I have studied and earned advanced degrees in social work and psychology at well known universities and became a board certified and licensed psychotherapist.
While working at the CIA, I was planning a trip to several countries in the Orient in order to offer therapy services for employees. I had a strong feeling that I should go to the Philippines. This was not on my list of travels but the draw that I should go would not abate, so I included Manila on my trip schedule for a short visit which I paid for as R& R en route to the rest of my assigned travels. I took a plane from Korea to Manila, and while landing, I started to feel a pull in my solar plexus. Not a pleasant feeling. After I relaxed for a day near my hotel I was preparing to return to the airport to continue my assigned travel. I still felt a pulling in my solar plexus and an unexplainable need to visit the American cemetery there. That was a first for me. I had never visited an American cemetery while traveling overseas. At that time, the political situation in the Philippines was unstable and there was a strong anti-American and anti-western climate in the streets. The American Embassy personnel warned me that the streets and even some taxis were not safe for a western woman traveling alone.
Despite the warning, I arranged for a taxi to drive me to the cemetery. This is a huge cemetery – 152 acres. It contains the largest number of graves of our World War II military dead, a total of more than 17,200. When I arrived I told the driver to stop at the bottom of a hill and wait for me. I exited the taxi and walked up the hill and at one of the hundreds of long rows of crosses I made a right turn and walked directly to the grave of my cousin. I began to weep with grief. I never knew this man, Johnny, who died at about the time I was born. Johnny was one of my father’s favorite cousins and my parents had talked of him often as I was growing up. They knew he had been killed during the war, but did not know where, nor did they know where he was buried. What drew me to his grave? In all of the huge theaters of operations, why would I feel compelled to go to that cemetery? Why did I feel the pull to visit his grave? While crying, I took pictures of his grave because this was quite an unbelievable experience for me, and I knew it would be the same for my family. When I returned to the United States I came to feel that Johnny’s soul wanted what the Irish refer to as “a send off” or a prayerful service. I now understand that his intervention in my life was to teach me about the Spirit world.