In 1993 I finished up my undergraduate degree at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. The two and one-half years I spent achieving this goal turned out to be not only the accomplishment of a long held dream, but also a pivotal point in my life. For the first time, I began to really understand with my heart what I had been accumulating and storing in my mind for many years. I realized that what drove me back to school was not just a thirst for academic knowledge; I was searching for something to fill up my life. I became more focused on discovering my true self. I wanted to be better, to be more aware of my spiritual nature and thereby become at once more human and more godly. I began a process of defining and refining my concept of spirituality, holding each new idea in my mind as a single entity, then gradually connecting the ideas to each other; weaving them together loosely at first, then closer and tighter, until finally there is no distinction among them. The individual thoughts become one in essence and practice. The process continues as each new experience is added and it, too, is woven into my ever-growing thread. This is the thread I hold onto whenever I feel like I am drifting away from myself, the cord that links me to the universe and guides me on my way to the Light.

This is what happens to the experiences I find deeply moving or thought provoking. As each one becomes another strand in my thread, the cord gets stronger and more reliable. I can trust it as I shift `transpersonally' from one state of being to another, moving away from the confines of a limited physical existence towards the freedom and enlightenment of being truly alive on a metaphysical level--or that part of the Universe White refers to as the "more connected part . . . centered in an interchange between inner and outer that involves one's fullest self and yet seems to be composed of everyone and everything else." Ultimately, this thread will lead me to "the Christ . . . the Level of Mind, of cosmic consciousness, of humankind's Supreme Identity."

The purpose of this paper is to recollect and share some of those "personal experiences (from subtle feelings to visions), minor and major" that have led me to believe that I have more than just a physical existence. It is the story of how I came to be interested in the transpersonal, including some of the experiences I have had that suggest the transpersonal and a description of how those experiences have shaped me and my life.

My narrative begins with two separate memories, events which are really more like a series of small episodes than specific major exceptional experiences. First are my early church experiences, feelings of being at one with God and the universe, and knowing that I wanted the peaceful, loving feelings I experienced in church to be a part of my life. I enjoyed every aspect of participating in the Mass, even on the limited basis we were allowed back in the `50's. Confession did not phase me, and I really liked reading about the saints, following along with the Stations of the Cross, and the smell of incense during liturgical ceremonies. I found listening to the Latin prayers and songs very uplifting and transcending. And although at that time I did not give much thought to what was happening to me, I knew I was experiencing something beyond my normal self.

I also recall riding my bicycle to the library several times each week during summer vacations. I would laboriously pedal up the hill from my house to the drug store. After stopping to cool off with a vanilla milk shake it was on to the library. The trip home was always glorious. I would be in my own imaginary world, anticipating the "otherness" to be found in the stories coming home with me, flying down that hill at top speed with the wind in my face and absolutely no fear. It was truly an exhilarating experience, and Walsh and Vaughan describe it perfectly: it was an extremely intense and blissful experience of "expanded identity and union with the universe."

The one major exceptional experience during my youth that remains vivid happened towards the end of my senior year. A representative from the Campus Crusade for Christ visited our school and talked about his organization and the message they were trying to bring to young adults on college campuses--something about using Jesus's life as an example and living as a representative of God here on Earth. I do not remember exactly what he said; I do remember the passionate feeling I had of knowing what he said was right. It was my first "AHA" response, those spine-tingling goosebumps all over my body that told me that I had just heard true words spoken. That moment my religious fervor and sense of personal identity came together in a way that changed my life. I was sure this young man knew something that I wanted to learn more about.

I remember having a keen sense of my own inner power and personal identity as a girl, and that perception remained strong during my school years. I was left pretty much on my own after school, which helped me to develop a strong feeling of independence and individuality. I also played basketball during my school years. In high school, my team traveled around to many different schools for games. We were not furnished with a bus, and since my parents never accompanied me I was left to own devices for getting rides. As a matter of fact, each parent attended exactly one game during my six years of play. As a result, this imposed self-reliance simply reinforced and heightened my perception of myself as an entity entirely unto myself.

I remained a very devout Catholic all the way through high school, although I began to get a glimmer of understanding about the difference between God and `the Church'. By the time I was in college, I was profoundly shocked and very disappointed when the priest serving Mass one Sunday actually informed the congregation during his sermon that anyone who was not a Catholic would not--indeed, could not--go to heaven. That was the day I left the Church. And gradually, as I drifted away from what had been the center of my existence, my life got away from me. I ran into a couple of situations I did not know how to handle and there was nobody around to help me out. I did not know how to accomplish what I wanted to do; I became very confused about who I was and who I was supposed to be. I believe now my bewilderment was compounded by the limitations our society placed on women at that time. It was okay to be a person in my own right with definite ideas, opinions, and goals when I was just a young girl. But after I graduated, it was expected by my parents and society that the men in my life would provide my direction. I was too young and naive then to comprehend or question what was happening to me, and so I did not understand how I lost control over my life. Slapped in the face with the two-fisted blow of losing my church and my identity at almost the same time, I began a pattern of letting life happen to me and sort of just wandered. Without even realizing what was happening, I succumbed to the demands of our society and my family. I did not finish college but got married instead, and generally, led the same kind of life everyone else I knew did. I did not exactly forget about God--I just sort of pushed him into the background.

Yet somehow, in the back of my mind, I intuitively held on to that child-like belief in a loving God who is always there. I realized that there is more to faith than confessing sins and going to Church on Sunday. I can look back now and see that I was living my life on two levels--the everyday physical life that I was aware of and took for granted; and the unconscious struggle on a spiritual plane to hold on to me, to make sense of my life and put some sort of meaning into it.

At that period in my life I had not given much thought to the terms "spirituality" or "transpersonal," much less to what those words really mean. But then, in the early 70's, I read several books which delivered quite an impact and unknowingly launched me on a spiritual journey that I have only begun to fathom in the last few years. I became acquainted with Ruth Montgomery and her guides "Art, Lily and the group," and Edgar Cayce and the A.R.E. became new friends. Like Rhea White, I received "guidance, strength, courage, and wisdom from the experiences of others." However, I believe Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein was the most transforming experience for me at that time. I `grokked' "Thou art God," yearning to share water in the fullest sense with my brothers and sisters and truly experience a totality of being. Through the character of Mike, Heinlein makes the spiritual ideal a reality for anyone who chooses to live it. Like Mike, we can tune into our own inner resources, taking full responsibility for ourselves and offering the gift of love to all human beings. Each person is at once an individual and a part of the universal collective. Although fiction, Heinlein's words somehow evoked the same "Aha" that I felt when reading Edgar Cayce or Ruth Montgomery. Not a major exceptional human experience maybe, but nevertheless, a subtle step up from one level of thinking to another.

Also around this time I met Tom, who is now my husband. Our getting together was and continues to be one of the major strands in the thread of my life. Tom is a very mature man, spiritual to an extremely high degree, and a constant example of the kind of human being I aspire to be. He, of course, is not perfect; however, it is his imperfections as much as his goodness which inspire me to keep on searching for my own higher level of spirituality. Life with Tom and our children is a continuous transformational experience as I come to know myself through them. Seeing them mirroring my attitudes and reactions, I receive endless lessons in living and loving, and steady reminders of how to apply those spiritual messages.

Over the years, as I have matured emotionally and mentally, I have found that reading and music are conducive to those moments when the boundary between the merely physical and the spiritual blur. Whenever I have a question or ask for guidance, I am invariably led to some kind of reading material. Whether fact, theory or fiction, it does not matter what sort of material I choose, either intentionally or by chance--the answer will be right in front of me. This may not sound profoundly transpersonal; however, it always works for me, providing direction when I need it the most. My daily reading from Each Day A New Beginning by Karen Casey is like that, as is Thomas Moore's Care of the Soul. Other times, the experience happens unexpectedly. Suddenly, the words are spine-tingling; I get the familiar goosebumps that tell me "YES, this is it!"--another strand for my thread. Ken Carey's Return of the Bird Tribes was like that, as were most of Heinlein's serious novels.

Music, though, is what I turn to for the solace and freedom of being connected to something both inside and outside myself. For me, music can create those transpersonal moments when I am no longer a heavy, floundering, physical being. I am transformed, becoming airy and delicate, flowing into the Light and forgetting everything except that love is all around me. Yanni, David Arkenstone, David Lanz and Spencer Brewer are my favorite musicians, as well as the classical composers Mozart, Beethoven, and many others. Sometimes the transition comes from the rhythms of contemporary artists like Paul Simon, David Sanborn, Eric Clapton and, of course, the Beatles. Imagine is my favorite song by the `Fab Four'; for me, it captures the essence of what my search is all about.

As White points out, the insights I get from my reading and the euphoria of the music are transcendental, provoking those "hints and guesses, which often can be found in poetry and other forms of literature, and in drama, art, music, and sports." They give me a glimpse of a level higher than I ordinarily am cognizant of, making me aware of the MORE that surrounds me, infuses me, and of which I am a part.

Finally, in the summer of 1990, all of those experiences bore fruit when I decided to go back to college. This was something I had longed to do for many years, and I thought that if I did not just go ahead and do it I might not get another chance. I had the means, my children were old enough for me to be away, and I certainly had the desire. Just making the decision seemed to release me from the confusion that was, at that time in my life, drowning me spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. I needed something to focus on, and I wanted to know what other people were thinking. I was excited by the prospect of stimulating classroom lecture and discussion. I see now that this was indeed an exceptional experience, and one that quite literally prompted me to move. I decided to register immediately, with a major in Interdisciplinary Studies--an apt program for a seeker, and broad enough to incorporate a wide variety of subjects.

UMD was more than I expected or had even hoped for, and I believe my guides were with me every step of the way from the decision to enroll to the last exam. All my previous course work from twenty-five years earlier was accepted; I was able to register for the courses I wanted; I got a parking permit (a major concern for every student)--everything seemed to work out according to an unseen plan. My major required a committee of advisors of my own choosing. Fortunately, two of the professors of my first three classes felt `right', and indeed, they turned out to be excellent choices, as they later became good friends as well as academic advisors. It seemed that every course I took was taught by an instructor who could have read my mind; each one addressed issues, either directly or indirectly, which were specifically related to what I was looking for. Each paper I researched and wrote not only provided insights to my own thoughts and feelings, it also made me realize that others experience the same ideas and beliefs. I perceived that we are all connected, many of us sharing the desire to find our place in the universe and discover what it is we are meant to do on this earth in this lifetime. Even though he might not call his approach spiritual or transpersonal, Dr. Tom Bacig called living a search for "the ideal versus the real," and every lecture he gave was a transforming experience for me. With his help, I understood that the "aspirations of the human spirit" were not limited to a few. Each of us, in his or her own way, is searching for the ideal, and I find that I still get excited by each new discovery. For me, this university experience was truly exceptional and a pivotal point in my life. After reading the material for this course, I know that those two and one half years produced a series of major transpersonal experiences which I am still assimilating, building on, and incorporating into the thread of my life. UMD was unquestionably a peak experience--one of the "best, happiest, most wonderful" periods of my life.

Although most of my transpersonal experiences seem to occur either as a series of events or come to me through my reading, there are two fairly recent incidents that come to mind as specific examples of transpersonal experiences. The first happened while in the hospital. The night before a routine surgical procedure, I was surprised to find that I was very afraid. Everyone had gone home; it was late and I was trying to go to sleep. But the more I thought about what was going to happen the next day, the more upset I became. I did not doubt the surgery was the right thing to do, and I knew I wanted it done, but I wasn't sure about whether I really wanted it to happen. I felt very alone, and asked my angels for help. There was no hesitation on their part; I felt their presence immediately. My breathing calmed down, my heart rate slowed, and I felt more peaceful. I was still nervous about the surgery, however I was no longer so anxious and fearful. I still have not forgotten how quickly and completely I felt comforted.

The other occurrence took place in a beauty salon. The ambience in this salon is always calm and positive; with soothing aromas permeating the shop and relaxing music playing in the background, I find that not only my hair is renewed with each visit. This particular time, I was sitting in chair, sort of drifting while listening to the music and feeling very peaceful. Suddenly, I was standing in front of a door in my mind. I knew that something was waiting for me on the other side, and that it was nothing to be afraid of. At the same time, part of me was aware that this was a vision and that I had never experienced anything like it before. When I opened the door, a beautiful black panther greeted me with a ferocious roar--an invitation to follow her. After quickly passing through a jungle setting, we came out into a field overflowing with tall grass and wildflowers. I saw a small girl running along with the cat, and knew that she was the another aspect of myself. As I watched, she grew, no longer a young girl, but not yet a woman, either. Even though I was startled out of my dream right then, I know she is still with me, waiting until I am ready to meet her again.

Since that summer of 1990 when I finally took responsibility for myself, I have been actively searching for new strands to add to my thread. The experiences I have that are transpersonal in nature also seem to have become more intense and more specifically directed to spiritual development. This past year I became a committee member of the Wisconsin A.R.M.S. (American Russian Mutual Success) Exchange sponsored by the Friendship Force and the governor of Wisconsin. The exchange between American/Wisconsin ambassadors and Russian hosts the committee was working on was scheduled for September, 1995. At first, I was not planning to take part in the actual exchange trip, and I offered various lame excuses to explain my lack of interest. Then during the final workshop prior to departure for Russia, I fathomed the real reason I was not going. While listening to how excited the ambassadors were in anticipation of their adventure, I realized that I was afraid to go! This understanding genuinely surprised and embarrassed me. I recognized that I was extremely reluctant to have to cope with the repugnant sanitary conditions I imagined I would find. And I was uneasy about trying to communicate with people whose society was so different from what I was used to, and who did not speak the same language. I had never traveled so far from home alone, and shrank from going through customs in a country run by the military organization of a government so alien and hostile to Americans. But these others were so eager to go, so enthusiastic about the opportunity to share and learn, that my justifications were exposed for the paltry and pathetic rationalizations they were. I began to think about my fear, and how it limited me, confused me, and kept me from being happy.

In short, I decided to go and signed up on the spot. It was a rush to get ready; and of course, I surprised everyone I knew, including my family. But in spite of my fears and trepidation, I knew it was the right decision. If I was so afraid to do this, I had to do it; somewhere there was a lesson I had to learn.

And learn I did--several things, as a matter of fact. First, the obvious: people are the same no matter where you go. The family I stayed with was just like my family, feeling the same kinds of emotions and desires, and coping with the same types of problems. More importantly, though, I was very forcefully reminded that when a person faces up to her fears, usually they are not as bad as anticipated. For example, the trip itself was tiring, and customs was nerve-wracking, but both were manageable. Communication was only a minor obstacle because my host knew a considerable amount of English. Etiquette was not a problem--any miscues were dismissed by both Russians and Americans as simple ignorance. The living conditions, however, were much worse than I had feared. To say that the public sanitary facilities in Russia were atrocious would be a gross understatement. Moreover, there was no indoor plumbing in my host's home, which meant no hot water, no bathtub, no shower, no toilet. I was alone and lonely; there was no one to share my experiences with, and no one with whom to share the hardships. Needless to say, after only a few days I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.

After arriving at my host's home I realized I had simply gotten what I had (unconsciously) asked for. My fear had attracted exactly the experience of which I was most afraid. It was then that I finally comprehended that if I was going to discover anything on this trip, I had to find it out for myself--no one was going to spell it out for me in a book, or give it to me in a lecture, or put it to music. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I had travelled a great distance just to recognize two important facts. I learned just how much my real family means to me, and I discovered that I longed to share my adventure with my husband Tom--it just was not the same without him.

However, the primary reason this trip was a major transpersonal experience was because it showed me how prevalent fear is in my life, and what it has done. In the months since my return, and now in writing this paper, I realize how I have let fear rule me since I graduated from high school and became so confused about myself and my life. Everything about living scares me because it takes commitment. I hesitate to entrust myself to a Higher Power, or even to my husband and my family, because then I might have to give up control over my life. I am reluctant just to let go and live, and then to let living take care of itself. I am afraid of having no power. But that is so silly, because power and control are, after all, only illusions. I have been looking for ways to determine my own destiny for years, and am only now beginning to understand and believe in my heart what my head has been telling me all that time: that the more I put conditions on love and try to control everything, the more everything gets out of my control. Personal power comes from making choices and then letting go of trying to determine the results. Spiritual power comes from unconditional love.

I can see how all these experiences have helped me evolve into the person I am today. Each one is like a path which leads me ever onward, ever inward. Now, I watch for what each new acquaintance or circumstance can teach me, and I am more aware of the necessity of applying what I learn to my earthly relationships and my spiritual growth. I can accept my shortcomings more easily, and am excited that I may be a source of inspiration (or at the least a good example) to others. In addition to becoming more sensitive to those around me and more attentive to their relationships to me, I am more in tune to their also being a child of God as well as my sister or brother in spirit.

I wish I could describe some noble vision that turned my life around, or share profound dreams that forever changed the way I relate to the universe, but I cannot. My exceptional human experiences have tended to be rather mundane incidents in a uneventful life, meaningful to no one but myself. Taken individually, they are for the most part subtle glimpses into the MORE of human existence. But taken together, they let me know that there is something beyond the mere physical with which I am so familiar. As White says, my EHE's provide the magic for my life; they are those "`clear points of intensity' in the midst of our otherwise unexceptional lives that connect us not only to our own depths but to that of others." Those moments when I transcend the level of my everyday being to some level beyond inform me that we human beings have a huge potential for learning and loving. It is then that I know that I am not alone; I am just incomplete. I look forward to discovering the next strand in my thread.

1I realize now, after reading some of the course material, that I was experiencing what Walsh and Vaughan describe as the desire to change one's state of consciousness (Roger Walsh and Frances Vaughan, "The Riddle of Consciousness," Paths Beyond Ego: The Transpersonal Vision (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1993), 15). They quote Andrew Weil, who concludes that "the 'desire to alter consciousness periodically is an innate normal drive analogous to hunger or the sexual drive.'"

2See Rhea White, "Exceptional Human Experience and the More That We Are: EHEs and Identity" for a discussion of discovering one's own greater self and creating a relationship with both its inner and outer aspects.

3White, "Exceptional Human Experience," 113.

4Ken Wilber, "Psychologia Perennis: The Spectrum of Consciousness," Paths Beyond Ego: The Transpersonal Vision, eds. Roger Walsh and Frances Vaughan (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1993), 22.

5Henry Reed, "Introduction to Transpersonal Studies," course notes, 5.

6Roger Walsh and Frances Vaughan, eds., Paths Beyond Ego: The Transpersonal Vision (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1993), 2.

7White, "Exceptional Human Experience," 117.

8Robert H. Heinlein, Stranger In A Strange Land (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1991), passim.

9White, "Exceptional Human Experience," 115.

10Rhea White, "Why Write An EHE Autobiography? A Personal Essay," 129.

11"Hiding the Light: Why People Don't Talk About Their Peak Experiences."

12This realization was reinforced while reading Paths Beyond Ego. In "Lucid Dreaming," authors Walsh and Vaughan suggest that the "metaphysical view that what we take to be external reality is a creation of mind. . . . Some [lucid dreamers] begin to question their previous worldviews, to wonder whether the waking world could also be a dream, and to agree with Nietzsche that 'we invent the largest part of the thing experienced. We are greater artists than we know.'" (74).

13White, "Exceptional Human Experiences," 114.