among other things.”

“What other things?” asked the fool.

“You’ll have to read it to find out.”





Author: Sheridan Cooke

I am a medium, scribe, intuitive healer, and Reiki Master, and have been channeling messages intended to invoke deep healing and rebalance inner archetypes since September 2001. I work mainly with the High Council, Archangels, and the Elohim. From time to time, I also receive messages from other elevated light beings, such as the Pleiadians and Andromeda, and will often receive messages directly from a person's inner child or an archetype seeking to reintegrate the soul's Light more fully.

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