Recapping AWE part I

IAM was on stage, “By the time we complete we will have spent Forty hours together in the Processing of The Ancient Wisdom Experience. It is the equivalent of an American workweek, and work it has been. Work each and everyone of you participated in and shared. Work that is the basis for the enlightened of the ages. It is the great work, the Magnus Opus of seeking and finding many of the answer to WHO YOU ARE. We started Thursday evening, what can you remember?"

“We started with introductions and rules. Oh yea, we met the trainers and their team. We learned the hand signals, about the Hoover in the sky and offering up our judgments. We learned the other neophytes names, and the start of some biggies, like telling the truth, asking for what you want, and that everyone likes sex.” Those were Joseph’s remembrances, and he got a laugh and sat down with a big smile on his face.
IAM called on Ruth.

“There was so much, but I remember the compassion in IAM’ voice. I could how he and MA cared and the assistants supporting us. Everyone supporting me as I spoke. I had never felt that before. Thank you.”
The energy of the room had moved from Joseph’s humor to a warm tear in Ruth’s’ and many of the neophytes eyes.
Chucks’ hand had been in the air since back from break and he seemed to bounce up when IAM called on him.



“Thursday night is when my life began. I don’t know who it was that wrote the check, but I am grateful to them, but none of that life was me. I want to produce AWE. To enroll everyone is waking up. I finally found something that is real, and I have passion for. Bless you, and bless everyone in the room.”



“One of the rules had to do with how life works when you keep your agreement,: said Brenda looking very fresh. “And that is one of my goals. I am only saying yes when I mean it. And I mean it!”



Jules shared that she was still OK about having a lot of sex, but “Honest sex. Fun sex, not manipulation. Telling the truth faster makes life so much easier. I love you all.”
Alan explained the difference between story and experience, “This was and still is an experience. What I tell my friends, without gossiping or naming names will be a story. A very entertaining story and then I’ll give them Chucks phone number to enroll.”
There were whoops of delight, with IAM and MA whispering something to each other.



“What do we remember about Friday night?” Said IAM.
Evelyn stood, “That was when I got in trouble for having a drink. It was, interesting, to have people care about your agreements. Its true, keeping your agreements does make your life. I’m having my sherry tonight.”



“This was the night of the skit, at the Universal Diner. It’s important to order what you want. Be specific or you might not get it.” Said Michael.
We started doing dyads. Working with a partner on the questsion. What do you want? What do you expect? What are you resisting? And what are you experiencing.” Said Art. “These are the questions that keep you present, in the here and now. Questions that lead to success. I loved working with a partner, they know so much more than I do.”



“MA told a story about whacking the pond. About how we will stay in our own pressure pot until we eventually fry ourselves and how we all need a shock to break that pattern and get out of our own soup.”
“Well put Chuck,’ said MA. “I think you’ll make a great producer of AWE.”
“It was Saturday morning that some of you shared your dreams. How questions and insights from Friday rattled your sleep and we aall began to break down our patterns. What happened Saturday?” Ma sat back as hands shot up.
“Saturday was like life, we had dating game, or as I called it self-rejection second best will do.” Said Ruth. “I also got off my sex stuff, or least started the process.”
“We went on an elevator ride after the Greek Sages helped us find the scrolls of our life. They were so funny, and it was such a meaningful skit. We all got amazing insight into our processes, and got great fodder for Sunday.”

“I loved when the angels arrived for sensations. I was awe-struck by the love. There I said it,” said Karla with new found enthusiasm.

Theresa spoke next, “I worked with Art. He is one person I( would have avoided. He’s pink, English looking like my dad, who I thought didn’t know shit. But Art and all you guys have presence, you hung in there when I was ready to quit, ot like Ruth said, take second best.
The exercise about what do you want me to experience in your presence was magical.” She concluded.
“What do you want me to experience in your presence Theresa?” Asked IAM.“Unconditional love. I want you to love your self."

And there were Miracles

An insight or explanation of being reborn or freed from beliefs one imagined were ones own is the key point of this tale. Mr. Writer is aware there are millions, perhaps billions of people who have no reference to this type of change.

Is this the shedding of layers of notions about oneself that were and are false or could it only be a temporary fix?

Was this experience like attaining whole new set of beliefs, or was it just like taking off a raincoat, and it still going to rain.

Were the neophytes grooving a revival, or coming out of the tent back into the old ruts of their life?

At dinner with Joseph, Jules, Dr. Nelson, Teresa, Mona and Art pondered these question. No one had any doubt about the power of this change. About the wisdom of AWE, but all of them had been involved in the psychedelic revolution and agreed they changed, but not to the level of experiences they had with AWE and psychedleic were psychedelics. This was different. There were no drugs, even the leadership of the trainers was mere prodding, efficient, well intentioned and scripted but the work was done inside in every neophyte.

“How are we going to keep this alive? How can we support each other? “ They keep asking.

Back in the seminar room there was lots of sharing about miracles.
Dr. Michael bought an elderly couples dinner without telling them.
Parking spaces appeared right in front of the restaurant.
Diners got free desserts. Some even ate dessert first and joked with the waitress about how desserts reverses stress.
A young child came up to Karla in the restaurant and asked her why she looked so happy. “Because I choose to be happy. You can too, anytime you want too. Life is full of miracles and choosing to be happy can be your miracle each day.”
Everyone applauded.
Karla beamed, taking a moment to look at each of the trainers then said, “Let’s get on with this Love Fest.”
The room broke up with laughter.
“Yes, let’s get on with this Love Fest,” said IAM taking control from the stage. “Let’s recap what we’ve learned.”

The Birthday Party

The moments of solemn sharing ended abruptly.
“Clear the room. Put the chairs up against the wall.” Said IAM.

The assistants burst into the room, dressed as clowns. Their face painted, carrying balloons, with noisemakers, hats, party favors, blowing horns and whistles. It was a moment as incongruous as life itself.

“Who has never had a birthday party?” Asked IAM.
Mrs. B, Ruth, Karla, Ellen, Joseph and Art raised their hands.
“These are our special birthday babies. They get to choose who’s coming to their party. So pick your playmates.” Instructed IAM.

Each of the six groups sat on the floor and were given hats, horns and face paint. They all made themselves up, and began acting out as five years olds.

“You look funny.””You look stupid.”
“It’s my party and I’ll look anyway I want.”
“Let’s play spin the bottle.”

It was chaos making way for confusion that ended with cupcakes and candles
for everyone.

IAM and MA had left the room and returned with their costumes and face paint. They lead a rowdy version of the Happy Birthday song.

When Art blew out his candle it relit. It’s magic he thought.
When the cakes were gone, IAM spoke, “There is a lesson here that is quite obvious. Desserts is stress spelled backwards so tonight at dinner, eat desserts first.
“You have an hour and half for dinner. Practice your Guru lesson. Direct some traffic. Go to dinner with someone new, or a new group. Keep your eyes and ears open for miracles.”

A New Voice Speaks

“We have time for sharing while the assistants prepare a surprise,” said IAM.

Slowly a number of hands we raised.
IAM called on Chuck. “That was amazing. I had no idea how trapped I was in my parents. My attitudes and my pudgy scared body wasn’t even my own. I assumed everything they were and then fought them while becoming them. I want to produce this experience for others. Everyone needs to feel the freedom of being themselves.”

Alan the analytical was next. He stood up without his glasses. “I can see, without my glasses.” His eyes red from tears, “I was my mom, hiding behind glasses, protecting myself from being bullied. Ya know, can’t hit a kid with glasses. I’ve meditated, been in therapy, been in an esoteric school, nothing was as powerful as this. Will it last?”

“If you want it too,” said MA.

“ Yes, this process, your experience is now yours. You are no longer trapped in the habits and beliefs of your parents. The real excitement begins tomorrow when you reawake into life,’ added IAM.

“My mom was a slut, just like me,’ Jules shared. “All this sleeping around was to show her I was in control, but really I was just acting out.” She paused and scanned the room with a smile, “But it was fun.”

Everyone laughed except Karla. She raised her hand and all the other hands went down.
“What’s happening Karla?,” said IAM.
Karla stood, her head down, fists clinched.
“Karla, can you look at me?” Said MA.
The neophytes were hushed in an awed silence, waiting for an explosion.
Slowly her head rose and a smile appeared. “I love you guys.”
Ma walked off the stage toward Karla and they hugged. Hands everywhere went up for Kleenex.

As the moment passed Art raised his hand and caught IAM’s eye.
“Art.”
“I want to be one of your friends you talked about on the first day.”
The room looked around to see who was speaking. Art was the only one standing, but no one recognized the voice.
IAM came off the stage and spoke “I recognized you the moment you walked in the room. We have been more than friends for lifetimes and we are again.”
Art sat down and realized he had his own voice, not his fathers.

Freeing Father

After the mother process there was a silent break. Art didn’t bum a cigarette but thought how his mother, born a preemie at 6 months spent 2 months in a cigar box. Art thought that probably explains why she smoked for more than 50 years and was always in a rush. She was in a rush to get born. He had a mental picture of her standing by the kitchen door, coat on, purse in hand, ready. Always ready to go.

IAM spoke in a quietly solemn tone, “You’re half way through the process. Some will find father more intense than mother. Those who may have been raised in a fatherless home trust your imagination. Take the first answer that comes up. You just made it up anyway, so stay in your gut and in the process.”

To Art the Father process was as different as a Presbyterian Church service was to the Acid Tests with the Merry Pranksters and the Grateful Dead. He knew he had stuff about his dad. The way they rarely spoke. Dad’s condescending tone. The way he poked fun at him, teasing for what Art was never sure. Art was a good student, an excellent athlete, made friends easily. He wasn’t a good fisherman like his dad, and he had no interest in mechanical things. He just concluded that they were very different beings. He respected him, even talked well about him, but never really felt their was love between them.

Or so he thought.

But creating a clay image of dad and stepping into his body was emotional, revelatory and downright shocking. Stepping into anyone else’s space was shocking. The nonsense of ‘they are different’, ‘he is not like me’ or ‘I’m better that that’ melted in the first moments. Art’s tears and Kleenex consumption created a pile higher than his statue of dad.

His old man felt joy, and sorrow and compassion. He had great love for his mother and for Art’s mother. Art sensed how he thought deeply on God, and money and how caring for his family was so important. He did the best he could with what he had, and growing up as second oldest with four sister he developed charm and wit and a nature as a tease. He loved his sisters and was unsure of what to do with the baby Art. He became the family provider, a role his father had never fully accepted.

This was more than a parent process it was an ancestor process. Art saw how generations had been drug down the rut of beliefs that were not their own. Beliefs passed down generations. Beliefs that no longer served, that had lost validity. It was how the middle eastern wars continued. How revenge and sexism flourished, and their offspring’s assumed the parents beliefs and perpetuated fears and limits all the while believing these were their own beliefs. It felt like he was part of some mechanical entity that was ruled by the habits of others ad infinium.

That he had finally, as IAM had intimated, come to the point to break the pattern. To end the pain and useless suffering mankind had instilled in itself.

Wow! Art felt massively alive after mother, but after father he was brand new.

Heaven & Hell

The familiar cello of Pachelbel’s Canon played to a solemn roomful of neophytes engaging in a miraculous freeing of attention process.

The three days of preparation in building trust, in handling limiting beliefs, in learning to separate stories from experience helped lead to this moment. IAM had said that perhaps lifetimes had lead to this Here & Now.

The courageous compassion and presence of the trainers had a magical catalytic effect on the neophytes.

The new found ability to laugh at oneself and cry the next second had initiated the neophytes into using their imagination, getting out of their space suit and stepping into a spacesuit oh too familiar, the parent.

Beliefs that were accepted as ‘that’s just way it is’, were thrown open to see that this is not me. These are my mother beliefs, that worked for her, and her mother, and her mother , ad infinium.

This was a molting of fears, anger, doubts sadness, pain and tears. Mounds of Kleenex were piled next to many neophytes. Some so intense as to need a wastebasket to puke the bile from a lifetime of living as their parent, in a contradiction of wanting to please and hating to be manipulated and abused.

Some let go of clothing, the confines of apparel were shed like the armor that hid a true being who loved life, had a new vision, and experienced freedom that surpassed sex, drugs or rock n roll. They were no longer just their parents child, but a child of the universe.

IAM had designed an inner war designed to rebirth a roomful of neophytes. They answered IAM’s question, from their GUT, and become alive in the synergy of the forty others with the excitement of Woodstock, an Evangelic healing, and Baptism.
The room had the stench of egos, fried, seared, charred, broiled and roasted.
No one had to be right.
No one already knew everything.
No one couldn’t make a mistake.
Everyone participated. And all were rewarded.
In one moment it looked, felt and sounded like a Bosch painting and the next it was Jesus and Mary sitting amongst the Lions & the Lambs. Sweet forgiveness following the self inflected torment of life.

No one could have imagined the relief and joy that ensued.
IAM, MA, the angel assistants had handed out tissue, waste baskets, cleaned aura’s whispered words of love and encouragement and helped everyone stay in their experience.

There was no dexification.They all felt a power greater that than themselves.

They were reborn, and led by a re awoken Daimon, a guardian angel, with a louder conscience and an incredible lightness of being.

Ancestor Parent Process

“Ready?”
The neophytes were.

“Good. We’re going to create our parents. Mother first.

“Let’s imagine we have been given the most beautiful Italian clay in which to sculpt Mom. We have lots of clay, enough for everyone. We have sculpting tools and the greatest tools of all, our hands. We can even imagine we are great sculptors like DaVinci and Michangelo. Work the clay and get a feel for it.

“Find the perfect spot to begin to sculpt.

“If your mom has passed away, remember she is still present on your scrolls."
Pachelbel Canon in D began to play.
“Okay, let’s start with the feet. This is her understanding, her soles. Do you remember her toes? The arch of the foot? Trust yourself. You’re doing a perfect job. When you’re ready, form the ankle that leads to her strong calf muscles.

“Its’ okay to say or feel anything. What is important is to sculpt, here and now, the clay in front of you. The calves lead to the knees. Were they knobby? Did she have any scars from sports or an accident? Continue up the legs.
“Now where the legs meet the torso form the front and the back. Smooth her stomach and her back. Add the breasts that fed you. Create the area below the neck and her strong shoulders that carried you. Mold her arms out to her loving hands. Hold each finger and form the nails. Kiss the hands, shake them, let them touch you.
“Go back up the arm, massaging it if you like, to the shoulders then sculpt the neck. Do the chin and jaw line. Work around to her nape, and back around to her cheeks and her mouth. Refine your work to do her lips. Remember her nose. Was it cute, large, crooked? Form the nostrils. Then her eyes. Remember the color. Add her brows and any make-up. Add her forehead and then her hair. Short or long, however you liked it or whatever way or color she would do it.
“Now step back. Is there anything else that’s needed? What about clothes? Jewels? Make-up. A scar? Take a moment to appreciate her and your work.

“Now go behind her and find a special zipper, for this is just her vehicle, like a dress. Unzip her and step inside her body. Slip into the legs, the arms, then put your head in hers like a hat. How does it feel in her body? Is she light or heavy? Does she have any pain? Go ahead and move about like her. Get the feel of her.”
There was a longer pause as the neophytes moved about.
“Good. Answer these questions aloud as from Mom. Do whatever you need or feel she would. Go ahead and act it out.”
After each question there were long pauses in which the neophytes responded from quiet whispers to loud rants, screaming, weeping, realizations and insights.
“How does your mom feel about her body?

"How does she feel about being a woman?

"How does she feel about food?

"How does she feel about health?

"What does she think about money?

"What are her feelings about friends and peers?

“Remember to stay in her body.”
IAM asked a long list of questions.
"How does she feel about sex?
"How does she feel about love?
"How does she feel about her mother?
"How does she feel about her father?
"How does she feel about your father?

"Keep in your gut!

"How did she feel when she found out she was pregnant?
"Was she glad, sad, scared or angry?
"How was it giving birth to you?
"How did she feel when she first saw you?
"Did she breast-feed you?
"What was her experience of you as a baby?
"How was she when you walked, and talked?
"What did she tell you?
"What did she tell you about the world?
"What did she tell you about your father? About men? About friends?
"What did she tell you about food? About work? About money?
"Did she talk about god? About love?
"Are there questions that you want to know? Ask her?”

Tissues scattered the floor. Dropped by neophytes who now glowed in
happiness and delight. IAM paused as calmness swept the group.

“Now thank her. Tell her you love her.”
More tissues were distributed.
Then one voice screamed, “I hate you bitch.”

The neophytes gulped as one. “Reach behind your sculptor, unzip and climb out,” IAM said.

“Find the shovel and begin digging her grave. When you are done, lower mom into the grave.

You may read her eulogy, say a prayer, or goodbye