"I became lead detective on my own case. I noticed when I quit lecturing, my throat stopped bleeding and healed overnight. I also observed that my throat only acted up when I was giving a speech about macrobiotics. My throat functioned perfectly in everyday life. Since only time my throat bled was during my lectures, I determined my soul and God must be trying to tell me something about my public speaking. After all, problem brought my public talks to an abrupt and embarrassing halt every time! So, I began listening to myself in order to hear what I was saying up to point at which my throat would begin bleeding."

At this juncture in Michael's biography, I was sweating profusely and about to faint. His tale was hitting much too close to home. I blurted out, "Please, Michael, tell me what happens-quickly! I can't take suspense!" My sudden outburst made me feel acutely embarrassed, but since moral of his story was truthfulness, I was, at least, following spirit of his sharing!

Sensing my distress, lanky stranger reached over to gently, but firmly, grip my forearm with his right hand. It was a sensitive and reassuring gesture on his part. I was grateful for any assistance I could get at this point. I wanted to hear rest of his adventure, but part of me was afraid to absorb any more of his lesson. I implored Michael to pick up where he left off and ignore my emotional reactions.

"The results of my self-observation didn't reveal any helpful clues," Michael admitted sheepishly. "I saw only that my talks consisted mostly of me quoting George Osawa and fervently admonishing people to eat and live according to Osawa's theories if they wanted to regain and retain their health.

"Confused and bewildered, I prayed to God, 'What's wrong with what I say? I'm just trying to help people.' God's answer was swift and explicit. That very night I was awakened from my sleep by two vivid visions. In first, I saw myself in present, stridently pointing my finger at a large audience, telling them how they needed to change way they ate and lived. And then suddenly, I began to spew blood from my mouth. A crimson fountain gushed forth from my throat, soaking my lecture notes in bright red liquid.

"In second tableau, I saw myself in past when I first started to speak publicly. I was sharing calmly, compassionately-in my own words-how I'd healed myself by changing way I ate, thought and lived. The group was small. The format was informal. My throat didn't bleed. My voice was strong and distinct. The audience was listening with rapt attention.

"Startled and shaken, I knew instantly import of two visions. When I spoke from my heart, my message was my own and it got delivered. I was sharing observations based solely on my own personal experience. And I wasn't trying to force my point of view down people' s throats. When I taught borrowed wisdom from George Osawa-and bludgeoned audience with warnings and admonitions-my own speaking mechanism rebelled. My throat bled, silencing my tirade. I realized that God was directing me to simply offer my own personal truth. If I stick to sharing my direct experience, I'll be heard. But when I preach secondhand information, I won't be heard." Michael placed his arm around my shoulder as he exclaimed with unbridled joy of a child, "From that day on, my throat has never bled again."

I was jolted back to present by sight of watch on Michael' s wrist in front of my face. It was time for my lecture inside meditation hall. Despite fears and resistance story had triggered, I felt grateful for co-conspiracy of Michael and my inner coach. This explicit and valuable guidance came just when I needed it. What timing!

Drawing strength from Michael's example of honesty and compassion, I spoke my own truth in my own words that evening. I didn't have to clear my throat once during talk. I exposed my heart and soul to audience that night and received profuse acknowledgement and appreciation in return.

During my long career as a public lecturer, my throat has never bled like Michael's did in his youth. But I have periodically encountered minor throat problems while speaking. Whenever my voice starts to become hoarse, raspy or blocked in any way, I remember Michael's story. I stop to reflect upon what I'm saying. Each time I find that I've strayed from my personal experience into quoting someone else's words or experience. Or, I discover I have shifted from simply sharing what I know into preaching to others what they should do. Then, as I return to sharing my own truth, my throat clears and I reconnect with hearts of audience.

I've learned for myself, what Michael discovered in his youth. When I speak what I know from direct experience, my body-and spirit-support me fully!

About a month later we started having ultrasounds and amniocentesis. At one point they saw something in one of ultrasounds that made them suspect baby might have birth defects. We would have to have all kinds of tests to make sure baby was going to be okay. The tests confirmed that yes, I was having another boy and yes he was perfectly healthy and wonderful. As time went on during pregnancy, he would come talk to me again and again. He was always reassuring me that everything was going to be okay.

One Sunday morning, my minister was talking to us about Deepak's Law of Detachment. I heard my son snicker and tell me that today we would be practicing law of detachment from each other. He would be born that day. Sure enough, late that night as I lay in bed reading, contractions started and my darling and I detached from each other. He was born with cord wrapped around his little neck three times and it was a bit unsettling to see my sweetheart as my favorite color of purple. Within moments he was a strong and vibrant charmer.

He's been a rather high maintenance kind of guy. He is fiery. He is not kind of guy who waits to be invited into life. He will show up when and where he chooses. You wouldn't think there was such a huge age difference between him and my older two children. He bosses everyone around as if he were grand king of universe. It makes perfect sense that he didn't allow his parents to choose whether or not he would exist and he wouldn't even let them choose his name.

He's turning out to be exactly who he said he was. A week before his second birthday, I noticed that he had same hair and eyes as that little boy who came to see me in vision that day. His eyes were all lit up and magical as he smiled at me in a way that made me think he knew a bunch of delicious little secrets. He laughed and said, "blub you" as he threw his arms around my neck. I whispered, "Michael" to see what he'd do, since it's not his name. He looked me straight in eyes with an all-knowing look as he repeated it back to me. It was such an odd and eerie moment.

"What secrets do you hold, my angel?"

Copyright 2003, Skye Thomas, Tomorrow's Edge