up a drenching thunderstorm out of a totally blue sky to wash away the mud from the sacred red clay ritual he’d just performed on me. “Where did the pain and rash go so quickly, so completely? How could I feel so peaceful so fast when I had been so upset and depressed for a year?
“How did St. Germain physically appear at the foot of my bed when the doors to my house and bedroom were locked tight?” I had to touch his robe every tenth visit to make sure the Ascended Master standing there was solid and real. “How did he know my deepest, most secret thoughts that I had never expressed to anyone?” I felt so vulnerable, yet safe; so naked, yet open—when he directed his eternal, yet personal wisdom to me. “Why did I feel so calm, clear and courageous in his presence?” The profound feeling of absolute connection and aliveness has remained with me ever since his visits. “How was he able to communicate with me without his mouth moving? How did he project scenes of my life on the wall?”
“Why did my friends and I instinctively trust this mysterious Eastern teacher with our souls?” Muktananda was just some dark-skinned man from India we’d never heard of before this day. Our fears melted and our hearts opened to the Heavens with the sound of his laughter. Our inner beauty blossomed with the touch of his finger to our foreheads.
Jewish by birth, New Yorkish by nature, Lester Levenson looked like a cross between a mischievous 100-year-old leprechaun and a noble Native American Indian chief. He could charm the needles off a porcupine. And he would bring out more excitement, strength and insight from me in one day than I had encountered up to that time in my life. “What was his magic?”
What are the common