DEFINING MIRACLES - FIRST THREE CHAPTERS

Defining Miracles 

Defining Miracles Copyright 2007 Dodie Ulery 

Edited by Susan Edwards. 

DEFINING MIRACLES 

Dodie Ulery 

Quest 

The cry comes from a desolate place, from one who seeks a path leading out of 
darkness. 

The cry comes from a soul desperate for answers, a soul who is carried along by the 
momentum of the tides and illusions, and who finally screams, "No!" 

The cry comes from one who hears music and sees lights rising from the marshes 
and asks, "Why?" 

The cry comes from the voice of a pilgrim seeking a path with girth and substance 
that leads straight to the mountaintop. 

The cry comes from a wailing within, which will not be silenced nor know rest until 
truth is found. 


Chapter One: The End 

You draw to yourself what you are. 

Negative draws negative. Positive draws positive. 

My plans had been made and nothing would change. I was tired of worrying about 
everything and feeling worthless. I could see no long-term future for myself. After I 
bought my cigarettes, I would return home, eat the roast beef dinner I had fixed for 
myself, have a piece of chocolate cake, maybe two, smoke two or three cigarettes with 
my after-dinner coffee, blow out the pilot lights on my stove, close the windows and go 
to bed. I would simply drift off to sleep for the last time. I couldn't screw this up, unlike 
everything else in my life. Besides, I thought, my death really wouldn't make any 
difference in the overall scheme of things. The primary message from my family had 
always been, "You're not good enough or pretty enough or smart enough. You cry too 
much and you're too moody and emotional. You make terrible choices. If only you were 
thinner, had fewer freckles and your nose wasn't so big." 

Being a good Catholic girl, I had always tried to do the "right thing" and win 
approval from my family, but it had never happened and I wanted the pain to go away. 
It wasn't that I wanted to die; I just didn't want to struggle with life any longer. I just 
didn't feel capable of ever being what my family expected me to be. I was tired of trying 
and feeling like a failure. I wanted to evaporate, disappear or cease to exist. 

But for now, I had one more mundane errand to finish. As I got out of the car and 
locked the door, I looked to make sure the windows were shut. The neighborhood 
wasn't the safest. I noticed the street was unusually quiet for four-thirty in the 
afternoon, but then this was New Year's Eve. The cool and crisp air smelled of burning 
wood from fireplaces. The sun was disappearing behind large oak trees to the west. 
Soon the whole world would be celebrating the holiday. 

Everyone but me. My plans were not of a festive nature, unless you call ending a 
miserable existence a celebration. 

My car was in full view while I walked into the convenience store. At no time did 
anyone approach it. However, after my purchase, when I unlocked it and slipped onto 
the cool vinyl seat, I came face-to-face with the first miracle. 

A paperback book titled Edgar Cayce-Mystery Man of Miracles was lying on the 
front seat. I laughed out loud when I saw the title. I didn't know who Edgar Cayce was 
but that didn't matter. The title intrigued me. Who was I to pass up a miracle? Then the 
reality of the book's appearance hit me. The small voice that always initiated the 
dialogue inside my head kicked in. It assured me that everything was as it should be. I 
looked around the parking lot. It was empty. I glanced at the windows. They were all 
completely shut. There was no logical way for the book to be inside the car. It was 


impossible. But possible or not, I held the book in my hand-that was the reality. I 
decided to add it to the long list of strange, unexplained events that had occurred in my 
life. I lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and thumbed through the book. Phrases like "out-of-
body experience" and "meditation" caught my eye, but I immediately dismissed them 
as weird. Soon my thoughts drifted back to the parking lot, the present moment and the 
feelings of hopelessness that had brought me here in the first place. I returned home to 
face the task at hand. 

I started reading the book while I ate. I was amazed to learn about a man who was 
as strange as I was. He knew and felt things that other people didn't understand. He 
had always felt out of step with the rest of the world. I could relate to his lifelong 
struggle to fit in and understand himself and his abilities. But, most of all, the book 
helped me to understand and deal with a previous event, which was the catalyst for my 
current state of confusion and depression. It gave me hope and a reason to change my 
plans and move ahead with my life. 


Chapter Two: The Arrival 

Thoughts are seeds we plant in our mental gardens. 

An unexplained event had occurred the previous August, shortly before my 
twenty-first birthday and four months before that fateful New Year's Eve. I was in the 
middle of a divorce so I had been spending a lot of time alone. I had gone to bed early, 
about ten o'clock. It was a typical summer night, warm and balmy. Since I didn't have 
air conditioning, I left one of my bedroom windows open. It faced a wooded area, so 
the evening sounds were soothing and the air was usually quite moist, cool and 
fragrant with dew and night-blooming jasmine. The other window faced a school 
parking lot, with streetlights that were lit all night. I always kept this window closed 
and locked. 

My dog Herbie was curled up next to me on the bed. In the wee hours of the 
morning, something woke me up. I wasn't sure what it was. I listened carefully. There 
wasn't a sound except for the droning of the window fan and the frogs and crickets 
outside my window. As I looked around the room, I noticed something floating above 
the bed. At first I wanted to scream, but I hesitated. It wasn't a human form. It was 
much larger. As it became more discernible in the darkness, I realized it was a large 
wooden door. It was the kind one might see in pictures of ancient monasteries or 
English castles, rounded at the top and made of large timbers, with black iron hinges. It 
was floating in a vertical position in mid-air. 

From the angle of the streetlight shining through my window, I could make out the 
texture of the wood. It looked weathered and worn. The heavy dark hinges were wide 
on the right side and tapered toward the center of the door. Instead of a doorknob, it 
had a heavy hand-forged ring. 

I remained perfectly still. My heart was pounding and I was too frightened to move. 
Thoughts raced through my mind. 

What was happening? I knew all the other doors and windows were locked because 
I had checked them before going to bed. The fan was still in the only open window 
droning away. How could anyone have gotten in? I reached for my dog. He was still 
there next to me and sleeping soundly. At my touch, he raised his head, looked around 
the room and then went back to sleep, unconcerned about the events unfolding before 
me. My body was trembling and I started feeling nauseated. 

Then, as clearly as the sound of a chiming bell, that quiet, strong, calming voice 
inside my head took over and reassured me that things were as they were supposed to 
be and that I should relax and experience the moment. 

Again my attention was drawn to the object above the bed. As the door creaked 
open, a shaft of blue-white light flooded into my bedroom. It filled every crevice of the 


room and illuminated the area with brilliance before unknown to me. The light seemed 
almost alive as it moved and flowed like water. However, there were no new sounds in 
the room and the light gave off no heat. 

Then, from within the light, a robed figure emerged. The figure glided forward, 
walking on air. He was perhaps five feet, seven inches tall, wearing a robe made of a 
rough burlap-like fabric, a remnant from an ancient peasant's loom. The figure had a 
rope belt tied around its waist. The hood, which was attached to the robe, completely 
covered his head and shielded his face. The inside of the hood was dark. I struggled to 
see a face, but none was visible. Again, the crystal-clear voice inside my head took over 
and explained that everything was as it should be. 

I said nothing. The robed figure hovered motionlessly above me. Finally I asked, 
"Who are you and what do you want?" 

Then the figure spoke. It sounded like a masculine voice. He said, "I am a 
messenger who loves you very much. I am here to tell you about your past, your future 
and the things you've agreed to do." 

"What are you talking about?" I asked. 

"Every lifetime leaves a mark on the soul's experience," he said, as he began the 
first of many monologues. "Some lifetimes we choose by consciously making choices. 
Sometimes we choose by not choosing. Even this is a choice. This lifetime, for you, is to 
be an expression of the Light, working through human consciousness and free will. It's 
to be a manifestation and expression of joy and balance, which others will recognize 
and desire to emulate. You are to help others find the God within. You chose this 
particular life experience to make up for an earlier lifetime, during which you hurt 
many people and caused much needless suffering. Thus far, you have failed to commit 
to the purpose for which you incarnated. It's time to be about your work." 

"What work?" I asked. 

"Your life will be one of service to others. Your energies will be spent finding 
homes for the children of heaven. In the future, you will be faced with enormous 
challenges. Some of these challenges will be created by your own confused patterns of 
thought, guilt and self-inflicted limitations. Other challenges will be chosen by you to 
make you stronger. You will be given the resources to overcome any challenge, 
regardless of its nature. All the help you will ever need will be available. But you must 
ask for help when it's needed. For us to intrude on your life or consciousness is 
unacceptable." 

Then I was aware of seeing many faces, one after another, like a slideshow inside 
my head. I felt dizzy as hundreds of faces flashed by. It included people of all ages and 
ethnic backgrounds. 

"These people will cross your path during your life," he said as he continued. 
"Some will be a presence in your life to help you overcome challenges. Others will be 
there to help you remember truths you forgot you knew, and others will be there for 
you to serve. You may not remember their names, but you will remember their faces. 


"You will have the opportunity to marry and raise a family. All these decisions will 
be made by you on the way to your future. You and your husband will accomplish 
much and build a very comfortable and pleasant life. No matter what happens in the 
future, your family will be protected and cared for. 

"At one point in your future, you will be asked to turn your back on all you have 
accomplished and walk away. Will you be ready and willing to do this when the time 
comes? Think on these things. I will be back." 

My mind was spinning as I tried to understand and remember everything he said. 
Then it was over. The moment passed, the light faded, and with it the door and the 
robed figure. The absence of the light left a hole in the darkness that seemed to reflect 
the desolation I felt inside. I started crying. 

Because of my Catholic background, I believed in angels, but this experience was 
nothing like anything we had been taught. I was frightened and confused. I was 
convinced it was just one more event in my life that I would not understand and never 
be able to talk about. 

I got out of bed, lit a cigarette and started pacing back and forth across my 
bedroom. I knew sleep would not come again that night. I took out my journal and 
recorded the event while it was still fresh in my mind. The words "every lifetime" and 
"this lifetime" kept echoing in my mind. These phrases implied that we experience 
more than one earthly experience. I had been raised devoutly Catholic. This concept of 
multiple lifetimes, or reincarnation, was completely alien to me. The thought of living 
through another lifetime like the one I was presently experiencing was overwhelming. 

I cried for days while remaining curled up in a blanket on my living room couch. I 
was unable to work. As I look back, I realize now that I was in shock. I had no one with 
whom I could discuss the event. Because of my divorce, I was afraid to talk to a priest, 
and my family was disgusted with me. I felt alone. Everything I had always believed in 
had been washed away. I asked myself why I would want to live longer when life 
seemed so empty and pointless. People seemed so cruel and judgmental. Life, as I 
observed it, seemed to be a pointless, joyless, guilt-laden journey that started with a 
painful birth, ended in a painful death and was filled with hard work that brought no 
personal gratification of any kind. 

My religious training only enlarged these negative feelings. Original sin, from my 
perspective, had all of us tried, convicted and condemned from the moment we were 
conceived. The true nature of the god we worshipped always mystified and eluded me. 
I tried to understand, but it never felt right. 

Then, as if reincarnation wasn't enough to deal with, I tried to understand what my 
future challenge in this lifetime would be-the work the monk had described. I felt so 
inadequate. The thought of being responsible for actually accomplishing something 
terrified me. I couldn't even run my own life, not to mention "finding homes for the 
children of heaven", whatever that meant. 


For several months I struggled to deal with these new concepts but because of my 
lack of information, I was unable to reconcile the situation. Whatever the challenges 
were, I was sure I wasn't up to them. 

My personal life continued to deteriorate. I developed some health problems and 
lost my job. Suicide seemed the easiest solution. I just didn't want to think about my life 
or my future any longer. I wanted it to end. 

That was when an alternative appeared on New Year's Eve. The first miracle, the 
book that manifested inside my locked car and gave me a reason to continue living. 
This event would eventually lead me to a path of truth, joy and light. 

After his first appearance, the little monk became a major player in my life. He 
taught me while I slept, and feeling his presence around me made an enormous 
difference. I finally had a chance to learn something about the meaning of faith and 
trust-faith in myself and trust in a power greater than myself. 

One evening, during an encounter with the monk, I asked what I could call him. He 
said, "You may call me Shalimar." 

When I asked what he was, he explained, "I'm called a high teacher. I instruct those 
who teach others on your plane or those whose lives demonstrate certain spiritual 
principles. I'm here to teach you through experience. Never believe something because 
someone tells you to believe it. If you can't prove it for yourself, don't believe it." 


Chapter Three: Confronting Possibilities 

When you control your thoughts, you control everything. 

The first miracle, the book that manifested inside my locked car, answered 
questions that had haunted me since my childhood, questions about my life's purpose, 
reincarnation, human suffering and so much more. It also exposed me to an unknown 
vista of possibilities and probabilities, which I never could have imagined, coming from 
a world that consisted of strong religious bias and dogmatism. 

The book also helped me understand and come to grips with many recurring 
nightmares and dreams that had always plagued me. 

Many dreams, I soon discovered, were actually memories of emotionally charged 
moments or unresolved issues from other lifetimes. The depth and intensity of the 
emotions determined the intensity of the memory. 

As Shalimar explained, "An event such as sitting at the family breakfast table on a 
typical mundane morning will not possess the necessary intensity needed to stand out 
as part of your lifetime memory storehouse. However, having breakfast with the Dalai 
Lama would possess the necessary intensity. Therefore, it more likely would qualify as 
an entry into those memory banks." 

One dream had haunted me since early childhood. I experienced it at least once and 
sometimes twice a week, as far back as I could remember. 

In this one particular recurring nightmare, I was being chased by people from the 
village where I lived. They were pursuing me through an ancient forest. 

The trees and foliage were nothing like those I had ever seen in Florida. Even the 
smell of the forest was different. I could smell a heavier, more evergreen presence. 
There was none of the gray moss that appears in all Southern forests. The trees were 
enormous, some appearing to be eight or ten feet in diameter. It was dark except for a 
full moon that kept peeking through the trees and clouds and illuminated my path as I 
negotiated the underbrush. 

The people screamed at me as they ran through the woods behind me. They carried 
crudely fashioned torches that left a trail of thick black smoke. They also carried 
wooden pitchforks and other wooden farming implements. As I ran, I had fleeting 
memories of a vine-covered cottage next to a creek. I was sad, for I knew I would 
probably never see it again. 

I wore a long dress made of a rough, scratchy fabric, a long apron and some sort of 
cap. I kept tripping as my dress caught on brambles and vines, and at one point my 
head was jerked back as the cap was ripped from my hair by a heavy, low-hanging 
branch. I carried a baby in my arms, and I tried to protect him from the onslaught of 
bushes and briars. I knew the villagers were after him. He had an unusually large 


birthmark on his forehead. The people from the village thought it was the mark of 
Satan. They were filled with fear and hatred. They had been convinced of this lie and 
encouraged to riot by the woman leading the crowd. She had incited the group to 
murder. She had convinced the people that if my child was allowed to live, a curse 
would come upon them and their children and the crops would die, which would have 
meant certain death to the village. 

I heard their angry voices as they continued in pursuit. "Kill the witch and her cub! 
Kill Satan's child!" 

I was exhausted. I tried to hide in the branches of a large tree. As I pulled myself 
and my baby up into the tree, a short thick branch broke loose. It was a perfect weapon. 
I tried to remain hidden, but it was for naught. The villagers found us. I desperately 
tried to use the branch as a club to fight off our attackers. 

The woman who had incited the crowd was the first to reach us. She demanded 
that I hand over my baby so he could be slaughtered. I refused to surrender him to the 
mob. She climbed higher into the tree and tried to wrench the child from my arms. I 
started hitting her with the branch and continued until I had beaten her senseless. She 
fell from the tree to her death. Efforts to fight off the rest of the villagers were wasted. In 
my dream, both my baby and I were murdered. We were victims of the fear and 
intolerance generated by a church that, because it saw evil everywhere, was bent on 
purging itself of human, thereby evil, emotions. The people were taught to hate and 
distrust anything or anyone different. 

This nightmare always left me feeling shaken, very inadequate and 
overwhelmingly sad. It stayed with me for days at a time with overpowering heaviness 
and feelings of desolation and powerlessness. These negative feelings would be further 
intensified as I observed the intolerant attitudes of people around me. 

With the help of the Edgar Cayce book and later through meditational epiphanies, I 
discovered that this nightmare was a real experience, not just a dream. It was an 
incident from an actual lifetime I had shared with my mother. 

She had been the intolerant woman who incited the crowd. True to the workings of 
karma, the relationship I shared with her in that Middle Ages experience contained the 
same dynamics as the actual rocky relationship I shared with her in the early part of my 
current life. Acceptance and tolerance proved to be an issue for us. 

Because of these memories and present-day challenges, I have learned that in this 
lifetime I must be who I am, regardless of whether or not my family approves or 
understands. They have a right to their beliefs and their choices and I can love them 
anyway. 

Another phenomenon I learned about from the Edgar Cayce book was out-of-body 
experiences. I had my first one on the day my grandfather died, and it was frightening. 
It was in 1960. I was thirteen years old. My grandfather had been the only person I 
could talk to. 


He was from Sicily and was a very spiritual man who possessed a gentle and poetic 
nature. He did not, however, believe in organized religion because of his experience of 
being raised and educated in the elite Catholic military schools of Sicily. He possessed a 
unique perspective of life, truth, God and personal freedoms, as guaranteed by the Bill 
of Rights. He advocated individual responsibility in both our relationship with our 
creator and our duty as American citizens to participate in the political process. 

From the time I was a small child, we would take long walks together, sometimes 
four or five hours at a time. He would teach me about all sorts of wonderful things. 
Music, mythology, history, political science, classical literature and theology were just a 
few things he taught me about. He helped me deal with the deep sadness and loneliness 
I felt all the time. He accepted me and loved me for exactly who I was without criticism 
or skepticism. He demonstrated unconditional love. 

I remember very little about the day he died, except for rage and grief. With the 
pain I felt in my chest, I actually understood the term "broken heart". I blamed God. I 
could not imagine my life without my grandfather. I walked away without telling 
anyone where I was going. I just left and was gone all day. My family was frantic. I 
eventually found myself under a large oak tree. It was late afternoon. I was sitting 
against the trunk of the tree that stood in the middle of a large field. The grass was thick 
and cool. In the distance was an American flag blowing in the breeze. Watching it move 
made me feel much more grounded. I had made up my mind that I would never have 
anything to do with God or the Catholic church again. 

As I sat thinking about my decision and watching the flag, I became very dizzy. I 
closed my eyes and tried to regain my equilibrium. Everything went black. I had the 
awareness of moving through a tunnel. I saw a pinpoint of light at the end of the tunnel. 
I was moving toward the light. I was tumbling and spinning faster and faster. I was 
further overcome by dizziness. Then I felt as though I was freed from the tunnel and I 
was expanding, like a balloon being filled with air. I had the awareness that everything 
was inside me, the cars, the houses, the people, even the tree I was leaning against. As 
soon as I became consciously aware of the phenomenon, it stopped. I opened my eyes 
and discovered that I was floating up among the branches of the tree. There was a 
mockingbird sitting on the limb close to me, singing. 

How can he go on singing? I thought. Poppa's gone. How can anyone go on with their lives 
when Poppa's gone? 

At this point I realized that I was not in my body because I could see it, still on the 
ground below, leaning against the tree. I panicked. I was unable to breathe and my 
heart was beating so hard I was afraid it would explode. 

Because of my Catholic belief system, I was convinced that God was punishing me 
for my anger and contempt. I assumed that I was dead or dying. I remember wishing I 
could go home. 

In a split second, I was back in my body, running as fast as I could toward home. 
This terrifying experience remained a private personal mystery that filled me with fear 
and guilt for a very long time. I was too afraid to tell anyone. It wasn't until the Cayce 


book appeared in my car several years later that I read about out-of-body experiences 
and began to understand the mechanics of consciousness. 

We are not our bodies. We are the consciousness within our bodies. Our physical 
bodies are only part of the vehicles that we use while functioning on this earth plane. 
When the physical body dies, our consciousness survives and moves on. 

Reincarnation is a fact of life. We keep coming back into the earth plane again and 
again to learn and remember. We keep repeating the process until we get it right and 
have evolved sufficiently to move to a higher level. 

We create a new physical body for every sojourn into the physical plane. These 
bodies are created with thought in accordance with our souls' desires. Our talents and 
abilities for each lifetime are chosen, like tools for a workshop. The lessons we learn and 
remember help our consciousness to evolve and become more spiritual and more 
Godlike. Consciousness is always in a state of evolution. As one ancient metaphysical 
axiom states, "We are as God was. God is as we shall become." Eventually, when we 
have evolved sufficiently, we will have the opportunity to move away from the wheel 
of earthly evolution, but for most of us, for the time being, we will keep returning again 
and again. 

We choose our lifetimes very carefully. We choose our parents for a specific reason. 
They choose us as their children for the same or similar reasons. 

There is not a lot of drama or romance involved in most of our choices of lifetime 
experience. Most often, the lessons are as basic and simple as learning about acceptance 
or hard work. 

We usually incarnate in groups, coming back again and again, helping each other to 
grow, learn and remember. Sometimes the roles are different-the father in one lifetime 
may be the youngest daughter in the next-but hopefully the issues will be resolved. 

All of our choices, however, are amenable to free will. If we change our mind, we 
start working with a different set of probabilities and possibilities, or tools. Nothing is 
engraved in stone. We do have choices. We need not be victimized by chance, doubt 
and circumstance. 

Making Choices 

1. Making choices is easier if we know where we want to go or if we realize where 
we will end up if we continue to make wrong choices. With your journal by your side, 
sit quietly, clear your mind and imagine a white blank screen. 

2. Use your imagination to visualize on that screen where you would like to be a 
year from now. Where are you living then? How do you look? Are you alone or with 
someone of your choosing? Give yourself time to contemplate your highest possibilities. 
Take a deep breath and feel the warmth and happiness you will feel if you allow 
yourself to make these choices. Let the visualization continue until you are satisfied 
with your choices. 


3. Take another deep breath and open your eyes. Make a list in your journal of these 
choices. Read it every day and confirm that you desire these things in your life and 
visualize them as being here now.