Back in 1988, Medjugorje’s visitors needed no rumors of war to heed the words of the apparition; most people listened with trusting hearts and knew the truth when they heard it. One starry night, I sat quietly atop boulders on the summit of Mount Kriznevac and gazed down at the cheery, lamplit houses twinkling so far below. A fellow traveler commented that the political peace among the Serbian, Croatian and Muslim peoples was rare and beautiful.
That was the peace I brought back home in my heart, and it cleared the way for a turning point in the writings and in my life. Like millions of people, I, too, was forever changed. Within a week, the bedlam at home disturbed my peace, but there was a deeper serenity in me that hadn’t been there before. I had a strong sense of working in sync with my destiny and knew that it was in the search for answers about God. Never before had I been so excited and energized. Although I’d felt a measure of this in my peace work and in writing about social justice issues, the feeling that I was on my life path surged more powerfully now. I knew that this excitement and joy were drawing together my heart and mind and attracting knowledge and events that would carry me farther along my path.
The writings encouraged me to observe this phenomenon, and I did so, now able to pay more attention as I slowed down and experienced more peace of mind. I remembered that, even as a child, what I wanted or needed somehow made its way to me without my reaching out for it, and as I grew up, if I waited and did not buy the desired book, couch or car, then it would come to me. The same thing happened with people. If I thought about a particular someone, the person either called or showed up in my life.
It was a kind of synchrony and it filled me with wonder. But what was the catalyst? Was I seeing more because I was slowing down to observe my life? Or was my focused attention really bringing about this or that coincidence, as my writings claimed? I didn’t know, but I kept in mind the notion of free will creating my destiny, and a new sense of self-direction stirred within me. If some principle governing manifestation was at work here, then just like the writings said, we do create our own reality and anything is possible. If so, I was not at the mercy of past mistakes or my chaotic emotions and really could bring my life into harmony.
Not only had I changed, so had the writings: my attunement to them was stronger and their consciousness was higher. Curiously, they took on an unidentified but somehow consoling plurality of "we" (in fact, this had begun in the destiny writing, just before my trip to Medjugorje). And I was delighted by a powerful infusion of nature imagery, which flowed into my mind and pen like a cool mountain stream. Occasionally, the writings used parables, like this one:
"It is written that in times past, a man approached a woman for a meager crumb of bread, for he was starving. Said she to him, she wished for him no evil, but whyfore was he hungry, when meat abounded in the woods?
The man looked about him, as if puzzled by this statement, for he had thought only to find food within his world and none other.
What was readily apparent to the woman was not easily seen by the man.
Such are the ways of your earth. A man seeks only as he is told and thinks not for himself, but of himself. A woman thinks of another and it is more that she sees. It is not a matter of the who, the man or the woman, but the seeing itself."
How could I be the source of such wisdom? I couldn’t imagine. The words and ideas came so quickly as to be scrawled across the page, with no time for thought or composition by me. Unlike my news stories, not a word in the writings ever needed editing in any way. Each phrase flowed into graceful sentences that were coherent, cohesive, and eloquent in meaning, rhythm and tone. Symbols and metaphors painted themselves into each passage and trickled into my professional writing, which grew more visual almost by the day.
In the years to come, I seldom returned to the writings to reread and contemplate them, as they urged, but I no longer dismissed them as the ego-driven fantasies of my subconscious mind. They were perfectly consistent with each other, in every way, and were simply more than I knew. I did not understand right away everything the writings said, nor did I perceive, until now, their patterns of instruction, but one thing was clear: The voice was not mine. I was opening my heart and mind to a consciousness much higher than my own.