I kneeled in front of John of God, took his hand and looked into his eyes. For an instant it was like looking into deep pools of love, but then his eyes rolled back in his head. He looked like he was completely “gone” and not in his body. Within a few seconds he scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to the translator. As an aide escorted me out of the room, the translator said that I needed “surgery” and special herbs.

The journey to Abadiania, Brazil, had been long and exhausting for Gloria, Gloria’s friend Cherie, and me—but full of anticipation.

We spent the day recuperating, exploring the little town, and getting acquainted with the guests in the pousada—or guesthouse. Every person we encountered had an interesting story to tell of how they ended up in search of healing with John of God. Some were in search of emotional and spiritual healing, but many came in search of physical healing.

Everywhere we walked in the town we could hear the babel of different languages. People had come from Europe, Australia, New Zealand, Asia, and Africa. I even met a man and woman from Kazakhstan. Some had come for the first time to see John of God, while others had returned dozens of times. There were even people who had moved permanently to Abadiania to be close to this healing environment.

We met people with all kinds of physical ailments including various cancers in different stages of proliferation, multiple sclerosis, seizure disorders, ALS, blindness, intractable migraine headaches, cerebral palsy, Parkinson’s, lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, psoriasis—a very long list. Some people had also come for emotional healing from grief and loss, or for healing mental illnesses such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression, and PTSD.

There were people of every creed, including atheists, agnostics, and Buddhists. The only prerequisites for coming are an open heart and mind and a genuine desire to heal.

I ran into a number of people—lawyers, mainstream doctors, and some from the corporate world—who seemed unlikely visitors to this realm of the paranormal. Even the super rational, left-brain-dominant types have been known to open themselves up to the supernatural when desperation drives them to look outside their familiar spheres for relief of suffering.

I had had my first introduction to the world of the paranormal with the Navajo during their healing ceremonies when I was a young schoolteacher living on the edge of Canyon de Chelly. I experienced my own spontaneous healing during a peyote ceremony that my adoptive Navajo family gave me as a gift. And I witnessed spontaneous healing of others as well during those ceremonies.

Ever since my time with the Navajo, I have been intrigued by phenomena that I observe as real but that cannot be explained. This fascination blossomed in spite of my conventional medical training that tended to dismiss—and even ridicule—that which could not be measured. In spite of that skeptical environment, I understood that good scientists observe with an open and enquiring mind—even if what is observed defies explanation.

As a charismatic, Catholic teenager from a poor farming family, John of God would go into spontaneous and unbidden trance-like states in which he channeled disembodied spirits. During these altered states he would heal those who came to him for help. The spirits he channeled, referred to as “entities,” were famous doctors and healers who had died—the most prominent one being Don Ignacio de Loyola from 15th Century Spain, a nobleman who gave over his life to healing the poor and the sick.

Eventually, word spread about John of God’s healing abilities. Over the past few decades he has seen thousands of people each week from around the globe and has been described as the most powerful medium alive today.

John of God gave up his ordinary life and devoted himself entirely to the alleviation of suffering of humankind—a bodhisattva in the truest sense of the word.

From what I have heard and read, I would estimate that 10-15% of the seekers receive complete healing in the physical realm while they are with John of God. Tumors disappear, the blind regain sight, the paralyzed walk again. But the vast majority experience most of their healing in the spiritual and emotional realm. The healing of the spirit can make their physical burdens more tolerable and can create conditions favorable to further healing.

The compound and its surroundings had an ethereal atmosphere. Hundreds of white-clad visitors gathered at La Casa every day to await their turn to stand in front of the “Entities.” Since there are about 30 different entities that are channeled through John of God, you never knew which one would be doing the healing at any particular moment. Some of the entities were playful, some stern, and others very loving and compassionate.

During an interview with ABC in 2005, I remember John of God saying that he has no idea what he says while he channels—as though he’s asleep.

After I got my prescription for the “invisible surgery,” I went with the other surgical candidates into a special room where we heard prayers. The person at the front of the room asked us to pray for what we wanted and to put our hand on the place that needed healing. If we had many places that needed healing, he told us to put our hand on our heart.

I put one hand on my heart and one hand on my eyes and head. After about a half an hour of prayers the man told us that the “invisible surgery” was over and that we needed to stay in our rooms for 24 hours and not go anywhere and to respond as though we had real surgery.

I was amazed at how thoroughly exhausted and achy I was, as was everyone I spoke to who had “surgery.” I walked slowly and painstakingly back to my pousada and then slept off and on as though in a stupor. A kind person brought a tray of food to my door at mealtimes.

To my amazement, I slept most of that day and the following night—something I had not been able to do since the accident.

How could this “invisible” surgery have such a similar impact as “real” surgery?

When I awoke, I felt quite good, but still weak from the “invisible surgery.” I put on my white clothes, ate a delicious breakfast and walked over to La Casa—the compound where the seekers went to get healed. I spent the morning in “the current room,” a place where people meditate and pray for hours. During my meditation, as my mind wandered off track, I noted that I was completely free of anxiety and in a state of bliss.

Although I definitely felt that something significant had happened to me during my time with John of God, it’s difficult to quantify, except to say that my digestion functioned normally without a single episode of diarrhea, and I have been able to eat foods that I had become allergic to after the accident. Best of all, I experienced a profound sense of peace that I hadn’t known for years.

My travel mates, Gordi and Cherie, noticed significant healings for themselves in the emotional realm—exactly what they had hoped for. It felt so good to be with them during this adventure abroad into the paranormal.

The trip to John of God began a string of trips in my ever-expanding world.

In 2013 I went on a trip to Bali as one of the accompanying adults with the Bali Art Project, an organization that takes about ten high school students to Bali each year. The carefully selected students have few financial resources but big potential. The group spent a month in Bali learning the local arts, including gamelan drumming, painting, Balinese cooking, dancing, and puppet making. Before the trip, we learned some rudimentary Indonesian phrases.

In 2014 I went with my neighbor to France for a writing retreat, and then I continued on, by myself, to Switzerland to visit my relatives.

In 2015 I went on two trips abroad. A patient—a professor at the University of New Mexico—invited me the join her group of students on a very interesting trip to explore the arts in Cuba. And later that year, I went with a small group on a magical trip to Thailand to be with the elephants.

Soon I will leave on a trip to Antarctica—thanks to an outrageously generous gift from a family in the Northwest that I have been treating for twenty years.

The anxiety has diminished significantly so that I am able to live in an expanded world and do many of the things that I used to do. I have learned to keep my focus on what I am able to do, for which I feel genuine gratitude. And I accept what I have had to give up.

The extreme visual distortions no longer create anxiety and panic when I look out at the world. My brain has adapted to the distortions and limitations and has come to accept the new version of who I am and what the world looks like through my eyes.

I still have pain and persistent vomiting from the drop in barometric pressure before the arrival of a storm or heavy cloud cover. Those symptoms have remained unchanged, but I have simply learned to live with them. I view them as a mere inconvenience, without attaching any fear or anxiety. I know that the pain and vomiting will end after about 12-24 hours and that there is nothing that I can do to stop the symptoms. I have come to accept them.

The pain and vomiting sometimes occur when I’m booked all day seeing patients in my office. I usually call my scheduled patients and explain to them what is going on. I speak to them matter-of-factly—as though I’m talking about inclement weather—and warn them that I might have to run to the bathroom during their visit to vomit. I offer them the option of rescheduling their appointment for another time. So far, no one has rescheduled.

One of my patients, Emily, asked me when I plan to retire—a question I have often heard since the accident. I answered her with a question, “Do artists who love to paint think about retiring and leaving behind what gives their lives meaning and pleasure?” Then I added—half-jokingly—that I intended to practice medicine until I dropped dead. Emily said—with concern in her voice, “Please don’t drop dead during one of our appointments. Just thinking about it triggers the PTSD from my childhood trauma.”

A patient who hadn’t seen me in many years and knew nothing of the accident said at the end of her appointment, “Are you in love?” I asked why she thought I might be in love. She answered, “You look so radiant, like you’re really happy. You smile and laugh a lot. Things must be going well in your life.”

I told her that I feel happiness for no apparent reason. I said that things weren’t really going that well, that I had many things that were wrong with me, but that I was happier than I had ever been in my life. I had learned to recognize and appreciate the extraordinary within the ordinary aspects of life. Even watching an ant walk across the floor could fill me with wonder and joy. Looking at the sky could fill me with ecstasy.

I shared with her that I had found an indestructible kind of happiness that didn’t depend on things going right. If I waited for things to be just right, I would never experience lasting happiness because things are never just right—or, if they are, the effect is transitory. As the Buddhist say, life is about impermanence.

I look back at my old tendency toward perfectionism and, with my new vision, see it as a kind of affliction that keeps happiness on hold.

A patient with a chronically ill spouse asked me, “How do you manage to deal, day after day, for nearly three decades, with the kinds of patients that you see whose lives are in shambles from their serious health problems? Doesn’t it wear you out physically and emotionally?”

I asked myself the same question. Over the years, my medical practice has attracted people—both locally and from all over the country—who have chronic, poorly understood or misdiagnosed illnesses. Many of them have lost everything they value—their health, their life savings, their jobs, homes, and sometimes even friends and family members who don’t understand their illness.

How do I manage so much misery without burning out?

The answer was clear. Within the rubble lies great hope. When patients have been utterly stripped of their former lives, they lose a lot of baggage that they don’t need—old habits that didn’t serve them well, and harmful emotions like resentments, grudges, and hate that create constriction of the spirit.

In the beginning, when they are in such deep despair that they cannot conceive of anything hopeful, I hold the space of hope for them—just as my friends held that space for me in my darkest times of despair.

I help my patients reframe their struggles. Their losses can be opportunities to re-create their lives in alignment with what brings them radiant health and an enduring kind of happiness. Instead of limping through life in a trance, the collapse holds the potential for awakening to a new way of living, one that includes joy and gratitude and a consciousness about how they treat their bodies.

And while some of my patients—including myself—may not ever be cured, they can certainly be healed.

Suffering skinned me to the marrow. The extra baggage—the ego, the judgments, the need to be right, the need be the best and to know all the answers, the need to prove myself—had long ago been stripped away. I let go of anger and resentment quickly because they contract my life force and feel like poison. And finally, I have learned to forgive myself when I make mistakes.

The shattering of my life cracked my heart open more than ever before. I cry more easily and I laugh more easily. And I love more easily—not the romantic kind of love—the unconditional kind that bubbles up for no reason.

All the inspiring words by poets and mystics about love that I had heard since my days in college have now become undeniable living truths.

My salvation has come through love and compassion—including love and compassion for myself as well as others. I try to treat myself with the same loving kindness that I extend to my patients.

My body responds well to being treated by me with kindness. I imagine my brain is speaking to me and telling me what it needs. It needs classical music, time outside in nature, time with friends, regular yoga and meditation practice, and a healthy diet. It doesn’t like the news and politics and it is not happy when I’m in a hurry. It likes it when I unconditionally accept my brain with all its many problems and when I give up comparing it with the way it used to be.

Many years ago—long before going to medical school—I memorized the Peace Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi and spoke it out loud on solitary walks in nature. I spoke the words earnestly with all my heart. I had no idea that the universe would take me literally and would eventually provide me with the requisite amount of experiences—including suffering—so that I could more compassionately help those in need.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy. 

 

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled as to console,

to be understood as to understand,

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive, 

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, 

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

Making a heartfelt intention created a powerful force that could do the inconceivable. The intention created a fountain of strength and invisible guidance, as though there was an electrical cord that attached me to the source—a sea of energy waiting to be tapped for infinite possibilities.

While floundering around in college in the 1960s, lost and confused, a therapist helped me to awaken to the fact that my life had worth and purpose. I knew that I had to prepare for fulfilling that purpose. The problem lay in not having any idea what that purpose was. My first glimpse about the meaning of my life came when I went to work as a young schoolteacher on the Navajo Reservation. I saw that I could actually make a difference in people’s lives by caring about them and being of service.

The story of my life is about the many big challenges I faced and how each challenge along the twists and turns of the path I followed helped to transform me. The journey deepened my humanity and helped me to fulfill the purpose of my life.

Sometimes I created my own challenges like rock climbing, snow and ice climbing, teaching survival skills in Outward Bound, and ascending some of the western hemisphere’s highest mountains. The climbs served as metaphors for overcoming my fears and self-doubts and for learning the importance of putting one step in front of the other in order to get to where I needed to go.

To meet my destiny, I had to overcome many other challenges, like getting into medical school against all odds—no money, wrong gender, wrong age, and wrong kind of academic background.

Now, at last, the meaning of the Navajo grandmother’s words came alive to me. She had said, “The mountain lion is your spirit guide. He came to give you his courage, strength and intense focus because you will need that for what lies ahead.” She had said that I would face obstacles in my life, some big and life threatening, and, if I lived through them, I would have a “strong heart and powerful medicine to give to the people.”

“I asked for strength,

   and God gave me difficulties to make me strong.

   I asked for wisdom,

   and God gave me problems to learn to solve.

   I asked for prosperity,

   and God gave me a brain and brawn to work.

   I asked for courage,

   and God gave me dangers to overcome.

   I asked for love,

   and God gave me people to help.

   I asked for favors,

   and God gave me opportunities.

   I received nothing I wanted.

   I received everything I needed.” 

                                                                   —-Hazrat Inayat Khan, Sufi mystic, musician and poet. 

The End of the Story—for now

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Dear Readers:

Thank you for coming on this painful journey of remembrance with me. And thank you for all your supportive comments, private emails, and phone calls. While writing this story, my greatest wish was that you would find something of use to you on your own path of healing body and spirit.

With palms pressed together, I bow to the god within you.

Erica

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