Lesson 2
Breaking Free of the Past
I have spent a lot of time dwelling on the past lately. Tragedy and loss can drive even the most optimistic and spiritual people to despair. The loss of a child is terribly painful; and when that child is your only child, the paralyzing grief that sets in is beyond words. It’s easy for others to say: “Leave the past behind and move on with your life.” But it’s not easy or even possible to follow that advice when the wounds from a tragedy are fresh and emotions are raw. Instead, one retreats into memories of happier times and becomes a prisoner of the past.
I have believed in the law of cause of and effect, which is known by various names, since I was introduced to the concept at age ten. It’s an obvious law of nature: Every action produces a reaction. When you toss an apple in the air, it comes down. Throw a stone in a pond and it creates ripples. When you make wrong choices in life, those actions produce reactions, and we call them consequences. We might not know until later whether a choice is the correct one, or whether it will have consequences. Sometimes, it takes years or a lifetime for actions to come full circle before we find out.
From the age of twelve, I felt a compelling urge to be a writer, though looking back, I never understood why. I published my first article in a national magazine soon after I turned fourteen. A few months later, I ran away from home to escape an abusive parent. I grew up on the streets, and life wasn’t easy. Being a ninth-grade dropout, I knew my prospects for success as a freelance writer were dim; but I was determined and stubborn. I taught myself the basics of grammar, spelling, and punctuation. The summer after I turned eighteen, a paperback publisher offered me a book contract.
Over the next decade, I published a dozen books the old-school way—Amazon.com and its self-publishing platform were years off in the future, and the only way to have a book published was to write better than anyone else and find a publisher willing to gamble thousands of dollars on printing and storing paper books in a warehouse. I was fortunate to have landed a multi-book contract, and I devoted the following years to writing inspirational books, teaching classes on psychic development and meditation, and enjoying a bit of fame at the top of my field. My wife at the time laughed with delight when she went to the supermarket and saw my photo, at least once a month, on the front page ofThe Star under the headline “World’s Top Ten Psychics Predict...”
It was a bright summer day when I received a call from a woman named Carole who identified herself as the senior editor for Irving Wallace, one of the world’s bestselling authors at the time. She offered me a writing gig. I would contribute to Wallace’s popularBook of Lists andBook of Predictions series, and I would receive by-lined credit as a member of his editorial staff plus more money than I had ever earned as a freelance writer. I practically shouted, “Yes! Of course! I accept!” It was the opportunity of a lifetime for a struggling writer. I was convinced that fate had smiled down on me and my future was bright. I would soon discover how quickly a sunny life outlook can change.
One afternoon a few weeks later, I was watching news on TV and a story came on about a young boy who had been reported missing by his mother in a town about a ninety-minute drive to the south. Unexpectedly, a series of gruesome images flashed through my mind. As the scene played out like a video with no Stop button, I saw a man beating the boy, and then I saw him bury the child in a field. I sensed that the man was the boy’s father or stepfather. A woman stood nearby, crying, and I sensed that she was the mother. I was depressed for the rest of the evening and spent a sleepless night tossing and turning.
Previously, I had worked with law enforcement in several Southern California jurisdictions as a “psychic detective.” Most involved missing children or spouses; two were homicides. The next day, I contacted a detective
