Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Message from the 9/11 Restless Spirits

It’s difficult to mix discussions of spirituality (where the goal is often to bring people together as one) and politics (which can be so divisive)—but sometimes it’s unavoidable. Submitted for your consideration: a discussion of my encounters in September 2008 with a group of energies I would come to call the “9/11 restless spirits,” who asked me to research and pass along information about what really happened on September 11, 2001. I told them yes and am now asking you to please consider:
Before being approached by the 9/11 restless spirits, I was working in “the West Village,” which is the western most part of NYC’s Greenwich Village. It’s a great area to work—predominantly residential with many restaurants, coffee shops, funky stores, nightclubs, Off-Broadway theaters, proximity to the Hudson River promenade, and a tolerant and colorful citizenry. In sum, the West Village is one cool place.

My employer’s office had been located in the West Village since the summer of 2000, and we were there on that indescribably horrible day in the late summer of 2001—September 11, 2001 to be precise—or “9/11” as it has come to be known. Altho the office was only about a mile and a half due north of the Twin Towers, it was still worlds away. Indeed, despite the surreal horror surrounding us on that terrible day, we were able to escape without very much ado—unlike the estimated 2,600 innocent people who were in fact trapped and killed at the World Trade Center.

Like so many others who to some extent experienced 9/11, my co-workers and I had readjust to life in Manhattan following that monstrous attack. Eventually, we did. By the summer of 2008, we hardly even spoke of 9/11 anymore. Of course it was (and still is) very difficult and heart-wrenching to look up in the direction of the World Trade Center and NOT see the Twin Towers standing, but not much was (or is) actually spoken about it.

In the spring of 2008, following a business merger between my employer and another company, the new corporate structure announced that we would be leaving the West Village and moving downtown to the financial district—one short block from Ground Zero. I was shattered. Gone would be the free parking in the residential West Village—which meant no more driving to work, and thus no freedom after work to drive to dancing venues, Broadway theaters, or uptown restaurants. And no more topless summer sunbathing at lunchtime on the relatively private south side of Pier 40. For it soon would be time to return—via the dreaded subway—to the Wall Street area rat race I had endured during the early days of my working career so many years before.

When we actually made the move in August 2008, it wasn’t as bad as I feared—it was exponentially worse. Every time I stepped off the subway at Rector Street and walked by Ground Zero to get to my office, I would become very depressed. It felt like part of my soul was gone. In shamanic terms I was experiencing “soul loss,” of which depression is a very real symptom. It wasn’t just the madhouse environment, or the hawkers peddling photos of the 9/11 tragedy, or even the sight of Ground Zero itself bringing back memories of that tragic day. No, there was something more, and I was at a loss to explain it.

One day while I was walking despondently around the World Trade Center area, I telepathically called out to my spirit guides and spirit helpers and asked (as if they were to blame), “Why the fuck do you have me in this godforsaken place? It’s killing me!” They replied, clearly and matter-of-factly, “We need your energy here.”

“Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I wondered. I asked my spirits in less politically incorrect terms, but received no explanation. And so it was up to me to figure out.

All I could think of at the time was NOT getting caught up in the mindless rat race that IS lower Manhattan, and refusing to sink to the level of rudeness and borderline inhumanity prevailing on the subways and in the streets. Instead, I made it a point to be overly courteous, e.g., allowing people to step in front of me when we would otherwise be competing for a spot in the asphalt jungle, and being respectful and polite to those with whom I came in contact. It was funny…at times I would stop to let someone cross the street in front of me and cause a pedestrian pileup because no one was expecting such a basic courtesy. But despite the moments of levity, when I got right down to it, life around Ground Zero was eating me up.

Then came the commemoration activities on Thursday September 11, 2008. Intersections were blocked off to traffic and the streets were flooded with more police officers than I have ever seen at one time. Thousands of people paraded in and around the area, but I avoided most of it. However, I did make it a point to walk passed Ground Zero once, to pay my respects. Later, a friend of mine at work, Dave—thru whom I have gotten messages from Spirit before—mentioned that at the commemoration he had seen a sizeable number of “9/11 truth movement protesters.” Just hearing that report from Dave jolted me, but at the time, I didn’t know why.

On the day following the 9/11 commemoration and I was planning to go to the New York Shamanic Circle (see, which I have attended regularly (on the second Friday of each calendar month) since March 2001. This was to be the first circle I’d go to since my employer had moved our offices to the World Trade Center area. I used to be able to walk to the circle from the West Village worksite, but walking there from Ground Zero would be a bit of a trek, and not comfortably doable in the hard rain being forecast. So, as a treat to myself, I drove to work and paid $25 to park (including $2 tip), just so I’d have my car to drive to the circle and home afterward.

All day long I was getting “fives” (e.g., 555) popping up on license plates and elsewhere, indicating that positive and enjoyable experiences were immediately ahead (“5” is my “magic number”), even though there was indeed a hard and steady rain falling, as the weatherman had predicted.

Immediately after work, I attended a party in a local bar celebrating a co-worker’s promotion. I could only stay a short while before heading over to get my car. I walked toward the parking garage with another co-worker friend who had read my book “Into the Mystic…” some months before. He gave me a lot of positive and unexpected feedback about the book, making it a fun walk despite the rain.

On the ride to the Village, I didn’t know what to expect parking-wise, but as fate would have it, I got a legal spot right in front of 219 Sullivan Street, the building where the New York Shamanic Circle meets each month.

Visiting the circle itself that night was an Ecuadorian medicine woman named “Susana.” I’d been to one other circle with her before, and it is so great having her there, for she has such marvelous energy.

Olivia, a relatively new core-circle member, did the “calling in of the spirits” in what she described as “the Peruvian tradition,” which involved a series of unique words chanted to each of the five directions (East, South, West, North, and Above; but not to the lower or center worlds).

After the other opening rituals, the first journey of the evening was essentially to “Visit with your power animal,” which presented an opportunity for me to reconnect with “Buck,” my own power animal. I had not encountered Buck in my journeys for some time.

As the drumming brought us to an expanded state of awareness, I began to vision. Things started off very dark (due in part to the super blindfold I was wearing). My maternal grandparents’ house on the way to my “Sacred Garden” was very faint. It seemed to be fading away. I thought that this was because I had finished my business there with the soul retrieval/lineage healing I had done for my grandfather at a Hank Wesselman workshop four months before, and that my grandparents had moved on. I wondered whether the house would be totally gone from my middle world of dream visions in the future.

Buck greeted me as I entered my Sacred Garden. I took to lying down with my neck against the long tree trunk log that is a prominent feature in my Garden (reflecting how I was positioned in the drum circle, using my rolled up towel behind my neck as a support pillow). Buck shape-shifted into a miniature version of himself. I brought him to me with my cupped hands and held him to my heart. Then he shape-shifted again, this time into a bigger-than-life deer. I stood up and hugged him around the neck, receiving and returning real Love in the process.

Spontaneously Buck led me away from my Sacred Garden and into a hell realm. Many souls were trapped there, suffering. Buck told me (telepathically) what my job was: “Show them the way out,” which was a “psychopomp” directive. (Note: psychopomp work involves finding lost souls in the middle world of dream and helping them get to where they are supposed to be (not “The Light,” necessarily). Psychopomp work can also involve helping people transition from life to the afterlife.)

In response to Buck’s directive, I formed my right hand in the shape of a gun, pointed my trigger finger toward one of the walls and simply thought to blast thru. Laser-like energy shot out of my finger and the wall started to blow apart. I repeated the assault on another wall, feeling like a superhero among mortals. Then I told the hell-realm souls that they too could blast thru the walls simply by intending to do so, and willing it to be. They mimicked my efforts and were also successful. From our blasts of energy, the walls started to crumble. Despair was turning to joy as the open Universe came into view, and the souls were being set free—just as the callback drumming at 219 Sullivan Street was signaling an end to the journey. The vision faded as I shifted my consciousness back to the room.

As usual, following the journey there was time to take notes on what we experienced and for some people (not I this time) to share what had happened with the rest of the circle. After that, Susana announced the second journey. In the main, we were directed to journey on “What are your gifts?”

The gift that came to me was “compassion.” I have never really thought of myself as much of a compassionate person, but later asked family and friends if they thought I was and they said yes. Somewhere along the line came the suggestion that I be more compassionate with myself. I took the message to heart.

Journey 3 was the kicker. Joey announced that the journey was “In honor of 9/11.” He noted that seven years had passed since September 11, 2001 and that in shamanism, there are seven-year cycles. He said it was “a time to release grief.”

Then Joey announced that the third journey was to be in two parts. Part 3A—if we would be comfortable doing so—was to “Stand like a tree and do psychopomp work.” This thoroughly amazed me since I had already done psychopomp work in the first journey when Buck my power animal led me into the hell realm to destroy it and set free the souls imprisoned there. Part 3B was to “Be a lightworker with regard to 9/11,” or as Susana put it, “Become an urban shaman.”

Once we started to actually journey, I was immediately being asked by unidentified but benevolent-feeling spirits to allow their energy to flow through me while I was in the World Trade Center area. “It’s quite easy, really,” I was told. All I had to do was grant them the permission to do so and it would be done automatically. Feeling that this was a natural fit for me, I agreed.

Later, I shared this and the earlier psychopomp journey with the rest of the circle and was rewarded with a number of “Oooos! and Wows!” from circle members. After we wrapped up the circle for the night, Susana came to me and said, “Thank you for sharing that. It was very important that you shared that.” I was honored!

Alone afterward, I had some pizza and wine at one of my favorite eateries, The Pizza Box on Bleeker Street. I hadn’t been there in some time and the manager recognized me from years before when my daughter Kristen and I used to eat their regularly, during her undergraduate days at NYU. Felt great—more of the good day and night foretold by all the fives I had been getting throughout that Friday.

Saturday was a kind of late summer beach day with enough hazy sunshine to improve upon my fading tan. I decided to bike it to Rockaway and got there at 11:07 real time. NO ONE was on the beach—just the way I like it! I ambled over toward the shore where a recently-formed sand bluff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean awaited me. By then, the sun was shining stronger. For over an hour I had the whole beach to myself before people started showing up. What a great morning! I felt in retrospect that I was being rewarded for agreeing to allow spirit energy to flow thru me while I was in the Ground Zero area.

Sunday morning’s happenings I was not ready for. While I was in the shower (where I’ve experienced spontaneous mystical events before), a group of "9/11 restless spirits"—accompanied by a silently observing John Lennon—came to me and telepathically asked that I—in addition to allowing spirit energy to flow thru me while I was around Ground Zero—do a little more. Specifically I was to research what really happened on 9/11 and spread the word wherever I thought the word might be well received. I agreed.

A couple of nights later I woke up alone in my bed around three in the morning, totally energized and absolutely driven to do some 9/11 research. I jumped on the computer and in just two short hours had an idea as to what the 9/11 truth movement was about--a search for truth about what really happened on 9/11. It was obvious from my manic research that many people had been on the 9/11 truth-finding mission for some time, and they were sharing a wealth of information for all to read thru the miracle of the worldwide web.

The next day I began emailing 9/11 truth information and relevant website links to family and friends with whom I felt the messages might resonate. That first effort has been the heart of what I’ve done so far, but I continue to send out emails and speak up about the 9/11 truth movement when opportunities arise, like here.

And guess what? After having done all this in earnest, that horrible feeling I got whenever I entered the World Trade Center area is gone—totally. And the depression has lifted. In shamanic terms, my soul part has returned. I still miss working in the West Village, but being around Ground Zero no longer turns me into a despondent mess. In fact, I don’t mind being down there that much at all. An example of Instant Karma, methinks, for doing what I had promised the restless 9/11 spirits I would do.

I hope that recounting my 9/11 experiences here provides you with some benefit and perhaps an education as well. Please consider looking into what really happened on 9/11, via the links above and/or in your own way. Most importantly, EXAMINE THE EVIDENCE OBJECTIVELY. And then, if you agree that people should be made aware, pass along the information to others who may be receptive to and support the idea that we need an objective investigation into what really happened on 9/11. If we can spread the word, and eventually bring the real criminals to justice, those who suffered and perished in the 9/11 hellfire will not have died vain; the world will be a better place; and the 9/11 restless spirits will finally be able to rest in peace.

Thanks for reading.

Saturday, November 15, 2008


After writing Into the Mystic (From the Streets of Brooklyn), I thought it would be a good idea to set up a blog to record periodic thoughts and experiences touching on "the Mystic" -- that expanded state of awareness where we can connect with Spirit and experience other realities. This blog is designed to do just that, as a place to share mystical thoughts and experiences. Your input is welcome!  My website is .