A letter from James Twyman:

Thank you for accessing this series of excerpts from this new unpublished book. The trade paper version will be released sometime in early 2000, but the timeliness of the issues covered in this story has led me to attempt something unprecedented. I believe it is extremely important that people get this information now, not ten months or a year from now. Therefore, I want to make this edited version available to as many people as possible. It is one way we can begin to understand what is really happening, and give us answers on how we can move forward into a new world.

We have the power to shift the terrible events that are taking place in Kosovo, and the whole world, only if we understand the energetic foundation that has caused them. Over the last three years I have had the privilege of performing "The Peace Concert" in many of the places where these tragedies are now taking place. There is a common thread that binds them together, and once that thread is cut the entire fabric will unravel. My goal is to help you understand what is "really" happening, the long energetic history that is just now being revealed. Then we will have the power to change things from the source, and the world itself will change.

This book has not been fully edited and I ask you to forgive the many mistakes and possible inaccuracies. At the end of the manuscript there will be a way for you to access the whole book as well as the C.D. mentioned in the story. Please pass this version to anyone and everyone you can. The internet is a powerful tool and should be used appropriately. Let everyone know that we are not helpless, but that we have the ability to create the world of our dreams.

May Peace Prevail on Earth!

Jimmy

From the Introduction:

…This is a true story that I believe supports the changing rhythm of our time. Over the last four years I have had experiences I never thought were possible. And all these experiences have led me here, to writing this short book, to sharing what I believe is one of the most important messages of our time. It is the story of how three people responded to an inner call, the call of the Mother, and how it brought them together and inspired them to strive toward what is perhaps the highest ideal we can imagine: to be instruments of peace. I am one of those people, the second is Fr. John, a priest from Los Angeles, and the third is Jacqueline Ripstein, a talented and renowned artist from Mexico.

It is easy now, in retrospect, to see how we were led along different paths, only to merge in the end, like three great rivers that wind along for countless miles before flowing effortlessly into the ocean. That, in fact, is the real message of this book. We all find ourselves walking the solitary path of our own desires and dreams, but in the end we discover that we are One, walking together toward One God. This is what the ancient cultures foresaw, and this is what we see happening all around us, in every country and in every religion.

We are not so far apart after all, and the more we focus on the ways we are the same rather than the ways we are different, the closer we come to reality itself. This has always been Her message, the woman who has come to assist us in our transformation. This story has been told in many ways, by many different people, and yet the essence has always remained the same. We are ready to create the world of our dreams, but only if we are willing to lay aside the separating beliefs that have kept us in darkness.

This book is divided into three sections:

The first section covers my own journey and how I was led to discover the amazing secret of the Order of the Beloved Disciple. It begins in 1994 when I accepted a commission to become the "Peace Troubadour," traveling the world singing peace prayers from the twelve major religions which I had arranged to music. A year later, while performing throughout former Yugoslavia, I was led to an ancient community of mystics who called themselves the "Emissaries of Light." They said that the time had come for humanity to accept a new vision of peace that would transform the world. They said that someone was coming, for me and for all the world, and that that person would assist in this global transformation.

Over the next several years I traveled the world performing, teaching and sharing this message, waiting for that "someone" to arrive. I met Fr. John, the eclectic priest who had also dedicated his life to traveling the world promoting peace, and together we left for Serbia armed with nothing but a six-foot pole baring the phrase, "May Peace Prevail on Earth." Many extraordinary events began to unfold, all culminating in November of 1998 when I saw the painting that changed my life forever.

The second section is the story of Jacqueline Ripstein, the visionary artist who would transfer the message and energy of Our Lady onto a simple painter’s canvas. As a Jewish artist from Mexico she wondered why she was commissioned by the Church to paint "Our Lady of the Universe." She wanted a sign, a Divine signal that would show her God’s will. The many signs she received were undeniable, and they inspired her to put her talent to the ultimate test. When the painting was first displayed, hundreds of people were overwhelmed by its transformational power. Priests fell down in prayer in front of the painting, unable to move. Dozens of people began crying uncontrollably, and others reported being able to feel "Our Lady’s pulse" when they touched her wrist. It became clear that this was no ordinary painting, and Jacqueline herself would undergo may trials as she accepted her own role as an "instrument of peace."

The third section marks the point these three rivers finally meet. I was asked to write a song that would be used to promote Jacqueline’s painting. No one knew that my decision would be the final link the Mother needed to fulfill her mission. While meditating with the picture on a flight from Denver to San Francisco, I was shown her whole plan--the way she intended to use art and music to bring people into direct communication with the Divine feminine nature of God. A succession of three miraculous phone calls showed me the reality of my "vision," and two days later I performed a concert that changed everything.

Finally, the fourth section was written when I thought the book was already finished. The same thing had occurred when I wrote the book "Emissary of Light." As soon as I thought it was over, as soon as the dust had settled and it seemed I had everything I needed to tell an amazing story with an important, life-changing message, something would happen and I would be off to the races again. In this case I found myself drawn to the border of Kosovo and Mesadonia at the same time that hundreds of thousands of refugees were trying to escape the ethnic warfare unleashed on them by the Serbian military machine. Everything came together during that trip; all the lessons I learned and insights I gained were both put to he test and fulfilled in one journey. I realized that the Emissaries were right—we really are ready to create a New World. That is the real message of this book.

It is my goal to express these experiences as accurately as I can. Though this is a true story, certain elements were altered to protect the privacy of some of the characters, as well as add to the general rhythm of the story. Everything I have written, then, is either totally true, or is at least based on true events. I encourage you to look within and decide for yourself what you believe is real. I ask only that you "feel" the message of Our Lady, rather than try to intellectually determine its validity. God’s voice is heard in the soul, is then experienced by our feelings, and is finally judged by the mind. Therefore, the mind is twice removed from the actual truth.

I admit that much of what you are about to read does not make sense from a physical/perceptual point of view. That’s why it’s miraculous, for miracles transcend the physical world and bring us a step closer to the Divine. Therefore, just for a little while, let your judgments go and enter into this story with an open mind. Let the Mother reveal herself to you in whatever way she sees fit. Then you will know the truth directly, not because I have said it is so, but because you believe.

The Emissary Message and ‘The Next Teacher’:

[The beginning of the book covers many of the events that led me to the summer of 1995 when I was invited to former Yugoslavia to meet the Emissaries of Light. All of this information is covered in the book, "Emissary of Light, A Vision of Peace" published by Warner Books. During the twelve days I was with these masters I had the privilege of conversing daily with the one called "Teacher," the leader of the community.]

… "So what is the message you want the world to hear?" I asked Teacher.

"There are two simple truths people need to accept if they are to move effortlessly into the New World, the world which is based on the laws of love. You will tell people these truths in whatever way you choose. There are many that have chosen to take the important step of becoming the ‘New Emissaries,’ and these people will understand. They are the ones you are being sent to help, and they will not misinterpret the simplicity of the message, but will be enlivened by it."

And then Teacher told me the Emissary message, the two simple truths that changed my life. In the last three years I have traveled around the world expressing these truths in any way I can. They have changed the lives of many, simply because we’re finally ready to hear them.

"The first message can be said in two words -- You’re Ready. You are ready to release the fearful beliefs that have kept you bound to the concept of separation. You are ready to accept the reality of love that is the foundation of your existence. And you are ready to give love to everyone in every way, for that is the only way you will fully experience it for yourself. These two words, so easily overlooked, are the catalyst that triggers your experience of a New World, a world where hatred and war are forgotten, and peace is the only law.

"The second message can be said in only three words--You Are Holy. Who you really are, the essence that God perceives, is beyond the scope of your imagination. If you are one with the Divine Pulse of creation, then you are also one with the holiness of God. That cannot change, simply because God cannot change. When you realize this, when you begin to perceive this truth within everyone you meet, including yourself, then the world will change by itself. You will watch the miracle of love unfold before your eyes, simply because you have affirmed what is true, that you are one with God, and therefore with everyone. You are holy, and that cannot change. Rejoice in that knowledge, for it is the foundation of the New World, the world you are about to enter."

Then he said something I will never forget, words that haunted my memory for the next three years.

"And when you accept these messages, that you are ready, and that the truth in you is the very essence of holiness, then you will recognize the next teacher--the Messenger of Love. It is this teacher who will take you through the Door of Eternity, to the very seat of the soul. When you and others have opened your heart to this experience, then humanity will enter a new era, one that is ruled by compassion and grace. At that time you will understand everything, not with your mind but with your heart."

"What is the Door of Eternity?" I asked.

"It is a doorway to the real world, a bridge that connects this world with your true home, what you would call Heaven. It has always been right in front of you, waiting for you to enter. But you have been convinced that you must die to enter, as if your body is the barrier keeping you from the joy God would give you. The only barrier blocking your entry is fear. When you release the fearful patterns that have ruled your life and accept the love that binds you to the Divine, then Heaven will sweep you up like a mother does her child. You are like the child that stands crying because it believes it wants to be alone. It is your mother’s arms you seek, not loneliness. In your arrogance you have denied the love that would set you free. And yet that love has never left you, waiting for the moment when you would open your eyes and accept it."

"How do I enter that door?"

"I cannot tell you. The next teacher will explain everything. You will have to go through many trials before that one comes to you, but when you are ready, when humanity itself is ready, the Door will open and Heaven will have it’s way."

Many extraordinary things happened during my days with the Emissaries of Light, but the words I heard from Teacher that particular day changed everything. I knew that I would devote my life to sharing their message, but I couldn’t have guessed what lay ahead, all the adventures and challenges. There I was, at the very heart of a war I didn’t understand, an ethnic conflict that seemed to contradict everything the Emissaries said to me. There were still many questions, and yet something tremendous happened to me in the mountains of Bosnia, and all I wanted to do was share it.

Invitation to Serbia and the ‘Zagreb Mandala’:

…The book Emissary of Light was published a year later. I began traveling around the world telling people the two simple truths the Emissaries shared with me. Before long I found myself being invited to more countries experiencing extreme violence, and the Peace Concert began to have an incredible impact on international politics. Saddam Hussein, the beleaguered president of Iraq, invited me to perform the Peace Concert in Baghdad the same week another war seemed inevitable. Days later I received an invitation from a government official in Northern Ireland to sing at Stormont Castle in Belfast during the peace talks there. Concerts in Jerusalem, Brazil, Mexico, and the United Nations also proved that there was something incredible happening to us all. Each time I performed, millions of people would gather around the world in small groups, in churches, in their homes, and even through the Internet, to pray for peace. And each time a powerful pulse echoed through the world calling humanity to awaken the spirit of compassion and forgiveness.

But there was one question I kept asking myself: Who is "the next teacher" Teacher spoke about. . .the "Messenger of Love?" He said that this teacher would symbolize the shift in consciousness from fear to compassion, and I began to sense that this teacher was not for me alone, but for the whole world. Impatience tugged at my heart. When would I meet the one who would take me through the "Door?"

In March of 1997, I received a letter from a man named Risto Rundo inviting me to perform the Peace Concert in Belgrade, the capitol of Serbia. The peace accord had been signed a year earlier ending the war in Bosnia but tension was still extremely high. At the same time tens of thousands of demonstrators were taking to the streets every day in Belgrade protesting their president’s tyrannical policies. The invitation challenged me to proceed with the mission I had dedicated my life to--continuing to serve as the Peace Troubadour. "We need this concert," he said to me in a letter. "We have such a strong desire for peace."

Around the same time an unidentified person sent me a newsletter that highlighted an article called, "The Zagreb Mandala." It said that there were a number of young people in Croatia and Slovania who had a vision of a twelve-spoked wheel. The vision, it turned out, was so profound that they drew the wheel out on the floor and used it as the focus of their meditation, and when I looked at the published drawing I was amazed. It was almost identical to the Emissary wheel I saw in the mountains of Bosnia, the wheel that was the center of their mystical meditations. There had to be a connection between these people and the Emissaries I encountered, and since I would soon be leaving for Belgrade I decided it was the perfect opportunity to find out just what it was.

I called the publishers of the newsletter and told them my story. Then I asked them for a phone number in Croatia. "You don’t need to wait to see them in Croatia if you don’t want," the woman said. "Two of the main people from the group, Ishtar and Maya, are in Southern California…San Diego I think. You can contact them there if you want."

The fact that I was making the call from Los Angeles made my choice decidedly easy. I called the number I was given and spoke first to Maya, and after a few moments we decided to meet. I had told her about the Emissaries wondering if my story made sense to her. There was a long pause on the other end when I finished.

"Come as soon as you can," she said to me. "It is very important that we speak…in fact it is urgent."

I drove to San Diego the next day with my friend Jennifer. The two-hour drive helped me air many of the thoughts swirling through my mind, the confused disjointed wanderings that dominated the year and a half since I first met the Emissaries. Maybe this is the beginning of the next phase, I thought to myself. Maybe they know who ‘the next teacher’ is.

"Don’t you think ‘the next teacher’ will come when you’re ready?" Jennifer said. "The more you think about it the longer it’s going to take, if you ask me. Just relax and do what the Emissaries said to do. The book is out and people are getting the message. That’s why you were brought there in the first place. When the time is right it will happen."

"I can’t stop thinking about it," I told her. "There was something about the way Teacher described ‘the next teacher’ that seemed so urgent. I’m glad the book is out and I’m happy the Emissary message is being heard, but this is the next step for me. I feel like I’m at a standstill until ‘the next teacher’ appears."

"That’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re at a standstill because you want to be. You’ve been given an incredible job, traveling around the world extending everything you learned from the Emissaries. If you keep focusing on what you think is going to happen in the future you’re going to miss what’s happening right in front of you."

When we arrived at the apartment complex where Maya and Ishtar were staying I felt a strange unsettled feeling in my stomach. We stood next to the car for a moment and I wondered about what was happening to me.

"What’s the matter?" Jennifer asked.

"I’m not sure. As soon as we pulled up I felt something tugging at my solar plexus. It feels as if I’m not supposed to be here for some reason."

"We drove two hours to get here," she said. "What good is it going to do us if we turn around now?"

She was right. I had no idea what the feeling meant, or if it meant anything at all. Maya and Ishtar could be the connection that leads me to ‘the next teacher,’ I thought to myself. There was no way I was going to turn back.

We knocked on the door and heard the bolt slip as it unlocked. Maya opened it smiling, her long blonde hair still wet from the shower.

"I’m sorry, but I just finished getting dressed," she said. "Please come in. Ishtar will be ready in a few moments."

She led us to a small room with three chairs, the living room as far as I could tell. We sat down and Maya disappeared in the kitchen.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked. I looked over at Jennifer and she shook her head.

"No thank you," I said to her. "We’ve both fine. By the way, how long have you been in San Diego?"

Maya came back in the room and sat down across from me. She looked so young, younger than even her nineteen years. And yet her eyes told me more, the sort of eyes one acquires through pain and sorrow. They were tired and dark, as if they needed a long rest. Otherwise she looked no different than any other teenager, regardless of where she was from.

"We have been here for only one week," she said as she sipped from a cup of tea. "We have been in Southern California for nearly a month, but we will wait for Ishtar before we tell you our story."

Just then a tall thin man with deep, penetrating eyes stepped out of the bedroom. Jennifer and I stood to shake his hand.

"I am Ishtar," he said, then sat down next to Maya.

"Now that we are all here we can begin," Maya said. "From what you told me on the phone it seems we have a great deal in common. Ishtar is the one who had the vision of the wheel. It is because of him that several of us came together to meditate for peace. But that is only one of the reasons we sit around the wheel. We believe that it is time for us to ascend, and we need to find our ascension family here on earth. We each had a dream of a community of spiritual masters who live somewhere in Southern California, somewhere in the hills we believe, and we know that these are the people we must find. They are ready to ascend and we are meant to go with them."

As Maya talked Ishtar looked at me, as if his eyes were laser beams that cut through my consciousness. He never said a word, but watched Jennifer and I with an unwavering stare.

"In our dream," Maya continued, "the dream we had together the same night, we saw a house that we believe is in Pacific Palisades. The people who live in that house will know of this community, and they will lead us there."

"What do you believe will happen then?" I asked.

"We will ascend," Ishtar final said with a dark tone. "That is why we have come here, and we must them."

"We have called several hundred people looking for this house," Maya said as she put her hand on Ishtar’s. "Each person gave us a few more names and we asked them all the same question. We described the house we saw in our dream and asked them if they knew where it was. Everyday we walk through the neighborhoods of Pacific Palisades looking, but we have not found it yet. We have no money, and until recently we slept wherever we could. We are here in San Diego visiting a Croatian friend we know. In a week we will go back to LA and continue our search."

"Where will you stay?" Jennifer asked her.

"Two weeks ago we met a priest named Fr. John and he took us into his home," Maya said. "He has been to Croatia and Bosnia several times doing the same kind of work you do, Jimmy. I believe you should meet him. It may be important for both of you."

I looked over at Jennifer and sensed that she was feeling uneasy. As soon as I had an opportunity I tried to steer the conversation to a natural conclusion.

"These Emissaries you met, they sound very much like the people we are looking for," Ishtar suddenly said.

"Your description is very similar," I said. "And the fact that I met the Emissaries in your country, and now here you are in my country looking for the same type of community…it is all very intriguing."

"I believe you know where we need to go," he continued. "If you have been with the Emissaries then perhaps you can find them again. Perhaps they left Croatia and came here."

I wanted to help them but I knew I couldn’t. They were obviously on to something, but I also felt that they were not grounded enough to understand what they were really looking for. They seemed to be searching for a way out of the world, and judging from what they had experienced in their lives it was no surprise. What I learned from the Emissaries had nothing to do with leaving the world, but entering it fully. Ascension is not an escape, but the natural result of giving up all escapes. But how could I explain this to them? Their pain was so deep and their search was so vast that they had to find it out for themselves.

"I wish I could help you," I told them. "But I don’t know anything about the Emissaries being here, or anywhere else."

Moments later Jennifer and I were at my car ready to leave.

"I feel sorry for them," Jennifer said as she opened the door.

"Why?"

"Because they’re obviously very sincere. But it’s also obvious that they aren’t ready for whatever it is they’re searching for. But then again, I probably would have thought the same thing about you if I had met you in Croatia."

Just then Maya ran to the car and handed me a piece of paper.

"This is Fr. John’s phone number," she said. "Please call him when you can. I truly believe you are supposed to meet, no matter what you think of us."

From the moment we left Maya and Ishtar I felt the heaviness in my stomach increase till it was nearly unbearable. Something seemed to be trying to steer me away from them, and every time I thought of calling Fr. John the feeling intensified. I wanted to throw his phone number away and be done with the business. But what if he had the clue I was looking for? Circumstances seemed to be pulling me toward and away from him at the same time.

Kosovo and The Order of the Beloved Disciple:

…I decided to call Fr. John three days after our visit with Maya and Ishtar. Much to my amazement, as soon as he answered the phone I felt the heavy weight leave. I introduced myself and told him who had given me his number.

"Yes, Maya told me you might call," he said. "It sounds like you had quite an adventure in former Yugoslavia. I just bought your book ‘Emissary of Light’ but haven’t had a chance to read it yet."

"According to Maya you have been to Bosnia as well," I said.

"Yes, several times. I was stuck in Sarajevo once during the height of the war, then went back a year later to plant a peace pole at the exact spot where the ArchDuke Ferdinand was assassinated in 1914 sparking World War I. It appears the earth has a tendency to remember powerful events, regardless of whether they’re positive or negative…on an energetic level, of course. I believe that planting a peace pole and saying certain prayers can help neutralize a negative vortex and bring it back to normal. That has been one of the more bizarre areas of my work lately."

I then told him about the concert I was scheduled to perform in Belgrade. He explained that he had wanted to go to Serbia for a long time.

"There is a region of Serbia called Kosovo which is ready to explode in ethnic warfare at any time," he said. "In Kosovo there is a place called the ‘Field of the Blackbird’ which has been an energetic point zero for all the negative events that have taken place there for the last seven hundred years. During the Crusades there was a battle on this small area of land and the entire Serbian army was slaughtered. It became their battle cry, ‘Remember the Field of the Blackbirds,’ and they’ve been saying it ever since. Almost every conflict in that region of the world has had some connection to that field. I believe it is because the land itself has not been healed. I want to go there with a peace pole and conduct the same ceremony we did in Sarajevo."

He definitely didn’t talk like any priest I had ever heard before. Catholic priests don’t normally believe in things like, "healing the land," or "negative energy vortex’s." If for no other reason than that I knew I had to meet him. He agreed and we decided that Jennifer and I would join him at his house the next evening.

"…I read your book ‘Emissary of Light’ today and must say that I am amazed," John said as soon as we arrived. He was a small man with wild unkempt hair, and wore a blue sweater with a medallion of the Blessed Mother hanging around his neck. His appearance made me think that we were in for a bit of a ride, but then I looked into his eyes and felt utter compassion, as if he radiated peace. We sat down with him at a kitchen table that stood in the center of his living room. It was covered with papers and the whole room was filled with books and photographs.

"What about the book amazed you?" I asked.

"Well, this may take some time to explain, but I feel it’s important for you to get a full picture of who these people really are. Let me begin by asking you a couple of questions: Do you know where the Emissaries came from…or what spiritual lineage they claim?"

"Not at all," I told him. "They said that the Emissaries have existed in one way or another for thousands of years…that they are an ancient mystery school."

"That is correct, but do you know where or how they began?"

"No I don’t…in fact I have often wondered that myself, but every time I asked they wouldn’t give me an answer. They said it wasn’t important and that I should concentrate on what was."

"They may be right…but I personally believe that there is a reason to discuss their heritage further. Before we go into that I feel I should explain a few things. First of all, do you know the three basic commands Jesus gave to his apostles in the gospels?"

I was immediately taken aback by his question and wondered where he was leading me. It was as if our conversation suddenly turned into a Bible history class.

"The first command was given to all the apostles at the Last Supper," John continued. "He told them to love one another unconditionally. Later he said to Peter, ‘Feed my sheep.’ Finally, during the crucifixion he said to John, ‘This is your mother,’ referring of course to Mary, and the gospel goes on to say that John took Mary into his home. These are the only times Jesus gave direct commands to his apostles."

"How does this apply to the Emissaries?" I asked.

"Let’s look at the nature of these three commands," John said, as if I hadn’t said a word. "The first command, his words to the apostles, were actually directed to the community of believers, what we would call the church. He was giving us, in very simple and public terms, the foundation of his whole teaching. The second command, the words he spoke to Peter were in truth spoken to the institution. The primary responsibility of the institutional church is to provide for the spiritual needs of the people.

"The most mysterious command is the one he gave to John," he continued. "Now you’ll recall that John is referred to as ‘the Beloved Disciple.’ This related to the deep mystical bond between Jesus and John, and that is the clue we are looking for. When he was dying on the cross Jesus said to John, ‘Behold your mother,’ and to Mary he said, ‘Woman, behold your son.’ We also know that John was the only apostle that wasn’t martyred. It’s clear that his role was special, that he had been put in charge of Jesus’ most sacred relationship, the relationship he had with his mother."

I was becoming confused and had a hard time following him. There was still no direct link to the Emissaries, and that’s the only reason I was listening. As intriguing as all this was, it wasn’t getting me any closer to discovering the identity of ‘the next teacher.’

"There’s one more passage I want to remind you of," he continued without the slightest pause. "At the end of the fourth gospel, after the resurrection, Peter looks at John and says, ‘Lord, what will happen to him?’ Jesus replies, ‘If it should be my will that he wait until I come again, what it is to you?’ Why would Peter ask this question? And more important, what did Jesus mean by this? There was something about the relationship between Peter and John that Peter never understood. Peter’s role was to head the institution, and thus became the first pope. But John’s role was a secret. He was given the care of Jesus’ mother, and that is almost all we hear of him. The institution, of which Peter was in charge, had no idea what John’s real role was.

"To continue that thought, most historians admit that the Gospel of John, the Letters of John, and the Book of Revelations, though they are all attributed to the same disciple, were actually written by two or three different people. It is believed that John founded a group called ‘The Order of the Beloved Disciple,’ and that members of this community, under the guidance of the saint, took his words and wrote them down. The last words Jesus spoke to John before his death became the foundation and focus of their lives: ‘This is your mother.’ They took her into their homes, or into their hearts, and then waited for the return of the Christ."

I began to see a pattern developing in his long winding path. The pieces were beginning to fall into place, and I needed just another moment of patience.

"What happened to this order?" I asked him.

"No one knows exactly. Some people believe they went underground, at least the more esoteric branches of the order. Later on many sects of the community were declared heretics and were massacred by the church. For example, the only nation to ever make this esoteric society its official religion was Bosnia. They were called the Bogomils which means, ‘the lovers of God.’ The Cathars and Knights Templar were also members of the order, but they too were massacred. During the Dark Ages anyone that did not follow the established rite was either killed or forced to conform. It seemed that the esoteric order started by St. John was destroyed."

"But it wasn’t, was it," I said as I finally saw where he was leading me. "You believe that the Emissaries of Light are part of that order, don’t you?"

"It seems to make sense," John said as he stood up from his chair. "Maybe I should explain something. Though I am a priest, I have always known that I am also part of the ‘Order of the Beloved Disciple.’ I am, in the strictest sense of the word, a heretic in my own church. This is obviously not something I can talk about publicly, but it is true nonetheless. It has always been one of my goals to help reestablish the order. I also know that it has continued to this day, but only in total secrecy. It is a long-standing tradition that the communities pray for the evolution of humanity, as well as wait for the return of the Light of Christ. And this fits in perfectly with your Emissaries."

"And the fact that the Emissaries were in Bosnia makes sense as well," I said. "If what you said is true, that Bosnia was the only country where the society was the official religion, then it explains why the Emissaries were there."

"It’s certainly true," he said. "Any of this can be looked up in any number of books. In fact, strictly speaking, they didn’t even call themselves Bogomils. They simply called themselves Christians, and yet they had no hierarchy, no pope, and men and women were equal. Their faith and their lives were lived in utter simplicity. As a result they were a great threat to the institutional church, and from that perspective, had to be stopped. Bosnia, as you know, is sandwiched between Croatia and Serbia. The Croatian Catholics and the Serbian Orthodoxy persecuted the Bogomils terribly, and that persecution continues to this day."

"It sounds to me that the trouble started with Peter and John," Jennifer added. "That line from the gospel you mentioned before, about Peter not being concerned with what Jesus had asked John to do…it’s obvious that a division or some mild schism was created."

"That’s correct," John said. "Right there on the last page of the gospels you have a clear distinction between the role of the outer church, headed by Peter, and the mission of the inner community, inspired by John. As the church grew and gained influence it became increasingly difficult for the hierarchy to know what its more secret side was doing. Peter had the words of Jesus to confirm the role of John, but what happens a thousand years later when the church has become a corrupt political institution? For the next several hundred years the church launched various crusades to destroy these communities. That is what sent them underground, and so they have remained until today."

"The fact that I was brought to the Emissaries and asked to extend their teaching indicates that they’re not to be kept secret anymore," I said.

"I agree," John said. "Just as Jesus says in the Gospel, the lineage of John would wait for the Second Coming of Christ. Your Emissaries spoke about a new teacher, the ‘Messenger of Love.’ I believe that this teacher, whoever it is, is the bearer of light we have been waiting for. The Emissaries have actually broken their silence, and like John the Baptist who prepared the way of Jesus, we have all been asked to prepare the way again."

I was suddenly overwhelmed with the importance of this discovery. When Teacher said to tell people that they are ready for the transformation that is at hand, he meant it quite literally. He said that people need to be activated to understand the coming revelation, otherwise it would pass them by. In the same way, John the Baptist went through Israel telling people to repent and prepare the way of the Lord. He too was activating people so they could hear the message of Jesus. Two thousand years later the same message is being heard, not only through the Emissaries but also all through the world.

"I have been waiting for an opportunity like this for a very long time," John said to me. "I believe that the Emissaries you met in the mountains of Bosnia are the most secret and elusive branch of the ‘Order of the Beloved Disciple’ founded by St. John. And I also believe that they know what we only suspect, that the time of the Second Coming is at hand. I also have a feeling I know who this ‘new teacher’ is, but I can’t say anything about it yet. There is a woman I want you to meet, a shaman who lives here in Los Angeles named Shrinat Devi. I believe that she will know what we should do next. But we should wait until we’re ready to leave for Serbia before we see her."

"I don’t understand," I said. "Are you planning on coming with me?"

"If you don’t mind I feel it’s important that I go. I want to bring a peace pole and plant it at the ‘Field of the Blackbird.’ I think your concert is the perfect reason to go, and once we are there we can do the real work. I also believe that we will be shown more about ‘the next teacher’ the Emissaries spoke of. That’s really what you want, isn’t it?"

I agreed and we decided to plan the trip together. The sudden change in direction startled me, but it felt right. There was something about Fr. John that completely intrigued me and his knowledge about the lineage of St. John suddenly seemed invaluable. Jennifer and I said goodnight and I promised to call him the next day to arrange our visas and our flight.

(From a report submitted by Fr. John entitled: The Real Meaning of the Battle of Kosovo)

The battle of Kosovo took place on June 28, 1389 between a Christian Coalition led by Tsar Lazar of Serbia and the Turkish Muslim forces led by King Murad. In addition to being a great leader, Tsar Lazar was also a very spiritual and holy man. In a story told to every Serbian school child for countless generations, an extraordinary event is recounted. The night before the battle God appeared to Tsar Lazar and told him he could win either a great material or a great spiritual victory. It was his choice. Being a man of profound Christian faith, Tsar did not hesitate and chose the spiritual victory. The next day the battle was lost and both Tsar Lazar and King Murad were killed.

The misinterpretation of that event by Serbian nationalists has led to their denial of Tsar Lazar’s vow as well as the promise given to him by God. It is as if the ancient battle had never been lost, as if the Muslims had never fought in Kosovo at all, or that the 400 year cultural flowering and unique legacy of Muslims and Christians living together in Bosnia never occurred

Tsar Lazar’s choice of a great spiritual victory led eventually to the flowering of diverse religious and ethnic cultures, all living together in peace and harmony. This was most profound in Sarajevo, a model of hope for the future of the world and a bulwark against religious fundamentalism and fanaticism. In their denial and misunderstanding of this, and ultimately the building of Gazi Mestan in Kosovo, a monument symbolizing Serbian ethnic and religious nationalism, the values Tsar Lazar had repudiated in his choice for a spiritual victory were lost. Serbia went against their greatest spiritual leader, his vow and choice, and God’s promise to him.

It is well known that World War I was triggered by the assassination of ArchDuke Ferdinand in Sarajevo on June 1914 by a Serbian man named Gavrilo Princep. This in turn paved the way for World War II, the rise of the Adolph Hitler and the Nazi party, the Holocaust, and many other horrors. The war in former Yugoslavia ended nearly a century of European warfare with ethnic violence that had not been seen since Hitler. What is not so well known are the links of all these events to Kosovo and the promise to Tsar Lazar.

Gavrilo Princep, a Serbian nationalist, specifically chose the day of June 28 to assassinate the ArchDuke. It was the anniversary of the Battle of Kosovo, but what he did not know was the true nature of the group that sponsored the assassination and from whom he took his direction. They were not the like-minded nationalist’s Princep thought they were, but a secret Serbian occult terrorist organization that called themselves "The Black Hand." In this light the events of 1914-1945 and their spiritual significance take on a whole new meaning.

The continuation of these events bring us back to Kosovo on June 28, 1989, the 600^th anniversary of the battle. President Milosevic of Serbia, also the last president of Yugoslavia, gave an historic speech on the battlefield of Kosovo to rally the last vestiges of a greater Serbia. This final tragic misinterpretation of the spiritual victory won at the Battle of Kosovo and God’s promise to Tsar Lazar set into motion all the terrible events that have taken place in Bosnia, Croatia, Slovania and now Kosovo over the last ten years. These have all been the dark fruits of the misunderstanding of the Battle of Kosovo.

Meeting Shrinat Devi:

…We pulled up in front of a small house in a marginally poor neighborhood in Inglewood. As soon as we got out of the car I felt a strange sensation, as if we had just entered a bubble of light. John and I walked to the back entrance and knocked on the door. Seconds later a tall black woman with deep radiant eyes stood in front of us, and before we could say a word she took us both by the hand and led us to the front yard.

"The Mother has a message for both of you," she said. "You need to go with her blessing, for this is her work . . . she’s the one who has called you on this journey."

As we turned the corner I saw a wooden shrine with the words "Queen of Peace" painted above a three-foot statue of Mary. Shrinat Devi literally pushed me to my knees in front of the statue and said: "You have to pray for guidance. Otherwise you may get hurt over there. This is a critical time for you and for the whole world. But if we all stick with her we’ll be fine."

Then she put one hand over my heart and the other on my back. "Fr. John , pray the ‘Hail Mary’ with me three times," she said over her shoulder. I could hear the sound of their voices as they prayed, but I felt myself being pulled into an altered state, as if I were leaving that place and going somewhere completely new.

But it wasn’t new at all. In fact, it was a very old place, a time from my past when I was young and naive. I was suddenly back at Marytown, the friary near Chicago, praying before the statue of Mary that I loved so much. I could feel her presence, and tears of joy began running down my cheeks. It was as if I was in love, and my whole life was ahead of me. I wanted to merge with her light, her holiness and her grace. The experience enveloped me in a blanket of peace, and then filled me completely.

In the midst of this experience, I could feel Shrinat Devi lean over and place her mouth next to my ear. "That’s right, honey, she’s right there with you. She wants you to know that she hasn’t forgotten you, even though you forgot her. This is the time she needs you most, and she has sent many angels to bring you back. She wants you to go to Medjugorje, the village in Bosnia where she appeared to the six little children. That’s where you’ll see her, and she’ll give you the next direction. Do whatever it takes to get there, because that’s where the miracle is going to begin."

Then she said something to me I will never forget: "Don’t worry about anything, because Mary’s going to take you through the Door. She’s the one you’ve been waiting for."

Journey to Serbia:

…John and I left for Serbia an hour later and immediately began reviewing our plans. The problem was that we only had a single entry visa, and if we left Serbia, we would not be able to return. That would interrupt the reason we were making this journey--to plant the peace pole in Kosovo. But I felt the truth in what Shrinat Devi said to me. I knew she was right. . . I could feel it in my bones. One way or another I had to get into Bosnia, then make my way back to Medjugorje. I knew that Mary would take care of the details, that is, of course, if she really did want me.

Somewhere during the flight to Serbia the pain in my stomach returned. The closer we got to our destination the stronger it felt, and I was afraid that I was going to be sick. I told John about my concern and he tried to put me at ease.

"I think our suspicions about the energy of Serbia were correct," he said. "As soon as we crossed into Serbian air-space I felt the heaviness myself, as if there’s a huge black glove hovering over the entire country blocking the light. I am starting to think that the work of the occult society I mentioned before [the Order of the Black Hand] is stronger than I anticipated. They don’t want us here at all, as if our presence is a great threat to their work."

"What are we going to do about it?" I asked him.

"We’re going to do what we came to do. You’ll perform your concert and pray the peace prayers. Then we’ll go to Kosovo and plant the peace pole. It is important that we leave as soon as possible when we have finished our work. These things have a tendency to swing back around, like an energetic backlash. We don’t want to put ourselves at more risk than we need to."

[When Fr. John and I arrived in Serbia we discovered that the peace concert had been canceled and we had no where to stay. Everything was falling apart and the pain in my stomach had increased dramatically. Fr. John felt that I was under psychic attack and conducted an unusual ceremony to clear the energy. After two days we moved to a hotel in downtown Belgrade.]

We checked into the downtown hotel and collapsed on our beds. I felt as if we had hit a brick wall, as if we had misinterpreted the signs. We didn’t say a word to each other for several minutes, just lay there looking up at the ceiling.

"Maybe we’re supposed to go to Medjugorje like Shrinat Devi said," I ventured.

"But if we go to Bosnia now we may not be able to get back into Serbia," John said. "And that means we will miss the chance to plant the peace pole in Kosovo . . . and that’s the real reason we’re here."

I sensed that John was afraid of something that he could not bring himself to say, probably of me leaving him and going on to Medjugorje alone. But there was something about what Shrinat Devi said to me, something in the tone of her voice which convinced me she was right. I did need to go back to Bosnia, and though I didn’t want to leave John, it was starting to seem that we were there on different missions after all.

Not more than ten minutes after we checked into our hotel we heard the sound of music coming from the street. It rose through the air and entered our room like a friend, a familiar voice that instantly soothed my ailing nerves. The music, which we instantly recognized as the Beatle’s "Twist and Shout," grew louder till we went out onto the balcony to have a look. It couldn’t be a car stereo, which is what I first thought. It was too loud for that.

The first thing we saw was a Jeep with a metal scaffolding built around its chassis, and balanced on the metal frame were four huge speakers facing in different directions. Behind the Jeep, an amazing number of people marched and danced their way toward us. There were easily ten thousand women and men carrying banners and singing. They were like an enormous wave, and I felt my adrenaline catapult me out of the room and down the stairs. John was right behind me, and within seconds we were in the crowd, completely engulfed by the mass.

It seemed more like a party than a demonstration. The feeling of thousands of people, many of whom did not even speak English, dancing down the street singing, "Now shake it up baby...twist and shout," was amazing, even a little surreal. We could have been anywhere, with any group of young people, but the fact that we were in Belgrade demonstrating against an oppressive dictator was almost too much for me. I felt the excitement building, and I had to know what was happening.

"We realized months ago that Milosovic was not going to use force to stop us," a student told me. "NATO is right next door in Bosnia and would never let him get away with it. So we made it a huge party. Everyday thousands of people take over the street...we dance and we sing our songs. Then we go home. And we will continue this party until he gives in to us."

We talked with many students that day and heard the same story. They were taking to the streets with joy, not anger--and the government didn’t know what to do. At one point we came to a large brick building that seemed to be covered in a strange sticky substance. The huge crowd stopped and began blowing whistles that were so shrill I had to cover my ears. I just stood there looking at the building, wondering what the glistening substance was.

"This building is the Ministry of Media," I was told. "It is controlled by the government and produces all the television programming available in Serbia. Three days ago everyone brought an egg and we threw them at the building. You should have seen it...thousands of eggs flying at one time and splattering in unison."

Maria, the Young Serbian Student:

…The demonstrators passed our hotel again the next day, but this time Fr. John wanted to remain behind. I decided not to talk to many of the students, just walk beside them and observe their heroism. I had learned so much the day before and felt inclined to keep a bit of distance.

After a few blocks I noticed a young blonde woman walking beside me. She seemed to be alone and I felt an overwhelming desire to speak with her. At first I was taken aback by this feeling since I had just moment earlier decided to be alone, and because I had no intention of getting "involved" with anyone. But the feeling was so strong, and I knew I had to do something. She was radiant, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen…I was sure of that. I finally tried to get her attention, but she didn’t seem to notice me at all.

"Do you speak English?" I finally asked, leaning into her line of vision.

"Yes, I do," she said as she turned toward me and smiled.

"Are you a student here?" I waited for a long pause, yet there was no answer, so I tried again. "My name is Jimmy. I’m from..."

"Yes, I know where you are from. But why are you here, that’s what I was wondering?"

I was stunned by her sudden inquiry, and yet she seemed to inspire a strange energy that completely overwhelmed me. It wasn’t a conscious feeling as much as an instant recognition. I didn’t know what to say, as if I had suddenly forgotten why I was there.

"I’m here to plant a peace pole in Kosovo," I finally said, "and to sing in a concert which seems to have been canceled."

"Why do you say it has been canceled?" she asked.

"Everything is changing here, and I don’t know what to think. All I know is that I came here to perform, but the people who were supposed to have arranged the concert are nowhere to be found."

"Maybe you came here for a reason you have yet to discover," she said. "Maybe it will surprise you."

"What is your name?" I asked her.

"My name is Maria," she said, then smiled as if she was about to say more, but she never did.

"You seem different from the other students," I told her, anxious to continue the conversation. "You haven’t said much, but I feel a depth that I didn’t sense in my other conversations with people."

"What do you mean by depth?"

"I’m not sure really...I guess I can’t explain it. Call it intuition, as if I can tell something about you without you saying it."

In all truth, I think I was hitting on her . . . though I didn’t really notice it myself. Part of me felt an unfathomable distance from this angel who had suddenly appeared before me, and the rest of me seemed wholly focused on closing that gap. I was falling deeply in love with her, and that fact defied logic. There I was walking down this busy Serbian street with thousands of other people, and yet my mind was completely focused on one thing: Maria. Who was she, I wondered? Where had she come from and how was she inspiring this sudden devotion?

"There is a great deal more to discover," she said. "Do not trust what appears before your eyes because the truth lies past the gaze. Look behind the appearance and you will perceive something which is much closer to the truth."

"What do you mean?" I asked, stunned. I had not expected words like these, even though the energy was so strong.

"There is a truth which you cannot see," she continued, "here or anywhere else. You look around yourself and you see students who seem to be fighting for their rights. But that is a very narrow perspective, a very small picture compared to what is really happening. They are really searching for themselves, but they don’t realize it. They have not learned to look within to discover reality, so they look to the world. Ultimately the world will fail them and they will be forced to look deeper. Then they will see with different eyes and understand what lies past their senses."

She spoke as if she were completely isolated from the other students in the crowd, as if she had nothing to do with them. Yet on the surface there was no discernible difference between Maria and the others, except for the insight that seemed so natural, so clear that there was no doubting its authenticity.

"You seem to have a very deep understanding," I said to her, completely perplexed. "How have you come to such a profound perspective?"

"I’m sorry, but I must leave now," she said as she reached out her hand to say good-bye. "It has been nice talking to you."

"Wait a minute," I said, tightening my grip on her hand. The thought of her leaving so suddenly was impossible to bear. "Where do you have to go? Can’t you stay a little longer?"

"I cannot. But you will see me again. It will happen...I promise you."

She wrested her hand from mine and seconds later disappeared in the crowd. I watched her as she slipped in between several students, and then was gone. For a moment I wondered what had happened. Who was Maria and why did she say the things she did, only to leave so suddenly? And how could I possibly find her again in this crowd? There were thousands of people crammed onto a single street. It would take a miracle to find her again.

…That night at dinner John and I made a decision. He finally agreed that I should follow Shrinat Devi’s recommendation and go to Medjugorje. We were not able to get permission to plant the large peace pole in Kosovo, so we decided that John would go there alone and plant a six-inch pole in its place. I would take the seven-foot pole to Medjugorje and hopefully get permission to plant it there.

I decided to not even try and find Maria. It was easier to forget all about her and get back to the real reason I was there. Our time was growing short and a decision had been made. As I got on the bus heading out of Serbia the next morning I tried to clear my mind of every thought of Maria and concentrate on what lay ahead. It took most of the journey, and I nearly succeeded.

[Fr. John went on to Kosovo, to the Field of the Blackbirds, and planted the small peace pole, and I went back into Bosnia, to Medjugorje, to plant the other. I chose a place called, "The Hill of Apparitions," the rocky summit where the six children had witnessed the miracle of Mary’s appearance beginning in 1981. An unusual omen led me to the spot where I planted the pole using a ceremony Fr. John taught me. Later that day I felt the need to return to the hill and pray.]

The Woman on the Hill of Apparitions:

…I thought about the pole that entire day. It seemed to be calling me back to the hill, as if it wanted company, someone to sit by its side and pray. Late in the afternoon I decided to visit it one last time, to look out over the landscape and breath in that sacred air. As I prepared to return to the hill I wondered why I felt so connected to this strange and violent land. It was my third trip to former Yugoslavia, and each visit was so unique, beginning with the Emissaries.

This journey was no exception, and I wondered if it was because the whole area had once vibrated with the teachings of St. John’s mystical community. It was a thousand years earlier that the Bogomils, the Lovers of God, preached their unique form of Christianity, a church that taught equality and forbearance above everything. They were killed for their faith, and the bloodbath had continued ever since. Maybe this beacon atop this tiny hill would help remind people of their ancient heritage. As I began walking toward the hill I prayed this might be possible.

I climbed the hill and ventured through the thorn bushes and loose rocks. Minutes later I was at the pole and sat down to meditate. It was late afternoon and I could feel the sun falling behind me. In a few moments it would disappear behind the hill, and then the light would begin to fade. I wondered if I would be able to find my way down the hill in the dark. It looked as if I still had an hour of sun-light. After that it would be a dangerous descent.

Then I heard something behind me, like the sound of someone stepping on loose rocks. At first it was hard to tell what it was, but I soon realized that someone was actually coming down the hill and walking in my direction. I turned around but the sun was in my eyes and I could only make out the figure of a woman. I decided to wait for her to get near, then I would look again. While I waited I wondered why anyone would risk themselves on this dangerous terrain, especially at this time of day. I thought I was the only one without enough sense to go home before dark.

I could hear the sound of footsteps very close behind where I sat. If I waited much longer she would be at my side, and I wanted to look before then. When I turned it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, then I saw her. I gasped when I realized who it was, as if all the air suddenly went out of me. My eyes widened and I couldn’t move.

"Hello. Do you remember me?" she smiled.

It was Maria, from the march in Belgrade. But that was impossible. She was a student in Serbia, and it would be nearly impossible for a Serbian to get into Bosnia this close to the end of the war. And besides, even if she could, the chances of seeing her on a hill in a tiny village hundreds of miles from Belgrade was nearly impossible. And yet, as impossible as it seemed, there she was, standing no more than ten feet from my side. She wore a brown suede jacket, jeans and leather boots. Her long hair was straight and blonde, falling loose behind her long thin neck. I suddenly felt the same overwhelming sensation that accompanied our meeting in Serbia, and it was then that I realized what was really happening.

"Maria," I gasped. "But it can’t be. You’re. . ."

There was a long moment of silence while we looked at each other. Her smile never faded, and neither did my amazement. Then the wind blew between us and sent a sudden chill up my spine. It made me shake for a second, just enough to awaken me from the trance of her gaze.

"Why are you surprised to see me?" she said as she sat down on a rock just to my right. "I promised that we would meet again…why not here in Medjugorje? This seems like an appropriate place."

"I can’t believe it," I said as my head began to spin. "You’re Maria . . . Mary . . . you’re the. . ." My words weren’t adequate. No words were adequate. The possibility seemed so incredibly unbelievable.

She smiled gently. "Once again, why are you so surprised? You knew I would come, you knew in so many ways. You felt me coming, just as I have always felt you. You made a promise to me a very long time ago, when you were just a child. You have forgotten that promise, but I haven’t."

"What was it I promised?" I asked.

"You asked to become an instrument of peace. Do you remember? You were only twelve years old sitting outside the church waiting for your mother to pick you up. You said that you wanted to give yourself to me and to be used to bring people to God. I have been with you every moment of your life, and have waited to come to you. I could never forget a promise like that."

"But why have you come in this physical way?" I asked suddenly overwhelmed by the realization of who was sitting next to me. "You’re no less solid than I am. You’re completely ordinary, but in another way, wholly Divine." As I said these words I realized how inappropriate I had been in Belgrade. If I had only known, I thought to myself. She seemed to read my thoughts and smiled again.

"God always works in ways we can understand. To six Croatian children who know only their catechism, I appear as the Queen of Peace holding a rosary. To you...well, you can see that it’s different. But the message is always the same. I have come to call people back to God, to ask them to convert their lives. But people don’t understand what that means. Often they believe it means sacrifice and penance, but in reality it means to accept love over fear. To sacrifice and deny yourself engenders and promotes fear, it doesn’t release it. God asks only that you release the blocks that have kept you away from love...that have kept you from realizing that you are one with the Divine. You have never been separate, not even for an instant, except in your imagination. It is time to release those ideas and come home. Then you will realize that love is your inheritance...that you are a Child of God."

"This sounds very much like the message I received from the Emissaries in the mountains of Bosnia," I said.

"This same message is being expressed in many ways, by many people. And this is the essence of what you have heard: When you discover the Divine within another, in whoever is right in front of you, then you discover it within yourself. You often look for God in the extraordinary, in fantastic phenomena. But the miracle is not outside you, it is within. You, all of you, are the miracle, and when you look to the essence of another, you perceive it in yourself. That is the message of God, and it has always been my message. You will find God in the ordinary, in the smile of a child, by looking into the eyes of someone you have never met and not being afraid, when you hold the door open for an extra few seconds while you wait for someone to enter. That’s how love is revealed in your life, that’s how you will find the Door you’re searching for."

"The Emissaries said that I would meet another teacher," I said to her. "Are you the one they spoke about?"

"Listen very close because what I am about to tell you is very important. I have not come for you alone, but for all the world. This is the dawn of the world of compassion and peace. I am the Queen of Peace because I fully embody these qualities, and I can assist your entry into this experience. You could say that I am the Feminine Principle. These qualities are traditionally feminine qualities, and it is into this energy that humanity must now enter. I can help in special ways, but only if you set aside the need to find peace through conflict. Compassion, understanding and tolerance are the paths that lead to me. This is the Door that humanity stands in front of."

"But what about those who are not Catholic. . .or Christian?" I asked. "Do people need to accept you in this particular role, or any particular religion?"

"I am not reserved for one particular group or religion," she said. "I am for the whole world, though many will find their own way of relating to me. The form is not important, but the energy is. It is the energy I bring that is important, and anyone can access it. If humanity is able to make this shift into the feminine energy, then peace will begin to sweep over the whole planet. But if you cling to power and domination, then you will miss this incredible opportunity, and you will continue to live in conflict."

I do not know how long we sat there, but I began to feel the cool wind on my neck and noticed that the sun had dipped behind the hill. It was the first time since she sat down next to me that I was aware of my body. Maria seemed to notice my discomfort and stood up as if she were going to leave.

"I still have a great deal more to tell you," she said. "But it will have to wait. I want you to begin cultivating these qualities in your own life. Live in compassion, breathe peace, teach only love, and you will start to sense the coming transformation. The next step will be revealed later, when you are ready. And because I know you will doubt what has happened here today, I am going to give you a sign that will put you at peace. In a very short time the whole world will see me flash through the sky with a tail of light. When you see this sign, know that the time is at hand when all the things I spoke of will come to pass. For now, never forget your promise to me, and know that I will never forget you."

She turned and began to walk up the hill in the same direction from which she had come. I tried to speak, but no words came. I still couldn’t believe it was happening, that Maria, whoever she was, had spoken to me as if we had been friends forever. In that instant I knew that my life would never be the same. I would never be able to go back to the way things were, or my old way of thinking. Then, just as it was becoming difficult to see her in the dark, she turned around and faced me again.

"The reason I am with you like this is because my whole teaching is contained in this form. Find God in the ordinary. Seek the Divine in each other, and within yourself. That’s how the transformation begins. That’s how you’ll remember who you are—the Sacred Self that God perceives. Come here again tomorrow and we’ll talk more. There’s still so much you need to learn, especially about the one who is coming…the bearer of light."

"I thought you were the one I was waiting for," I said to her. "Aren’t you ‘the next teacher’ the Emissaries spoke of?"

"The next teacher is already with you, and you will know what to do when that time comes. I am here to prepare you. I am here to remind you of your promise, and to hold your hand. Don’t worry, it will all make sense very soon."

Then she turned around and disappeared over the top of the hill. I thought about how appropriate that was—she didn’t float toward the heavens, or vanish before my eyes. She simply walked away, just as ordinary as anyone else. And yet it really was her, the embodiment of every grace we have ever dreamed, the ‘Messenger of Love’ the Emissaries spoke of. And yet she said she wasn’t the teacher I was told about, and this confused me. The ‘Messenger of Love’ and ‘the next teacher’ were two different people? Just when I thought I was beginning to understand I found myself back at the beginning.

…I awoke at dawn and prepared to return to the hill. Maria never said what time we would meet again, and as far as I was concerned it didn’t matter at all. Even if I had to wait the whole day, till the sun fell behind the horizon and the stars began their evening dance, it was better than anything else I knew. At least I would be in the place where she came to me, that holy spot where she destroyed my former self. That’s how it felt to me, that part of me had suddenly died and was replaced by something completely new. Would it last, this new life she gave? Such thoughts were so far away at that moment. All I could focus on was our next meeting, and the sudden fix of her gaze.

On the way to the hill I felt a strong impulse to go inside one of the many tourist shops that lined the narrow road. As I walked around the small store my eye caught a pile of disposable cameras, and it felt as though I heard a voice telling me to buy one. It had been years since I had owned a camera, and I was tempted to ignore the direction. But then it became stronger, and more insistent. "Buy the camera," it said with conviction. It seemed that I didn’t have a choice. I paid the woman at the counter and placed it in my jacket pocket.

The path up the hill was deserted and I climbed to the spot where I left the path the day before. The thorns and rocks were nothing to me that morning, and I glided over every obstacle that formerly would have slowed my pace. Minutes later I could see the peace pole in the distance, and my heart leapt for joy when I saw her sitting next to it, waiting for me.

"Good morning," she said as she moved over on the rock where she sat, making room for me to sit next to her. I felt my mind begin to slow its sudden pace as I approached her side. The hectic anticipation of the climb was gone, and my heart began to swim in an ocean of peace.

"I didn’t know if you would be here yet," I said to her as I sat down. "I knew I had to come as soon as I could. I couldn’t wait any longer."

"I have waited for you longer than you know," she said. "And you have waited for me as well, haven’t you?"

I didn’t answer for a moment. I wasn’t sure what she meant, though my heart moved with recognition. "I have waited for you…in many ways, I’m sure. All I know is that the moment you approached me on this hill…no, the moment I saw you in Belgrade, my heart came alive. It’s like waking up from a dream—I didn’t realize I was asleep until now."

"And yet there’s more, isn’t there?" Her blue, radiant eyes sparkled wildly when she said these words, as if she was reminding me of something I had forgotten, but which was extremely important. She waited for me to make the next move.

"I’m not sure I know what you mean," I said.

"When you were with the Emissaries you had no way of knowing who they were or what they were really doing. Therefore, there was no way for you to understand why you were the one that was brought to them. Haven’t you wondered about that? The Emissaries of Light have been praying for the enlightenment of humanity for two thousand years, and yet when it came time to end their mission they came to you. Why?"

"I never found out," I said to her. "I figured it was because I was there…available. I never read much more into it than that."

"But there is more," she said. "A great deal more. And you’ve already begun to remember. You’ve begun to understand who the Emissaries really are."

"You mean the ‘Order of the Beloved Disciple,’ don’t you? So it is true. The Emissaries come from the lineage of St. John. When the church began persecuting the order they went underground and have remained there ever since. That means that John’s role has been fulfilled. Jesus said that John would remain until he came again, or at least his community would. The fact that the Emissaries have disbanded must mean that he has returned. John himself was not here to witness it, but the community he started was."

"No, he meant what he said," Maria said to me. "John has remained, and is here right now."

"I don’t understand," I said. "Do you mean reincarnation?"

"The idea you have of reincarnation is a fantasy," she said to me. "The truth is much simpler than you expect…and more complicated, depending upon how you look at it. John never left the earth, and neither did Jesus."

"Are you saying that they’ve been on earth for the last two-thousands years? But how is that possible?"

"You believe that this realm is limited to the physical world you perceive," she said. "There are many other levels of reality you have yet to perceive, and they are just as real as this one. It is from these deeper levels that the essential work has taken place. It was to this realm that Jesus ascended after his resurrection, and it is there that he has remained, along with John and many others, waiting for the time of the great shift. You can consider them a group of overseers, kind of a board of directors.

"The Emissaries were the physical counterpart of this unique group made up of beings who have achieved mastery on this level of existence, from every religion and spiritual path. There are other levels beyond that place, what you might call the angelic realms. The Emissaries were like an anchor point that served as a physical link between all these etheric planes and the physical world."

"We’ve always been taught that Jesus ascended into Heaven," I said to her, "and I would expect St. John to be there as well. It sounds like you’re saying that they’re somewhere in-between, and that they will someday leave that realm and return to earth."

Maria smiled when I said these words, a loving smile, but the kind one gives a child when they don’t understand. "You can call it Heaven if you want. In many ways it is very similar to your concept of Heaven. And yet there is so much more, many other levels that are so subtle you have no way of understanding them. The masters do not return from these levels physically, unless it’s in a form like the one you’re perceiving right now. I have assumed this body in order to teach you a particular lesson. When the lesson is over the body is gone.

"What returns to the world is what you might call an ‘energetic signature.’ For example, ‘The Christ’ is an experience, not a person. Please understand this because it is of vital importance—Jesus was certainly the Christ, but the Christ is not limited to your idea of who Jesus was. Jesus assumed that frame of reference, or that energetic signature, and therefore became the savior of his age. The teacher you are waiting for, what you call ‘the next teacher’, will assume the same frame of reference as Jesus. It will be the same, and yet it will be different. It will be Jesus, but it will be more."

"I’m not sure if I understand," I said. "What about the Second Coming? Does Jesus ever come back to earth, or is it his soul that returns?"

"It is both, and it is neither," she said. "I’m sorry that it doesn’t makes logical sense, but there’s no way to understand it logically. Jesus, beyond his body and personality, has always been present on the etheric levels waiting to return to earth. This is the predestined time of awakening, the moment when ‘The Christ’ returns to initiate the New World. But it will not happen the way you think. In other words, don’t expect a Jewish man with a beard to appear and save the world. And that brings us back to John and the society he founded.

"Before Jesus died on the cross he put me, his mother, in the care of John," she continued. "From that day on I was cared for by the apostle as well as the disciples that followed him. He was with me when I was assumed into the other world, and many years later he followed the same path. He did not die a physical death as is believed. He has continued as a living master to the community he founded, and most importantly, has protected the greatest mystery of all—the very nature of Christ’s return. You see, there are actually two manifestations of the Christ energy. For the last two thousand years Jesus, in his identity as the masculine Christ, has personified that manifestation. The New World I spoke of is essentially a shifting of poles. The energy of the Christ, just as everything must, is about to find balance."

…Then I asked her something that surprised us both. I reached into my jacket pocket and touched the camera. "Maria, I know this will sound strange, and I can’t believe I’m going to ask you this…but do you mind if I take a picture of you?" I held my breath for a long moment while she looked at me.

"Not at all," she finally said. "If you believe it will help you, take my picture."

I could feel my legs flex as my body rose from the rock, and that was all I felt. It was as if I was in a dream, and I couldn’t relate to what was really happening. She sat there on the rock and I stood back from her. Her smile was subtle and her eyes shone bright. I took one shot…it was all I dared take.

Then she stood up and stepped back from me. It felt as if my skin was being torn away from me, as if we had merged and had become one being. The last few words she spoke scared me and I didn’t want her to leave. I didn’t want to be alone again.

"Do not tell anyone these things for now," she said. "You must wait for the drama to play itself out, then you will understand. Just know that the Light has come into the world, and the night is nearly over."

She turned around and started walking up the hill. I couldn’t move or say a word. By then the sun was bright and I could hear the sound of pilgrims walking up the hill in the distance. "If they only knew," I said to myself. But how could they? They wouldn’t recognize her even if she walked up the hill beside them. And that was the way it should be, for that was the essence of her words to me. It’s time to find God in the ordinary—in each other. It was my mission, as well as the mission of the ancient Order. It was out in the open now—they were out in the open. How could I have predicted all this?

"I love you so much," she said as she turned toward me again. And yet the words were not heard by my ears, but with my heart. It was the voice from my childhood, the beautiful voice of God that had thrilled and confused me so. "You will know what to do, for I will tell you everything. Trust me, and realize how much I trust you."

Then she walked away, disappearing over the hill.

[The next section is covers the story of Jacqueline Ripstein, and how her painting influenced the mission given to Jimmy.]

…The art community in Mexico began paying attention to Jacqueline Ripstein when she was twelve years old. Though she had no formal training as an artist, they knew there was something special about her. She won a national competition that year, and though her skill was still unformed, there was magic in her strokes, and they all knew it. A love affair had begun--Jacqueline’s love of art and art’s love of Jacqueline.

…In March, 1997, Jacqueline was commissioned by Diana Abouzeid to paint Mary, the Mother of Jesus, for a renewal center in Bosnia. Diana had founded the center to help families and children living near Medjugorje who were affected by the war between the Croats, Muslims and Serbs. The renewal center would be a safe haven, a place where people of every religion could receive love, compassion and hope. Jacqueline immediately felt connected with the project, but wondered if it were really appropriate for her, as a Jewish woman, to paint Our Lady.

"Our Lady transcends religion," Diana told her. "I deeply resonate with Catholicism, but that doesn’t mean I exclude those who don’t. And neither does Mary. Her message to the children in Medjugorje was universal. In one of the apparitions the children asked her who was the most devout in the whole area, and she named a young girl whom they all knew. The children were confused because the girl was not Catholic, but Muslim. ‘But you didn’t ask who was the most devout Catholic,’ Mary explained. ‘Devotion has nothing to do with religion.’"

"I understand what you are saying," Jacqueline said. "As an artist I appreciate the importance of being open to the truths found in all religions. But shouldn’t I have a special connection to Our Lady? Don’t you want an artist who is deeply connected to her?"

"If you are the one whom she wants to paint this picture, then she’ll let you know in one way or another. I am going on a pilgrimage to Medjugorje in a few weeks. Why don’t you join us? Then you’ll discover for yourself how deep your connection is."

[Diana invited Jacqueline to join her on a pilgrimage to Medjugorje. The experiences she had there helped move her closer to a decision, but there was still a lingering doubt.]

…Jacqueline returned to Florida and immediately set about the task of completing her commission. She was surprised to feel that familiar doubt, the apprehension she thought the trip to Medjugorje had cured. Everything seemed to be pointing her toward the work, but a feeling of inadequacy persisted, as if there were still a part of her, however small, which did not believe all the signs, all the ways Heaven was moving her heart toward Mary.

Four days later she stood in front of an empty canvas waiting for inspiration. The sketch-pad she carried with her was filled with ideas, faces and figures that could develop into a living work of art. But some block was keeping her at arms length, just beyond the reach of the image she longed for. There was, however, one idea that kept surfacing over and over. She saw Mary floating on a cloud with the Earth far below. Jacqueline could see Mary’s face in her mind’s eye, but she didn’t know if it would work when set to canvas.

It was nearly ten-thirty at night, and Jacqueline was tired. She had been struggling with the sketch all day and needed to set it aside. Before she did, she took the pad to a small altar she had set up in her studio. There was a tall, clear, glass vigil candle burning there, and she set the pad beside it and knelt down. Jacqueline asked for another sign, one more intervention to put her mind to rest. Was this the image Mary wanted, the one she had been sketching all day long? If it was, if she was on the right track, then she needed confirmation. She asked Mary to show her what to do next. She was perfectly willing to call the whole project off, or to move forward. But she needed direct knowledge, otherwise she would do nothing.

Jacqueline woke up an hour and a half later, at exactly midnight, to the wailing sound of the condominium fire alarm. She threw on her robe and ran to the dining room. There was no smoke or sign of a fire, and she immediately noticed that the only activated alarm was just outside her bedroom door. Attempts to turn it off failed so she called the maintenance man for assistance. There was nothing he could do but dismantle the unit, then take it to the shop to be worked on the next day.

On her way back into the bedroom, Jacqueline passed the altar with the candle and the pad. Something about the candle stopped her in her tracks. There seemed to be an object glowing in the light, as if the wax had formed an image on the inside of the glass. She picked up the candle and took a closer look. What she saw that moment was the final straw, the miracle that convinced her that she had indeed been chosen to paint Our Lady. The wax had formed the exact image she had sketched on the pad earlier that day. Jacqueline opened the pad to compare the images, make sure she wasn’t crazy, and there it was, line for line, identical in every respect. As she looked again at the wax image, the candle light shining through it made it seem alive, gave it the illusion of movement. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Her prayer had been answered. . . again

She put the candle back on the altar, picked up the pad and immediately went to the studio. She painted for hours that night, taking full advantage of the Divine energy she felt all around her. By morning the image was already coming to life, and every doubt she had felt so strongly before was completely gone.

…Several days later, Jacqueline invited a friend to her home to see the vigil candle and the image of Mary. The woman was overcome with joy by the miracle and left the apartment hours later filled with wonder. When she stepped off the elevator at the ground floor she nearly ran into an elderly gentleman who was walking past. She braced herself by grabbing his arm, then apologized for not having been looking where she was going. The man gazed directly into her eyes and immediately sensed something unusual about her presence.

"There is a glow in your eyes that is beautiful," he said to her. "You must have just had a wonderful experience."

"You might say that I’ve just witnessed a miracle," she told him.

"You have been visiting someone here in this building?"

"Yes, my friend is an artist and. . ."

"I must meet your friend," he said with urgency. "I do not know why but I feel it’s important. I am a rabbi and I promise I will not bother her."

"My friend is also Jewish, but I’m sorry, I can’t give you her name. That would be intruding on her privacy."

The rabbi continued to insist that he meet Jacqueline, but the woman refused and left. Convinced that his intuition was correct, the man began to ask questions of other residents until he discovered Jacqueline’s name, the only artist in the building. He called her later that day and introduced himself, explaining what had happened in the lobby.

"I am glad you called," Jacqueline said, and explained more about the candle. "There are some wax markings on the glass above the image, and they look like Hebrew letters. Unfortunately I cannot speak Hebrew, so perhaps you can tell me what they mean."

The rabbi came to her home later that day. Jacqueline opened the door and saw a small elderly man with a black coat and yamulkah on the crown of his head, his eyes narrow and intense. She invited him into the living room where they chatted for a few moments until she brought in the candle. The old man examined it for several minutes, holding it up to the light to determine for himself if it was truly authentic. When he was satisfied, he set it down and looked across the table at Jacqueline.

"There are two things I must tell you," he said. "The first is that they are not only Hebrew letters, but actual words.

"What are the words, Rabbi?" she asked, almost trembling inside.

"They say, ‘God exists and makes miracles.’"

[Jacqueline finished the painting and during its first public viewing many said that it had miraculous qualities. They could feel "Our Lady’s pulse" when they touched her wrist, while others fell down in prayer, overwhelmed by the strong energy. Some time later the painting was on display at a conference in Florida where Jimmy was a key-note speaker. During their first conversation Jacqueline explained that a production company was currently producing a television special regarding the miracles associated with her inspired work. She asked Jimmy if he would be willing to record some music for the program. Then she offered him a small photograph of the painting asking only that he hold onto it while making a decision.]

…Two days later, I was on a jet flying from Denver to San Francisco. Jacqueline had given me a business card size photo of the painting, and I had meditated with it for hours. It made me feel close to Maria again—flooded me with the feeling of love I had felt on the hill in Medjugorje a year-and-a-half earlier. It was almost as if the picture vibrated with her presence, filling me with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. "What do you want me to do?" I asked her. "You’ve brought me so far, and I know we’re near the end. Please don’t make me wait any longer. I’ll do anything for you, but you have to tell me what that is."

Suddenly something happened which I cannot fully explain. I felt myself in many places at once, as if my spirit had suddenly jumped dimensions and I was aware of many levels of reality. Though I still perceived my body on the jet, deep in meditation, I was also aware of myself in several other places. The ribbons of time had converged and linear movement ceased to exist. Though it would be impossible to fully explain the sensation, I can narrow it down to three separate experiences. First there was the physical sensation of sitting on the jet. Second, I felt as if I was with Teacher again, sitting at the fire in the mountains of Bosnia. And finally, I was on the hill with Maria, exactly the same as I had been before. Each one of these experiences was whole and complete, as if they were all occurring at once. And yet I had the ability to be fully present in each one. I was fully engaged by each experience, and yet all three occurred at once.

"Do you see what is happening?" Maria asked.

"I feel what is happening, but I don’t understand it. We’ve come to the crossroads haven’t we?"

"We’ve always been at the crossroads," Teacher said. "It’s just that you’ve finally realized it."

"I’m not sure I understand."

"You have always existed in many places at the same time," Maria said. "The Door of Eternity has always been inside you. You exist on both sides of the Door. Now you’re ready to experience both realities simultaneously."

"Is this what your message is really about? If I’m ready for this, then everyone’s ready for it. Is that it?"

"It would be more accurate to say that you’re ready to be ready," Teacher explained. "When you release your fear about what it means to be fully present to the Divine, then that which is most essential within you steps forward. It has always been there, but it has been clouded by your resistance."

"An era of peace is at hand," Maria said, "simply because humanity has begun to accept it. Every reality occurs together, and every possible reality. The world of fear sits beside the world of love, and you always choose the world you want to perceive. The revolution of love is the choice to see past the shadow of reality to reality itself. That is the meaning of the Door of Eternity. It is a metaphor just like everything else."

"So the Door of Eternity reflects the choice between love and fear," I said. "When we choose love, the world changes as well."

"The world you perceive is the result of that single decision," Teacher said to me. "It is like turning on a light. The room that was dark a moment ago is suddenly illuminated. You are able to see things that were once invisible to your sight. They were always there. The only thing that changes is your willingness to see them."

"And that is why you are here. . ." Maria went on, "at the crossroads, as you put it. And humanity itself is here with you. You cannot make a decision that does not involve everyone. This is the time of transformation, and this transformation will occur when people enter the Door themselves. They will do this by coming into direct contact with the Divine. You can no longer rely upon anyone else’s testimony, but upon your own experience. God is there for everyone, and the experience of the Divine is always waiting. All that is needed is the willingness to enter. The rest is the gift of God."

"You and Jacqueline have been given a very important gift," Teacher said. "Her painting and your music will be a bridge for many people, an access point for them to enter into this experience."

"I want you to go to a recording studio in three days," she said. "I will be there with you, and I will enter into your music. You will sing to me, and I will sing back to the world. Sound and art possess a special quality that is unparalleled. Spiritual energy can be attached to both, imprinted upon the sound and light waves. The ego does not understand this process, and therefore cannot interfere with it. It slides past the mind altogether and touches the spirit. When you sing your songs, I will imprint my energy onto the sound waves. I have already done this with the painting. When combined, when the music and the painting are experienced together, many people will be healed, and thousands will come into direct contact with their Divine nature."

"Don’t worry about what you will sing," Teacher said. "Everything will be given to you. You have asked to be made into an instrument of peace. Well, here you are. Step back into the Divine and let yourself be used. Give your voice to God and let Divine Light flow from the song you sing. This is what you’ve been waiting for. The gift of the Spirit is at hand."

I cannot find the words that would begin to explain what happened next. Waves of love flowed over me, filling me with compassion for all beings, revealing every mystery of the universe. I suddenly saw the whole picture, as if reality itself suddenly opened before me. A curtain was raised on a New World. I felt Maria and Teacher as I never had before, as if they were not outside or separate from me at all. Light and darkness flowed together as well, as if they were different aspects of one reality. I passed into a different realm, and yet I didn’t move at all. Everything changed, and nothing changed. There are no words to describe what happened to me while I sat there on that flight to San Francisco, but the world has not looked the same since.

It was as if I woke up from a dream. The captain’s voice came through the speakers asking the flight attendants to prepare for landing. I struggled to move, desperately trying to hold onto what had just happened to me. The seat belt was at my side and I was finally able to pull it over my lap and fasten it together. Long moments passed as the jet descended. I felt myself descend as well, as if I was falling from Heaven. I could feel my body again, but now the sensation of being physical was strange to me. Something was different, but I wasn’t sure what it was. The experience with Teacher and Maria was more real than anything I had ever known. And yet there was no context in which it could be related, to myself or to others.

When we finally landed, I found myself filled with a strange sensation. Fear and exaltation stood side by side, and I wondered which one was appropriate. As I left the jet, I could still feel their presence. And yet, I hadn’t had time to integrate what had just occurred. I felt like a baby pushed suddenly from its mother’s womb. I was in a New World, and I didn’t have any idea how to relate to it.

I am in the habit of turning on my cell phone the instant I leave a flight, and when I did I saw that I had one message. I pushed the button to see who had called.

"Jimmy, it’s Shrinat Devi. I need to talk to you right away. Please call me as soon as possible."

I couldn’t believe my ears. It had been well over a year since I spoke with her last, the woman who told me I had to meet Maria in Medjugorje. How could she have known to call me at that precise moment? I dialed the number without hesitating and my pulse began to race. Something was happening that I couldn’t explain. The fact that my experience on the jet was of a subjective nature made it harder for me to accept. Meeting Maria in Medjugorje was completely different since it was physical and direct. The fact that Shrinat Devi had tried to call me, perhaps at the same moment I was having my experience, offered possible support.

"Jimmy, I’m so glad you called," she said as soon as she answered. "Where are you right now?"

"I just got off a plane in San Francisco," I said. "Before you say another word I need to know why you called when you did. What is happening?"

"An hour ago I was meditating and I felt the presence of the Blessed Mother," she said as her voice suddenly became quiet and respectful. "She told me to call and ask you a question. She wants to know if you’re listening to her call. There’s something she said to you and she wants to know if you heard her."

I was stunned and I couldn’t speak for long moment. The experience I had with Maria and Teacher had taken place approximately one hour earlier. It was almost as if Maria finished with me, then got on the phone and called Shrinat Devi to make sure I was listening. It was just the proof I was looking for.

"Yes I am listening," I said. "What else did she say?"

"Only that she loves all of us very much. I don’t know what she said to you, but from the feeling I had, it must be very important."

I took the Santa Rosa shuttle to the San Rafael depot where my friend Bea was waiting. The entire trip was a blur of awe and gratitude. Maria was keeping her promise, I thought. Just when I felt everything was about to end, it had jumped to a whole new level of excitement.

Bea and I walked to a Thai restaurant in downtown San Rafael and sat down to eat. I tried to tell her about the last few days, ever since I’d been to the conference in Florida and met Jacqueline, but my mind was still too unsettled to think straight. And how could I explain it? I had no way of relating the experience I’d had during the flight, and the rest was still a vague series of fantastic happenings.

Halfway through the meal the cell phone began to ring.

"Hello Jimmy, it’s Maria Christina from Argentina."

There are three women in my life who anchor what I call my "Mary Connection." The first is Shrinat Devi who told me to go back to Medjugorje because Mary had a message for me. The second is Therese Quinn, a friend in New York whom I have always felt has a kind of "open line" to Mary. And finally there is Maria Christina Urhart, from Buenos Aires, Argentina, who more than any woman I have ever known holds what I call the "Mary Energy." Whenever I’m with her I feel as if I’m back on the hill in Medjugorje, sitting once again with her namesake. I had not talked to Maria Christina for several months, so the suddenness of her call shocked me.

"About two hours ago I was meditating and I felt the Blessed Mother’s presence," she said. "She told me to ask you if you’re listening to her message."

I was well past overwhelmed, and Maria Christina’s call nearly pushed me over the edge. Only one more call was required, I thought. These things happen in threes—that’s how you know you’re in the presence of a miracle. Shrinat Devi and Maria Christina had the same message, and I knew there was still one more waiting. An hour later I was in the car with Bea and the phone rang again.

"Jimmy, how are you? It’s Therese."

"Don’t tell me," I said, "You have a message for me from the Blessed Mother."

"How could you have known that?"

"It’s a very long but amazing story," I said. "But I don’t want to interrupt you. Tell me everything."

"Several hours ago I was praying and felt Mary’s presence. I could actually hear her, just like I’m hearing you now. She said the same thing three times, and by the third I realized that she wanted me to write it down. So I did. I want to read it now because it’s a message for you."

I asked Bea to pull the car over so I could give Therese my full attention. "Okay, I’m ready," I told her.

"This is what Maria asked me to tell you:

‘Now you have answered yes to my call away from conflict, and opened wholly to joy’s song of peace and resolution. If you would truly be the Virgin’s grail that holds my meaning, unsullied by fear, you must venture through my womb into the glow of your brother’s presence. Then will the sacredness of this vessel be seen as the ship that sails you home, and the world with you. Honor it so, for this communal journey has called you into my service. Love one another in the undescended flow of my grace. I am the Queen of Peace and my kingdom is at hand. My gratitude for your joining unfolds the way. Your Mother.’

Therese paused and said quietly, "That’s it, the entire message."

"What do you think it means?" I asked her, trying to hide how much the message meant to me.

"I feel that something is about to happen, something of global significance. And we’re all part of it. She said that her kingdom is at hand. That can be confusing unless you understand who she really is. Mary is the embodiment of the compassion of God. Therefore, an era of compassion is at hand. Mary is the bearer of that message because compassion is normally seen as a feminine quality, as opposed to the masculine qualities of power and redemption which were anchored by Jesus."

"Are you saying that we’re entering a new age?" I asked.

"I don’t like those words, ‘New Age,’ because they’re loaded. They don’t really mean anything anymore. Fifteen years ago it described a movement toward the esoteric traditions of all religions. Therefore, there was nothing ‘new’ about it. Then people from traditional churches became very afraid because they felt it was leading people into confusion. And in some ways they were right. The essence of the spiritual traditions people found themselves drawn to were being watered down, and all that was left were candy coated versions of original wisdom.

"But to answer your question, yes this is a new age we’re entering. But it is not about crystals and channeling. The era that Mary is proclaiming is about channeling the Light of God. Each one of us is called to be a channel of peace, and that’s the essence of her message. It’s not some weird thing that turns people off, but the real focus of every spiritual path."

I thanked Therese for her words of wisdom and tucked the phone away.

There was one final thing that had to happen before Maria’s message to me was complete. She said that in three days I would go into a studio and record music to accompany the painting. Since I hadn’t planned to record anything like this while I was in San Francisco, I wondered how it would happen. Then I remembered a friend who managed a recording studio located in a church at the Presidio, the former military base that now housed hundreds of nonprofit organizations. Colin and I had worked on a project together a year earlier, and it seemed the perfect fit. I set out to arrange an impromptu concert to be held in the chapel, recorded just as Maria had instructed.

Several friends were invited to attend this very special event. What was going to happen? Maria said that she would enter the music, actually imprint herself onto the sound waves. The possibilities of such a miracle astounded me. She spoke of the need for people to come into the direct experience of the Divine, and that something would be activated when they looked at the painting and listened to the music at the same time. There was no way for me to understand what this meant, but there was also no reason for me to doubt it. I was past the point of doubt considering everything that had already happened. The atmosphere was charged with a feeling of trust, and I was ready to play my part in this unusual drama.

The microphones were set into place and the audience was ready. I took the small photograph of the painting that Jacqueline had given me, and placed it in the wire mesh of the large studio mike. As soon as Colin gave me the word, I took a deep breath and began to play. I sang the Hail Mary, a version I had written a year earlier, then several other songs I had written several days earlier. The energy seemed to be building, and I wondered how Maria was going to keep her promise, to enter into the music and imprint her energy onto the sound waves.

Finally I thought I had sung the last song. The strings of the guitar were still vibrating and the sound of my voice echoed in the back of the church. That was when I felt her, just as I had felt her on the hill in Medjugorje, and on the flight to San Francisco. I knew she was there, but I couldn’t tell how, or where.

I looked down at the picture that I had stuck between the wires of the microphone. It was different somehow, as if it moved in front of my eyes. I felt a bit dizzy and my vision seemed to blur for a moment. Time seemed to stop and I closed my eyes, wondering what was happening. When I opened them again I looked at the picture. Her face was different. A moment earlier she was looking down and to the right. Now she was looking straight at me, her eyes alive and real. They blinked, and somehow I wasn’t surprised, almost as if I expected it to happen. For a long moment we looked at each other. And that was when the picture seemed to speak.

I wasn’t sure if I heard her with my ears or with my mind. They seemed the same that moment. But I will never forget what she said, words that came from an image on a picture no bigger than a business card.

"Sing what I say to you," she whispered. "I will give you the words, and you will give me the music." Without thinking, I began to sing the words I heard:

"The light is in you, open the Door, feel me as I enter.

Your heart is mine, I will claim you, Divine One,

Know me as I enter inside you now.

For I am your mother, I will give you all that you need

to spread the light of Divinity all around."

The words and music kept coming, I’m not sure how long. I had entered a deep trance and the music flowed without effort or thought. My eyes were fixed on the picture of Maria, the beautiful image that Jacqueline had painted, and the entire world seemed to stand still.

Then it ended as abruptly as it had begun. The picture had returned to its original position and everything seemed normal again. There was a strange energy pulsing through my body and I jumped up from the chair and began pacing back and forth. My friends looked at me and wondered what had happened. They felt something, but they didn’t know what it was. I told them about my experience, the way she came to life and spoke to me. She had entered the music, and we all knew it. In that moment everything came together, the painting, the music, the energy. What would happen now, I wondered? It had never been up to me, and it still wasn’t.

[I wrote what I thought was the full version of the book over the next five months. Then in April, with the conflict in Kosovo raging out of control, I knew there was one last chapter that had yet to be lived. The week before I left for the border of Mesadonia and Kosovo I visited Glastonbury, Findhorn and the island of Iona, completing an ancient triangle of energy. Then, accompanied by Gillian, a friend from London who also traveled with me to Iraq, we left for Bulgaria, then boarded a bus for Skopya, Mecadonia.]

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re not going to be able to get into any of the Kosovo refugee camps," the man said.

The bus that Gillian and I were on had just crossed the border of Mecadonia from Bulgaria, and at about the same time we realized we were sitting next to an American journalist who was also on his way to Skopya. His speech was slow and deliberate, and he seemed irritated at the idea of us going into the camps to perform a peace concert and focus a world-wide prayer vigil.

"Why do you think it’s impossible?" Gillian asked him.

"I have been in and out of the camps ever since this conflict began," he said as he leaned over toward us, making sure we wouldn’t miss a single word. "There are police checks all along the way. The only way to get past them is to have press credentials from both the Mecadonian government and NATO itself. In order to get those credentials you have to have a press pass issued by a legitimate press service. You don’t have that…you just want to go in and, as far as they know, get in the way of the people who really are helping."

I could feel Gillian getting angry at the man, so I leaned between them and asked, "How can we get credentials?" The incredulous look on his face deepened.

"You’re not listening, are you?" he said. "You can’t get them…you don’t have a press pass. It’s the only way, unless you’re smuggled in on Red Cross truck or something. You clearly have no idea how difficult things are there. NATO has gotten most of the refugees out of the open fields and into tents, but there are hundreds of thousands of them who still have nothing. They’re starving to death and have no shelter. You may as well turn around because you have no way of helping them."

Two hours later the bus pulled into the bus station at Skopya, and our journalist friend offered us luck as he got into a cab. "I don’t believe that man," Gillian said to me as we watched him leave. "He has no idea what he’s talking about."

"He may know what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t understand what we’re really here for. I don’t care how difficult it is, if we’re suppose to make it into the camps then we will. By the way, I haven’t told you about the dream I had last night, have I?"

"What dream?"

"Last night I kept seeing a small woman in a white nun’s habit darting in and out of doors and through alleys. She never said anything but at one point, when she looked straight at me, I realized who it was. It was Mother Teresa. That’s why I’m wearing this shirt."

I unbuttoned and removed my outer shirt to reveal the T-shirt I was wearing. There was a picture of Mother Teresa on my chest, with a radiant smile that illumined magical eyes. The pupil of one of the eyes was shaped like a dove, as if it was reflecting in her iris.

"That’s beautiful," Gillian said. "But do you think it’s a good idea to wear it here in Mesadonia? She was an ethnic Albanian, you know, and Albanians are not very popular here, especially now."

"But she was also born here in Skopya," I said. "That makes it a very good idea. I have a feeling she was telling me something in my dream last night, like she’s paving the way for us. Besides, how can anyone say no to us with her staring them in the eyes?"

"Well, how do you suggest we begin? I’m inclined to believe that the journalist was right about NATO. They probably won’t want to help us."

"But what if they do?" I said to her. "It’s definitely the most direct path. If they say no then we can try other routes."

It was three in the afternoon, only three hours before the prayer vigil would begin, not much time to get the necessary credentials then find the nearest camp. Meeting the journalist was in some ways a blessing. It was his warning that showed us how limited our options were. He also told us where to begin—at NATO headquarters located at the Hotel Continental. Without hesitation we were in a cab and on our way there.

When we arrived at NATO headquarters we found the appropriate office and rang the small bell on the desk. Seconds later a French officer stepped out of the back and sat down in front of us.

"May I help you?" he asked dryly.

"I hope so," I said. "I was told that this is where we need to go to get our credentials to get into the nearest refugee camp."

"Press pass, please," he said, just as he had probably done hundreds of times before.

"We’ll, that’s where we have a problem," I said to him. "We’re not really from the press, though I am an author, if that makes a difference."

"Why do you want to got to the camp then?" He sat his pen down on the desk and gave us his full attention. This was clearly out of the ordinary, and he seemed ready to respond.

"We’re here representing millions of people around the world who will be saying prayers of peace for these people at 6pm local time. We’ve done this in the past in places like Iraq, Northern Ireland and Israel, and we always found that it was important to have someone at ground zero, someone who can anchor the prayers."

I wondered if I had said too much. It would have been better to stick to the "I’m an author working on a book" slant. Instead I had veered into esoteric la la land, and it felt like quicksand. The soldier stood looking into my eyes, and I was sure we were done.

"Okay, is this for both of you?" he said as he picked his pen up again and began writing on a sheet of paper.

"Yes," Gillian said to him.

"My suggestion is that you say you’re free lance reporters. Hopefully the Ministry of Information won’t want to see your press pass…maybe they’ll assume I checked it already."

"That’s where we have to go next?" I asked.

"Yes. Any cab driver will know where it is. And by the way, I’m glad you’re doing whatever it is you said you’re doing. I don’t quite understand it but I’m all for whatever works. Prayer is great."

I looked over at Gillian and smiled. The direct path had worked, amazingly enough. Minutes later we were in a cab on our way to the Ministry of Information. There was only one step to go. If we made it over this next hurdle then we would have accomplished the impossible. We would then have access to the camp and would be in place to focus the prayer vigil.

The Ministry of Information looked like an ordinary office building, and it surprised me that the long line of journalists I was promised was no where to be found. That was the final obstacle, it seemed. I had heard that it sometimes took up to two days for press requests to be processed. We got out of the cab and walked to the entrance. When we opened the office door we saw a man sitting behind a desk busily working on his computer.

"Hello, is this where we get press credentials?" I asked.

"Yes," he said without looking up. "Please sit down and wait a moment."