In 1978 a horrific scene from a past life invades Kerry Van Dyke’s consciousness unleashing an ancient well of uncontrollable grief. With some help she manages to understand enough about her life as a young girl named Sarah, locked in a mental institution, that she is able to put those memories aside. Twelve years later she finally gathers the courage needed to fully face what happened.
The moment she begins documenting what she recalled not only is she learning more about her past life and facing more unimaginable evil, Sarah’s essence slips into Kerry’s present life permeating her existence. Now she finds herself in a constant struggle to keep this life and her past life separate.
Kerry’s sense of self is challenged further when she experiences her first amazing, living vision followed by gifts of visual and auditory insight. With these newfound gifts she is called to help others in need. At the same time a multitude of miracles large and small along with profound synchronicity magically appear that give credence to her unique journey.
In the Divine Miracles Series follow Kerry on her inspiring quest where she not only tells the tragic story of Sarah, she details her path to enlightenment when she heroically delves into the powerful question, “Who am I really?”
With my eyes shut, I smell damp buffalo skin draping the frame of my teepee. The rain tapping on the taut hide sounds like drumming in the distance. Colorful feathered headdresses bow back and forth to the resonant beat, and the low hum of men in their dance….
With my eyes shut, I see crimson bougainvillea framing the uncovered window, clouds of dawn cracking open, sending bright orange beams onto the wide glistening sea below my Moroccan villa. Slowly, I breathe in moist, salty air….
Now, with eyes wide open, I see black-barred windows set high in the wall of my tiny room. The sun vanishes behind a thick sheet of gray and rain slaps hard on dingy panes. I used to like the smell of rain, but not here. Here, the air harbors odors of unwashed, bed-ridden bodies that the rain, no matter how hard it showers, cannot wash away.
Hands of God
Barbara stood at the kitchen sink washing her dinner dishes and looking out the open window. The cool Delta breeze blowing in gently moved strands of her dark hair tickling her face, but she barely noticed. She was too mesmerized by the orange sky of the sunset. As her washcloth slowly circled a plate while she gazed out the window, she contemplated how meeting Kerry had taken her on a journey she had never expected.
She thought, I used to fantasize about how remembering a past life would be cool and something to cherish, but I’m not so sure now. Honestly, this life is hard enough to wrap my head around! How Kerry has the ability to face and write about such evil from another life I don’t quite understand. Maybe it’s her calling? I do know she seems to be a happy and determined person. Barbara’s consideration of this halted briefly as a new insight emerged.
It’s almost as if she is on a different kind of quest and that this has nothing to do with her present or previous life, but I can’t imagine what that might be.
Inhaling a breath of what was once my life, I am back in my house. It is night.
The house rests quietly. The air is still. Even the heart of the house, the old grandfather clock, no longer beats. I float in the darkness of the living room, and then up through the ceiling, next to the bed where my father now sleeps.
Up, over and above his bed I move with stealth, savoring each moment. I move in close and surround his face. I feel his breath and watch his nostrils flare in and out ever so slowly. I travel on the wind of his inhale, into his lungs and out on his breath, permeating his form. Do you see me? I ask. Do you know I am here?