The land of woo woo In search of the afterlife4

INTO THE LAND OF WOO-WOO: My hunt for the Afterlife

I was an angry young man, though I didn’t see myself as such at the time.

I was a loner, had no ambition and lived without hope. Life had no purpose; thus, I had no purpose. For me, God didn’t exist. Given the horrors of life that are all too common in our world, how could there be a purpose? Yes, there’s art, beauty and majesty in nature. So what? The same miserable outcome awaits us all in our life’s finale—a sure and certain death. Oblivion.

It was 1976, and this lack of meaning gnawed away at any ‘tree of life’ that was perchance rooted within me. It sapped my willpower, sabotaging the occasional daydream of heroic re-emergence into the mainstream of life. No carpe diem here. Carousing at strip clubs and the like cooled my fevers of hopelessness well into the tranquilizing nights, only for me to feel the relentless scorch of reality with every rising sun.

Going to the J-O-B. Going to bars, going to bed, going it alone. It was survival for the sake of survival.

“What’s the point?” I’d cry, itching to stir a sympathetic reaction from any gods lingering nearby. “Why even bother?” I’d plead, surely annoying any untapped holy of holies lurking about, with the hope that they’d take pity on this unwitting soul.

The response? Nothing. Of course. What the hell did I expect?

The living of our lives is just a game we all lose in the end, I’d profess with the cheeky certainty of my 20-something years. Why seek the good and better within absent enduring tomorrows?

The only restorative statement I’d previously heard about my soulless malady was the oft-repeated, “You must have faith, my child.” Well, I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t have the internal fortitude to accept that Simon Says instruction.

How could I drink from an empty chalice?

A wing


Airplane at sunsetThings, however, were about to change. Big time. It was as if some obscure life pendulum had reached the top of its ponderous swing and cracked open an invisible esoteric door, so that my better self could squeeze through, if I’d but try.

This reversal of fortune began when I woke one morning from a vivid dream so real that I was shocked to find myself still in bed.

Returning home from work, I pull the car over to the curb in front of my modest apartment complex in Buena Park, California [U.S.]. Getting out, I see my pet parakeet, Dangerous Dan Defoe, in easy flight overhead, circling the perimeter of the complex as if awaiting my arrival.

Sure enough, he swoops down. Hovering an arm’s-length away and peering straight at me, he beams to me happy affection and acknowledgment of my care for him.

More than anything, however, he’s explicitly saying goodbye.

With a nearly imperceptible nod and a hard turn to his left, he soars gracefully up and away until he disappears into the far skies.

He’s gone. Staring after him, I feel abandoned … alone. What happened? Why is he leaving?

Then I woke up. Replaying the dream, again and again, I could feel my care for Dangerous Dan. I loved the little guy. In the mornings, he would tweet his variations on, “Top of the day to you, Tom.” In the evenings, he’d sing his bright, chirpy notes to me. He seemed happy and gave me good cheer.

But, hey, it was just a dream, and it was time to get going with the chores. Prying myself out of bed, I walked to the kitchen while tossing a quick “Good morning, Dangerous!” in the direction of Dan’s birdcage, next to the front door.

… Wait a sec!

The door was wide open. And where was Dangerous Dan? Stepping to the cage, I found him on his back. Lifeless.

Instantly, I knew what had happened. Returning home from a late night of wanderlust and Dutch courage, I’d gone straight to bed—and failed to close the door. The cold and breezy night air had battered his tiny body for hours, and my Dangerous Dan Defoe died of exposure.

Yeah, as in exposure to me!

I sat on my sofa for quite a while, rightly wallowing in my guilt.

Oh, my god. The dream!

Dangerous had said goodbye to me in the dream, and then I woke up to find him dead? How could that be? I was astounded. For weeks, I drifted in and out of absent-minded self-examinations and knew that I could not, must not, continue my meandering through life.

[su_pullquote align=”right”]Was life truly just an exercise in survival? Nothing more? Despite my conviction of the grey nothingness awaiting us all at life’s end, I needed to find out, one way or another.[/su_pullquote]

Was life truly just an exercise in survival? Nothing more? Despite my conviction of the grey nothingness awaiting us all at life’s end, I needed to find out, one way or another—get a grip on the here and now or give it up already.

Fish or cut bait.

Perhaps prompted by the dream, I recalled a book I’d read in my youth titled, There is a River: The Story of Edgar Cayce, by Thomas Sugrue. Bizarre at the onset, the story of Edgar Cayce offered the concept of life beyond this life. It just felt right. I was excited. When I shared it with family and friends, however, their responses were, at best, indifferent. Unsupported by people in my little corner of the world, I forgot about it. Until that morning.

My memories of the ‘goodbye’ dream from Dangerous Dan, together with my reading of Edgar Cayce’s life story, caromed back and forth in my thoughts for weeks, refusing to relent to my usual malaise.

The two memories together were like salt poured on an icy road. They gave me sufficient traction to begin a private inner journey, a quest for the truth—if it could be had. It was an expedition into the unknown, though far short of any kind of crusade and provisioned with hope alone. There’d be no fires of courage throwing light upon the path, and certainly no pipes and drums heralding the way.

  … and a prayer


hands in prayerIn fact, this was but a plea on spiritual knees for truth, a private affair between myself and whatever Higher Intelligence there might be. My task was to transpose that etheric prayer into reasoned action in the grit of the here and now—this world, my life.

Though I had no plan, I knew that I must immerse myself fully and unconditionally. I couldn’t be the critical observer in the balconies, waiting to be handed the facts of the matter. Of course not.

It is I who must act. It is I who must participate and do so in good faith. It is I who must be especially responsive to others, not the reverse.

Let the hunt begin.

Is there an afterlife or not? I intended to find out. Up or down, I wanted the facts of the matter, if they could be had. Would I prove to be the fool’s fool in the doing? The only thing I knew for sure was that my little odyssey must remain undeclared, undisclosed and unvoiced. At least, for now.

It was 1977, and I was heading straight into the mythical land of woo-woo. Little did I know then that I’d be entering a sphere of consciousness undocumented by science and typically panned by the religious community.

The spiritual jungle


The land of woo woo In search of the afterlife2My journey began, in earnest, when I finally stopped into a converted church building in Anaheim, California. It was called Psynetics Foundation, founded in 1964 by Walter Tipton, a Methodist pastor, and now called The Learning Light Foundation. I’d passed it hundreds of times over the years, and the event and lecture titles on the outdoor marquee had always struck me.

Skimming over a variety of brochures and the schedule of events in the foyer, I found myself torn. There were all kinds of happenings, including guest lectures on various spiritual topics, live clairvoyant demonstrations, classes on personal development and monthly psychic fairs.

Intriguing but too weird. It was one thing to read about this stuff, quite another to show up in person. Regardless, this was exactly the spiritual jungle in which I could begin my hunt for meaning and purpose.

I went to the next scheduled event and slithered into the back pew. It was a lecture related to metaphysics given by a professor of astronomy. The guy was fantastic! He loved the possibilities within metaphysical philosophy and was unapologetic for his interest in the paranormal. Just what the doctor ordered!

I could breathe again. For me, it was a cool breeze on a hot day, reviving my determination to enter the sweltering jungle.

Perusing the new schedule of events, I saw that the next lecture was a demonstration by an animal psychic.

A what?

One week later, I was sitting in the same back pew, watching as audience members, one at a time, brought their pet to the front of the room for the psychic to ‘read.’ Greeting each animal with a friendly “Hello,” he proceeded to comment on the pet’s preferences, foods, environment, moods and daily experience. He’d end the reading with observations—both warm and witty—on how the animal felt about his or her human companion.

The pet owners’ reactions ranged from shocked disbelief to shiny-eyed smiles of understanding. Yes, there were moments of doubt or confusion for a couple of people. They were, however,  quickly followed by startled ‘a-ha’ moments as the animal psychic would ‘telepathically’ ask the pet for additional information.

Sitting in the audience of 60 or so people, I watched the reactions of the animal owners for nearly two hours. I was transfixed. Their laughter and knowing smiles and tears, not to mention their facial expressions of utter, sometimes embarrassed astonishment, mesmerized me. I found myself slack-jawed and mentally cross-eyed.

So I put my face against the window pane of Psynetics to better see within, immersing myself in their activities and volunteering to set up and clean up at workshops, lectures, prayer meetings and potlucks. I took classes in psychic development and the like, quickly becoming known as the ‘Doubting Thomas,’ in that I was always giving the teachers a hard time, coming up with alternative explanations for experiences and phenomena they called, ‘psychic,’ ‘mediumistic,’ and ‘spiritual.’

Yes, I’d tagged myself with the ever-convenient self-image of a skeptic (in relation to all things paranormal), but underneath that wimpy labour-saving device was just an inner boy who was terrified of becoming the town idiot.

Page 2»

1 2 Next

  1. Thomas Jacobson’s search for meaning and a personal connection with the afterlife is one we can all identify with…but I can’t imagine anyone else expressing their efforts in a more eloquent, inspirational manner!

    1. Michael, I just today, Sunday (Aug. 12), realized that I can reply to comments left by readers. Thank you for your beautiful comment. You have, again, touched my heart and soul.

  2. I never tire of hearing your story, Thomas. You inspire me. Time is running out and i?m Still trying to reconcile my life
    I am very happy for your success. Keep writing!

    1. I know what you mean, Joan, but time never runs out. As to “Still trying to reconcile my life,” perhaps you could begin journaling. Buy (find) a nice, high-quality, and large journal book. [Don’t get a small ‘cute’ one … you want it to be quite easy to write in.] Get a fine writing instrument that is fun to use.
      Every time you sit down with your journal light candles and whatever else would contribute to a committed and sincere atmosphere of spiritual inquiry. Pray to God and Spirit [outloud] … relax and slow your breathing … inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Just enjoy it! Don’t make it all too much. You are, at one and the same time, dedicated/sincere but also light-hearted … even whimsical. Then ask you questions out loud that have everything to do with reconciling your life. How can I reconcile my life? Etc. Thank you for your wonderful comment, Joan.

  3. I was filled with warmth and well being from reading about Dr. Peebles, etc. in To Dance With Angels, as I’m confident you know I have done. Whenever I am at my computer I see you and Connie in and out of your car.

    I am getting closer to going deeper.

    1. Heck, Charlton, you’re deep already. It’s just giving a more of your time to this (metaphysics) developing interest. Ask yourself, are you able and willing to give as much study and reflection and sincerity to these things as you did previously to your successful endeavors in other areas of your life? Given your kind comment about being “filled with warmth and well-being,” I suspect you are indeed able and willing. Thank you, Charlton.

  4. QUOTE: “Think of a 1930s radio set with occasional static and the signal fading in and out. It?s the same for mediums.”
    -My quibble is a small one, but why use the 1930s (an era before most people’s time, including mine) to illustrate this tendency of radios, as if these are obsolete radio traits? ‘Cause the exact same things still happen with radios today! I just returned from a camping trip with my recently bought Sony transistor radio and I repeatedly experienced static, noise, and stations fading in and out! Hey, radio broadcasts act the same way today as they did in the 1930s.

    1. Good point, Bob. I agree. The picture that floated forward (from mind to brain) to my attention while writing was of a small family gathered around one of those big wood floor radios of the era. Perhaps I was trying to evoke that feeling of people gathered together trying to ‘hear’ from beyond (their living room). Thank you, Bob. Much appreciated.

  5. To Dance with Angels jumped off the book shelf into my hands in 1992 at a Walden Book Store. It was shortly thereafter that I received the volumes of tapes from the Dr Peebles sessions and he was my morning companion as I drove thru the countryside listening to his wisdom on my way to my practice. It was with much joy and delight to meet Thomas in person shortly thereafter. I am so looking forward to the publication of his journey and the personal perspective that will make it so valuable to all those on a similar Spiritual path. Enlightening, uplifting, informative and most of all “from the Heart”.

  6. Dear Thomas; I am so very glad to have connected with you and be included in this extended path you walk with
    spirit. As you have shared the mental, emotional and spiritual
    challenges of your personal life and soaring with recovery I receive incentive to embrace opening each new door on my own path. Your writing skills are impeccable. Thank you

  7. “I couldn?t be the critical observer in the balconies, waiting to be handed the facts of the matter. Of course not.” Your life by demonstration is the greatest teacher, Thomas. Even more so than the beautiful and timeless guidance of Dr. Peebles. Your integrity, honesty, and truth have always been bright, like a lighthouse, guiding us safely to the shore of love. Having had the great pleasure of hearing you on the radio in the late 80s, and private sessions with Dr. Peebles through you, I have to say that I learned the most from you. Your courage, vulnerability, and ability to surrender to the unknown, absolutely blew my mind, and opened my heart. No longer did I fear the unknown, but looked forward to exploring it, with eyes wide open, like a child. How blessed we are to read this article, to have access to your inner being, and the drive and passion that propelled you towards building this magnificent relationship with God and Spirit. You continue to change lives by encouraging others to live their lives authentically. God bless you, dear no-longer-doubting Thomas. 🙂

  8. Thank you so much for sharing your journey. As I continue to wander through my own spiritual jungle, your words offer me hope in finding a deeper connection to life and beyond.

    Blessings to you!
    Liz

  9. Thank you, Liz. Remember the last words of the article, “… love that surrounds each of us, though often ?behind the scenes? of our physical senses.” It’s true. There are important reasons why we cannot sense them similar to parents leaving their children to go through the school system on their own with minimal even no interference. You’re not failing. On the contrary, your ongoing exploration is earning you merits in your growth. I often reminded myself that, after all, Spirits’ lessons are about engagement, re-engagement … increased communication. That’s what to concentrate on: how to engage each other more so than how to engage Spirit.

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *