I AM the Witness - November 6, 1991



Dear Friends of the Light,

It was more than a quarter of a century ago that I first met Elizabeth and Mark Prophet. I have been witness to many wonderful things since that time–too many to list here, but I would like to mention one or two.

My introduction to the Masters’ teachings came about through what, to me, was a miracle in itself. The first time I came across the name of The Summit Lighthouse was in a publication containing messages that supposedly came from beings from other planets who were sending advice to earth. (At that searching stage in my life I was reading everything I could find about occult and mystical teachings.) This particular message, purportedly from the planet Venus, said that although earth was a “dark star,” there was one tiny spark of light beginning to shine from a group in Washington, D.C.–The Summit Lighthouse. This impressed me deeply and although I had never heard the name, thereafter it was always in the back of my mind.

Shortly after that I received a mailing from the Prophets from Holy Tree House in Fairfax County, Virginia. I was so intrigued by the picture of the beautiful, young Elizabeth that I could hardly keep my eyes off her. She seemed so familiar to me.

Soon I was receiving various mailings from them plus a few sheets of decrees. I hadn’t the slightest idea of what to do with the decrees, but I learned some by heart and would stand in front of the mirror repeating them slowly to myself. I couldn’t figure out what the “3x” at the end of some of them meant. I thought it might be some mystical symbol, but I soon learned that “3x” meant to give the decree three times. The first decree I learned is my favorite still today–“Protect Our Youth.”

At that time Mark and Elizabeth (as we called her in those days–she was so young, just in her twenties) were about to make the move to Colorado Springs. They later sent out letters telling of their progress and experiences along the way. Having just come out of the Christian Science Church, I was surprised at the opposition they met during the trip. I was used to thinking that everything should just float along like a breeze! It was only later that I learned how very real is the opposition of the Darkness to the Light!

Once they were in Colorado, I received notice of an upcoming Easter conference, complete with sunrise service and, for some reason most appealing to me, a lecture by Elizabeth on the spiritual essence of flower perfumes. This I had to hear! And so, although I lived twelve hundred miles away in the Midwest, I got in my car and made the three-day trip to Colorado alone.

I did not know a single soul who had been in The Summit Lighthouse, who had read their literature or who had even heard the name, and of course in those days we didn’t have the taped lectures and dictations that, by the grace of God, we do now. (I am eternally awed at and grateful for the wonderful material that our beloved Mother and the Masters have made available to the world since then.)

In spite of the fact that I knew literally nothing about this group and that I am not a particularly outgoing person, I found myself unusually relaxed and completely at ease during the entire trip. I will never forget my feelings of peace when I finally arrived in the Springs, found my way to La Tourelle and walked up to the front door. I couldn’t understand my complete lack of nervousness. I had the distinct feeling “I am coming home.”

From that time on, I have been privileged to attend at least two conferences a year plus other exciting events–seminars, prayer vigils, etc. I was most privileged to get in on three wonderful trips with the Messengers–the Holy Land, South America and, most thrilling of all, the never-to-be-forgotten trip to India in 1971.

The India trip began for me with an especially beautiful miracle. Had this not taken place, I would not have been able to go. We were to start the trip by attending the Easter conference at the newly acquired Motherhouse in Santa Barbara. From Los Angeles we would fly east over the Rockies to New York, over the Alps in Europe, and finally over the awesome Himalayas to the Far East–a most exciting prospect and one I was anticipating with enormous enthusiasm.

It had taken a financial miracle to get me this far but at the conference, just two days before departure, a cloud appeared on the horizon in the form of a phone call from my daughter, who lived in another state. Reluctantly she told me of a very traumatic situation that had arisen in her life that would be devastating to several people.

I immediately took the matter up with Mother, who felt that the situation was so serious that I should forgo the trip and stay home to help my daughter clear up her problem. This was a disaster to me and a disappointment to the Masters, I know, for they needed every possible chela to make the trip. Besides, there could be no refund of the money already paid.

I left the Motherhouse in a confused state and went to a nearby restaurant to have a cup of tea and to think things over. I had been there only a few minutes when a messenger from Mother hurried in and told me that Mother wanted to see me. I rushed back to her office, where she told me with a big smile that everything had been taken care of. She had taken up the problem with El Morya. He said he would send an angel to take care of my daughter all the time I was away (imagine!). She would be all right and I was not to worry.

(About a year later the angel appeared to my daughter while she was taking a nap. He said his name was John and that he would be leaving her now, as she didn’t need him any longer. What wonderful proof that there is indeed a solution to every problem!)

So now I was free to take that wonderful, unforgettable trip with Mark and Mother. It was thrilling enough to be going to India, but to be with the Messengers was a holy privilege for which I will always be grateful. Wonderful little things happened all along the way. For instance, when we stopped for a short time at the airport at Athens I felt unusually exhilarated. Mother explained that it was because I had been there with her, serving in the temple of Pallas Athena, centuries ago! That was typical of the insights the Messengers gave as we went along.

Our first stop in India was Calcutta. Dawn was just breaking and we went to the roof of the terminal building to watch the sun “come up like thunder in the bay across the way”–an astonishing and unforgettable sight. Everything was fascinating from then on. During the day we would travel by bus, plane, train and even by boat at times. There was so much to watch as we rattled along in open buses singing “How Great Thou Art,” led by Mark in his booming voice. I’ll never hear that song without a flashback to that amazing trip.

So much of the life of India is carried on in the open streets and there are so many people everywhere that there is always some fascinating little tableau to watch. At night there were decrees and wonderful lectures and dictations in our hotels.

It was in Calcutta that we visited Mother Teresa. This was long before she became the well-known figure that she is today. I remember her cool, shady, tiled open-air pavilion lined with hundreds of grass mats, prayer rugs and beds for the sick and dying, who were cared for so tenderly by the nuns. It was indeed a touching sight to see the nuns in their immaculate blue-and-white habits carrying endless buckets of water to cool and cleanse their pathetic patients. I remember that Mother Teresa said she did not try to influence her patients’ religious beliefs; it was enough just to love and care for them.

Our crowded schedule took us from the steamy, tropical fields of Madras (the home of Madame Blavatsky and the Theosophical Society) in southern India to the northern foothills of the Himalayas, to Darjeeling, the location of El Morya’s beloved retreat. It was a special thrill to get up before dawn and watch the sun rise over the glacial spires to Kanchenjunga, the towering peak so beautifully painted by Nicholas Roerich.

Especially memorable was a float down “Mother” Ganges in Gautama Buddha’s beloved city of Benares, a visit to his famous Deer Park and the burning ghats. We visited various yoga ashrams there and at Rishikesh and marveled at the gorgeousness of Shah Jahan’s (Kuthumi’s) Taj Mahal at Agra. We met with important government leaders in New Delhi, meditated at Mahatma Gandhi’s memorial shrine at Rajghat and, most interesting of all, met the Dalai Lama of Tibet in his refugee camp at Dharmsala.

The harrowing ride in an overcrowded, rickety bus around the horseshoe curves at the base of the towering icy peaks of the Himalayas alone made the trip a memorable one. It was over those incredibly precipitous snowy passes, rising up like walls of ice in front of us, that every one of the kindly, smiling Tibetans we met at the camp had passed on foot. Their spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama, had led them on foot and on packhorse, hotly pursued by Red Chinese aircraft.

Mark told us wonderful stories about the places and the people we met. When he looked at the Tibetan refugees with their whirling prayer wheels and their crinkly smiles, he said that these were the real Christians of the world but that the Dalai Lama was too much of a pacifist to be successful in leading them back to their homeland. In our interview with him, the Dalai Lama himself admitted that he had been too naive and too uninformed in the ways of the world to have been prepared for the treachery of the Red Chinese.

I particularly remember our early-morning interview with Prime Minister Indira Gandhi in the garden of the red-walled governmental palace in New Delhi. As Mrs. Gandhi came around the corner dressed in a fresh blue linen sari, I saw Mark give a little start of surprise.

Afterward he explained to us that he immediately recognized Mrs. Gandhi as the former son of the Shah Jahan, who had built the Taj Mahal as a gift of love for his wife. The son, greedy and envious, had betrayed his father and committed him to prison for the remainder of his life. Now Mark saw that this son was currently embodied as Indira Gandhi and had returned to work for India and to try to undo the harm he/she had done. (I’m afraid that she may not have fulfilled her mission as well as one might wish.)

There was one particular miracle, which I will describe in a moment, that Mark performed on the trip. I have never heard anyone speak of it since (I think very few people even knew of it at the time), but it is one that I think should be recorded. Although little was said about it, as was true of so many of the powers and abilities Mark had, I could never forget it.

As wonderful as the trip was, it was far from easy. How our beloved Mother managed it with her three little children (Tatiana had not yet been born) is a miracle in itself!

India is not an easy country for “spoiled” Americans to visit. Although our accommodations were always the best available, the “best” sometimes left much to be desired. I remember one hotel that was only half constructed and some of our rooms had no roof over them. In another hotel we had to sleep crowded in dormitory cots, eight or ten to a room. In the tropical state of Orissa there were no hotels at all and we were put up in the government guest house.

By the end of the trip we were all nearly exhausted from late night traveling, early rising, often getting up at three or four to catch planes or trains, and food and water so poor that Mark insisted that away from the hotels we drink nothing but American Coca-Cola (imagine!), which was guaranteed to be made with pure water!

Toward the end of the trip some of our group had “tourist’s disease” and all were hot and tired. We were more than eager to reach one of the final stays, which was at Kuthumi’s lovely Vale of Kashmir near Nepal. The hotel there was a resort renovated from an elegant palace that had belonged to the maharajah of Kashmir. It was situated on the shores of romantic Dal Lake with its floating island palace and many luxurious and colorful houseboats.

When we flew over the lofty white peaks of the mountains and dropped down into the valley, it seemed that at last we had flown into Shangri-la. It was spring there in Kashmir. Flowers were everywhere and the apple trees were in full blossom. The grass was green and fresh and a cool breeze was blowing across from the lovely Garden of Shalimar. Along the road peddlers offered us lush red apples, the best fruit we’d seen since we left home. Best of all, we were to have three days in this lovely place–a much-needed chance to rest up and relax.

(It is said that everyone is happy in Kashmir except for the Kashmiris. That is because of the prevalent use of hashish by the local inhabitants in the town of Srinagar. We could see them sitting half-dazed on their verandas, smoking their ever-present water pipes.)

Our group was divided into pairs of roommates, two to a room. Rosy, a lady from California, was the oldest member of our group. The trip had been hard on her, as she was not very hardy to start with. Her roommate was a teacher from the East by the name of Mildred–later a friend and companion to Etelka Holt. She had been very kind and helpful to Rosy.

When the two ladies were in their room, Mildred looked over to the bed where Rosy lay and to her horror noticed that she seemed to have stopped breathing. To all intents and purposes, it looked as though she had died.

Mildred did the only thing she could do. She dashed to get Mark. Mark rushed back to the room and, sure enough, Rosy had left her body. Mark could see her spirit, or soul, floating around the ceiling of the room. Immediately taking charge of the situation, Mark, in his strong, authoritative voice, commanded Rosy to return to her body–and Rosy did!

If Mark had not been there to perform that true miracle, we would have returned to America with one less member of our party. It was a marvel I will never forget–surely to be compared with the miracle performed by Jesus when he called Lazarus forth from the tomb.

Another wonderful event that I would like to testify to helped a dear soul to leave the body. My much-loved and truly angelic mother broke her hip at the age of eighty-five. I spent weeks in Santa Barbara caring for her but when the doctor finally sent her to the hospital I left immediately for a New Year’s conference in Colorado and returned home from there.

My daughter, still in California, went to see my mother every day. She was distressed to see her suffering so much, exhausted from bedsores and traction. She kept pleading for someone to help her but there was nothing anyone could do. My daughter called me and said that something had to be done to ease her pain.

I called her doctor, a fine man, who said he was doing all he could but that he didn’t dare give her more painkiller for fear of killing her. She was slowly dying, he said, but it would be several months, probably three or four, before her passing would take place.

I couldn’t bear the thought of my darling mother going through such suffering so I went into my little decree room and took it up with the Masters. I implored them to help her and, if it was not the will of God that she be healed, to make her suffering short. If she wasn’t to get well, please could her transition be made quickly? I prayed earnestly for a long time and finally dropped off to sleep.

The phone woke me in the morning. It was my father saying my mother had passed on during the night, an answer to my prayers! Months of suffering had been spared her and I was tearfully so grateful for her release. How compassionate is God in time of trouble!

One of the endearing things about Mark was that he made himself so available to his students. He loved us all and he smiled on us benignly with his twinkling warm brown eyes–but he wanted us there! He was restless if any of his “brood” were not in their proper places at the proper time. I remember reading that Louis XIV had the same trait. He wanted his court around him but he always made himself accessible even to the most simple of his subjects.

Mark would wander around among us between conference sessions and laugh and joke or answer any questions we might have. After a dictation, he and Mother would have a reception line to greet us.

One day I went to see him in his little office to ask if he approved of my researching the life of Francis Bacon. (Being definitely on the Second Ray, my greatest pleasure comes from reading and research.) I was fascinated by the life of Francis Bacon, the man who wrote the Shakespearean plays, and I wanted to ask Mark’s permission to pursue my research with the intent of writing a book. He graciously told me that he thought that writing the true biography of the last incarnation of Saint Germain, the Master of the Aquarian Age, was a project most worthy of pursuing. When I asked Mother about my writing, her comment was: “You have to write. It is your dharma.”

Since then I have collected many, many books on the subject, studied all the material available and checked out university libraries and Bacon collections. Through a series of remarkable events, the great cipher wheel created by Francis Bacon to tell his secret story came into my hands. It is a great treasure and is now in storage at the Royal Teton Ranch.

What I have found during my research is that the subject becomes more and more complicated as one delves deeper and deeper into it. It is far more complex than merely discovering who wrote Shakespeare! A vast network of hidden “occult” activities and teachings is involved, reaching far back into the Crusades, the Gnostic teachings, Catholic heresies, early Masonry, Rosicrucianism, buried treasure, secret ciphers still used today–and on and on.

It is truly a subject so vast that I know I myself am not capable of properly following the thread through the maze. Leads take us to such diverse places as the ancient Languedoc in France, uninhabited Oak Island in Nova Scotia, and Colonial Williamsburg in America. I can only hope that someday all the pieces will come together and allow the whole picture to be completed. When it does it will be far more amazing than anyone realizes today.

The research involved in my Francis Bacon studies has covered many fields–history, philosophy, cryptology, political history, music, poetry, alchemy and, as “Shakespeare” would have said, “much, much more.” It often occurs to me that if I had spent as much time and energy on the study of college-accredited courses as on my Bacon research, it would have earned me a Ph.D. long ago!

As it is, I did receive a good education as I grew up and I feel fortunate to have been born into a good, solid American family who were affluent enough to send me to Scripps College, a fine woman’s college in Claremont, California, even at the height of the depression.

I received my B.A. degree in literature and French from the University of Washington. After my marriage and move to the Midwest I continued with post-graduate courses in Shakespeare, literature, art history and art at the University of Michigan. I was also able to indulge my interest in painting and achieved a modest success (with the help of the angels and elementals, I am sure).

One other aspect of my life for which I am profoundly grateful is that of the privilege of growing up in an America that was more innocent, more free and more proud than the youth of today are able to experience. Life in pre-World War II was a child’s dream.

My ancestors on both sides of my family were early American patriots who fought in the Revolution. My mother’s family is directly descended from Miles Standish of the Mayflower (officially documented by a historical society in Washington, D.C.). I hesitate to add this family note to my witness as it may sound like undeserved vanity, but with the understanding of rebirth and karma given to us by the Masters, I am well aware that it is not merely a privilege but a solemn responsibility to be directly tied to the original fervor of the early patriots of America.

It’s a duty that should not be neglected and perhaps explains why I get tears in my eyes whenever I hear patriotic songs. Not a day goes by without a prayer from my heart for a swift return to that beautiful original matrix of America set by the Goddess of Liberty and our beloved Francis Bacon–Saint Germain.

One of the lessons I learned early in the teachings of the Masters is how vulnerable new students can be to interference from the dark ones and how important it is to follow the Masters’ warnings about keeping protected through decrees. During one of the early conferences at La Tourelle, I remember going to my hotel room during a break and stretching out for a few minutes’ rest. As I lay there I was thinking critically about some little thing about the Messengers–some matter like the meeting starting late or early or something equally trivial. I dropped off to sleep with these critical thoughts in mind.

Suddenly I woke up and the room seemed to be filled with evil. The little matter of criticism had blown up into enormous proportions and become a great cloud of oppression. Everything seemed wrong and frightening. I was filled with fear and apprehension like in a nightmare. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to start giving decrees to Archangel Michael for protection. Just as swiftly as the darkness had come, it faded away. This demonstrated to me the absolute necessity of heeding the Masters’ warnings not to criticize fellow Lightbearers no matter what the provocation–it simply opens the door to opposition forces.

On another occasion, I was visiting my youngest daughter (not in the Teachings), who lived in New Orleans at the time. I felt that the city was full of dark entities, and so I was doing judgment decrees. The next day my daughter told me of a nightmare she had had in which she was chased by devils. It wasn’t she they wanted–it was I, but they couldn’t get at me because of my decrees!

Another time I learned of the effectiveness of decrees through the dream of a group member for whom I was doing healing decrees. He “dreamed” that he was being covered by leaves of cool, healing green lettuce. (He didn’t even know I was decreeing for him!)

The same person had another dream in which he was being chased by ghosts. A woman (me) came out with a gun and shot the ghosts. The remarkable thing was that the gun wasn’t using bullets, it was shooting words! Examples such as these give me inspiration to keep up my decrees even though I may not personally see the immediate results.

One useful habit I learned from Chamuel and Charity during Summit University is to keep a little notebook of Love. We were instructed to write down little ideas or quotations about the pink flame so we could become more acquainted with what Love really is. (Lanello also recommended the keeping of a spiritual diary.)

For years I have kept these little journals–mostly special words from the Masters and Mother but also things I hear from any source that I find uplifting. I have many of these little books and if I ever feel low, it is enough just to pick one up and read a few quotations. So many of them are just incredibly beautiful–they certainly are mood-lifters. Also I find it inspiring to keep a list in my notebook of the many answers I have received to my prayers. The list is long!

Just one more particular “miracle” I would like to remember here. I’m sure many others remember it too. It was at a conference in Spokane, Washington, in 1974, the year the world’s fair was held there. The conference was held on the campus of Whitworth College, not far from the fairgrounds. The last dictation was from Archangel Michael, and he said that we “hadn’t seen the last of him yet.” Afterward we all stood in a large circle holding hands and singing “Auld Lang Syne,” as was customary at the end of a conference.

While we were singing, Sean came rushing into the room and called for us to hurry outdoors–there was something he wanted us to see. Hurrying out, we looked up into the sky and there was an enormous cross or sword of white light hanging in the night sky right over the conference building. Indeed we hadn’t “seen the last” of Archangel Michael yet! What amazed me most was that while we were all excitedly watching the phenomenon, a police car drove up. The policemen had seen the light from the fairgrounds and had driven over to see what was going on!

These are only a few of the wonderful things I have seen and experienced in the last twenty-five plus years. When one sees the laws of God in action as demonstrated by the Messengers and the Masters, there cannot be the least trace of doubt remaining concerning God’s great care for his universe and the never-ending service of the Great White Brotherhood to our yet-evolving and struggling souls on earth.

This letter is too long already but there is one recent event I would like to mention. A short time ago I had been reading a plea from the Masters for more violet flame decrees. With this on my mind, I stretched out on my bed for a moment and all of a sudden I seemed to be taken up in a great flood of violet light, a whole world of violet flame.

As I looked down upon my body, I could see that the cloud of violet flame seemed to be emanating from my mouth. It looked like the balloons used in comic strips to indicate speech. For a moment I was connected to an endless universe of violet flame. “So that’s the color of the violet flame,” I kept thinking. I know now there is enough violet flame to save the world if we will only make the calls.

I hope these little experiences will give a glimpse into the many reasons that I am wholly devoted and eternally grateful to our beloved Messengers and to the Great White Brotherhood for all they do to help their unascended brothers and sisters.

Gratefully, I am


Copyright © 1901, 2002 The Summit Lighthouse. All rights reserved.

 

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