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I have been trying for weeks to understand how to write this. I’ve decided that I’ll put it off forever unless I just plunge in. It’s complex because there are a number of different layers. First, there is my relationship with the visitors. Second, it is what they–and we–are. Third, it is what I have learned from them about the future.

Anne is deeply involved in all this, but not as the person she was. As she has said, "I’m not Anne anymore, but I’ll always be Anne for you, Whitley." I have learned much about the truth of that statement in recent weeks. I have seen the being that projected Anne into the time stream and fallen in love in a whole new way. In fact, I see this being all the time.
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In my last journal entry, I described the first part of a major experience with my wife Anne. Since her death on August 11, 2015, there have been many such experiences, but none so powerful as this one, which took place on the anniversary of her death, August 11, 2016.  For details of the first half of the experience, please refer to my previous journal entry. Click here to read it.
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I have been very hesitant to write about what has been happening in my life recently. I have left a partial record in the "Awakening" talks in our subscriber area, but have not described the depth, intimacy or the absolute sense of reality that accompany these experiences. The reason that I haven’t done it is that they involve contacts with Anne. Now, one might say that it’s important to make a record because it empowers others. That’s only partially true. I have a number of friends who have lost loved ones and are grieving. But none of them have had experiences anything close to what is going on between me and Anne, and stories like this have a tendency to deepen grief, in two ways. First, the person thinks ‘why doesn’t that happen to me?’ and feels sad.read more

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I am at the old house in the Texas Hill Country west of Austin where so many of the experiences I related in the Secret School took place. It is as sweet a night as Texas has to offer, softly touched by moonlight, graced by a cool south breeze. Half an hour ago, there were three familiar cries out in the dark, and I think that, after all these years, the visitors might be near me again.

Once, I would have been afraid. No longer. Not that I don’t think that they can be dangerous, but rather that I am surrendered to the unknown. I have never known what they are. Aliens, perhaps. Equally possible, it seems to me, that they are us dancing with itself in some way that we can barely even begin to understand.
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