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Book Excerpt: During My NDE A Being Shows Me the Ways All Of Life is Gracefully Linked Together

10/20/2017

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In the center of an open space of short grass I am so surprised to see a man who looks like a king. He has no crown but when I look at him I think of royalty even though he is dressed like a shepherd. His coat is not fancy or jeweled. It goes to just below his knees and the sleeves are wide at his wrists. The fabric looks thick like it is made of heavy handmade linen. How did I not see him before now? Why did he not answer me when I was calling out for people of my village? Maybe he can show me the way back to my village. His face looks very kind. I run toward him to plead for help.
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When I arrive a few feet before him I stop at once. The kindness that radiates from him takes my breath away. My clutched hands loosen in the presence of his pure peace. When I look up into his eyes on me, I suddenly feel calm. This man is so still, like a high mountain lake without a ripple on the surface. Standing before him I cannot remember why I would ever feel disturbed. I feel like I am being held in his warm embrace, but he is two feet away. A strong sense of devotion to him rises up from within me.

I take a half-step closer and look carefully at his face. It is difficult to decide what he looks like because he seems to be continuously changing. I think he is tall, but then I am eye to eye with him. I think his face is narrow, but then it widens and all of the sudden I am looking at a great lion. When I am sure he is male, he then changes again and I see a feminine face. As soon as I decide I know what he is, then he changes. I stand here for some time watching this kaleidoscope of life forms. At first I want him to stay the same so I can count on what I am seeing, but the longer I watch I start to feel delighted and look forward to what will come next.

I want to show this ever-changing kaleidoscope man to Ato and then to my surprise Ato’s face becomes the face I am looking into. My heart lifts with my love for Ato. Then Ato’s facial features change into a child I do not know. The love in my heart remains the same for this unfamiliar child as it was for Ato. I did not know it was possible to feel the same love for a stranger. Then the face changes to a white woman. My love remains steady. I realize there is a space in my heart to hold love for every creature and person I am seeing. I am more capable of being loving than I thought. ​
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This royal kaleidoscope man shows me his original face again. He leans in closer to me and looks me in the eyes with his kind soft gaze. I feel anticipation growing in me as if I am going to receive a gift beyond anything I have ever known before. He closes his eyes and mine close also, because we are linked in a way I have not known before. Behind my closed eyes I see millions of points of light connected by living lines. These lines reflect all colors of the rainbow like a spider web in the sunlight. This gigantic living web has a gem at each intersection. What I learn is that all of life is gracefully linked together. Just as a flock of swallows flies together as one great bird, when one person in the web of life changes, it affects the movement of everything around it.

Something changes and I am not looking from the outside at this wonder of living lines; I am inside of them. From within the web I can visit every living thing. My journey is so swift that the visits are not like making personal friends, but more like gathering my connection to all living beings.

In the visits to the different gems in the web I get to know the place, person, or creature through my senses. I am smelling decomposing leaves in a grove of oak trees, hearing the pants of a young woman running a race through woodlands, watching sunlight glisten on the back of a frog who just climbed out of the water, listening to the deep pop sound of ice moving in a glacier, taking in the scent of an elk who is bending down to drink from a river. All life is connected and I am never alone. I am flooded with gratitude and love.
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Create Belonging

7/7/2017

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Giving and receiving help, including others, and honoring yourself are ways to create belonging. Creating belonging is an antidote to alienation. What are the ways we can share our unique gifts unsparingly, while calling out the gifts of others?
An excerpt from my book when I first arrived to the village that took me in: “A woman sits down on a log and calls to me with her song. I know without a doubt in my heart that her song is a prayer to every living thing for miles around. She is saying, “I see you,” to every bush, monkey in the tree, mouse in the ground, and me. I am included in her song. Her song is linking me to every living thing. My lower lip starts to tremble uncontrollably. I can no longer maintain my expressionless face and I break into tears. I am utterly exhausted from surviving on my own. I move closer to her. When I look in her eyes and see a loving mother I collapse in her arms. That night I sleep inside a hut next to her. I hold onto the fabric of her dress so I know she is within reach. I am no longer lost, I have been found.” 

This is a group picture after I received the blessing by members of the community to share my experience with the people here during the Rhodesian Bush War. I arrived in Rhodesia in June 1977 after being abducted from the U.S. by an American man. After about a week he abandoned me in this rural area.   Photo credit Vanessa Bristow  
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We found the location of my first village!

5/5/2017

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A second miracle has taken place. Yesterday we (John my husband, Vanessa our host, Future an area game scout and our fabulous translator, and Maemu) found the location of my first village from 40 years ago. My friend Brianna helped me find words for what took place inside me with this quote. "We need to be able to define our past completely to know it does not define us completely" In these pictures I am standing at the location of some of the best and worst events of my young life. Here I was taken in, loved, and mothered in a way I had never known before. At eight years old I thought this was my new life with a family that cherished me.

We don't know the exact timing of the following events but we have confirmed a battle happened on the other side of the hill from this village. I was shot and the bullet grazed the top of my head. I began to die of blood loss and shock and had a Near Death Experience. I was saved by one of the women of the family who was like a mother to me. Some short time later (around 2 days) the village was attacked. Maemu recounts that the people in the village were killed (she and her family were in a village further north). If there were any other survivors besides me they would have fled to South Africa by crossing the river bed. 
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I bowed down on the land to pray to the people I lost. I then felt something rush up into my chest from the land as if many people were greeting me. I felt whole and complete. A sense of fullness moved into my hands. It felt like another life force was in my hands in addition to my life force. I took this as a gift from the women who mothered me. I wondered if it was the power of healing I felt in their hands when they touched my head wound. I was weeping, and feeling gratitude beyond what I can express in words. I had one second of hearing them again. I heard the singing and the calling out to each other. For just a flash I could see the activity and the huts that are now gone. My body knew this place and what happened here. My history now has place. I no longer have to carry this history inside me as if my body and mind were a museum holding these events so they would not be forgotten. I can let it rest in this field.
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I found these remaining walls. It was valuable for me to find something to touch, to hold on to, so ultimately I could let go.  ​
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John and I stayed and explored for several more hours. The banks of the river have changed so much over 40 years. The exact spot where I was shot has been washed away. As my sense of completion was deepening, catalyzing change in my hidden beliefs, I said out loud to John that I don't owe it to those who died to feel bereft that I lived and they did not. My love and honoring of them is enough. My body no longer needs to be the museum to keep these memories held.  

What happened next amazed me. We saw a rainbow across the river. A sign of completion and hope. The land knows what happened here. The Ancestors know what happened here. Creator knows what happened here. I can be free now.
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Maemu and Robin Reunited !

4/26/2017

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From John (Robin's husband)  One of the most amazing moments of my life happened two days ago. While on the way to our stay at a Farm on the Limpopo River, we were approaching the lands where Robin lived when was at 8 years old. We had been driving for several miles on the dirt road from town with our host Vanessa Bristow. Robin was starting to recognize landmarks from her childhood: the black rocks, the orange-red soil, the acacia and boabab trees. As a result, she was becoming overwhelmed with gratitude that we were, at last, reaching our destination.

As we continued down the road I spotted a donkey cart approaching. On the donkey cart I saw Maemu, the woman who was interviewed by Vanessa last summer. Maemu remembers playing with Robin as a child when Robin was recovering from a gunshot that grazed her scalp. The major purpose of our trip here, of spending three solid days traveling, of launching a fundraiser that would make it possible to do this trip across the world was so that Robin could meet Maemu in person.

I looked in disbelief at the woman in the cart. “Is that Maemu?” I blurted.  “Yes!” said Vanessa. We quickly did a u-turn as the donkey cart pulled to a halt. We all piled out of the car as I got my camera ready. At this point Robin had tears streaming down her face. Maemu stepped out of the cart, walked toward us and embraced Robin. The two of them remained in an embrace for several minutes. Maemu kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” to Robin as she rocked her gently back and forth meaning I am sorry you were hurt back then. Robin’s face was soaked with tears. She was stunned, speechless, and overjoyed.

After the initial embrace, Maemu put her hands on Robin’s head and began looking for the head wound that Robin suffered. She did it in such a gentle way. Her fingers lightly, carefully sorted through Robin’s hair as if she wanted to make sure Robin had healed properly.

After her brief inspection, Maemu embraced Robin again until my beautiful wife was able to recover from her overwhelm. Meanwhile, I completely stunned at this totally spontaneous meeting happening now before we had even arrived at our destination!

I have been working with Robin for 8 years to rediscover what happened to her when she was 8. How did she get to Africa? Where was she? Who did she spend time with? What happened to her village? How did she get back? Why did her mother tell her never to speak about it when she returned? Why did she pass out in her college African history class? 

The sight of Maemu embracing Robin and picking through her hair to find Robin’s wound seemed to dissolve all other questions into a light of overwhelming gratitude and amazement. No one else knew the location of her wound. We never shared it with anyone in Africa. Maemu knew exactly where it was. Here we are, almost halfway across the world and in another hemisphere and we have made an amazing unplanned first connection with Robin and Maemu's first meeting in 40 years. It was a stunning affirmation of the reality of Robin’s memory. She was in Africa. She was right here, right where are. We still have 12 days here in Zimbabwe before we go over to South Africa. This chance meeting was the start of tremendous healing and bringing her history full circle. 

Vanessa made the comment that Robin and Maemu were connected like magnets. Vanessa said that she normally sees Maemu about every four years. She has said repeatedly that it is completely uncanny we would meet Maemu on the road as soon as we entered the area.

Thanks to everyone for supporting our journey. A miracle has taken place.
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We have arrived in Zimbabwe

4/21/2017

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April 21 - We arrived in Zimbabwe yesterday. After extremely little sleep during the 3 days of travel I am glad to say we finally slept last night. We can think and speak clearly again. Logistics have gone well, all our bags arrived, and getting Visas to come into Zimbabwe all went smoothly. 
We planned several days of rest for ourselves. We are on a beautiful farm where we are being well fed by our hosts. We have already met such kind people. As we stood in line to get Visas the man behind us shared with us that he was coming back to Zimbabwe after being in the Seattle area to go to University. He told us that once he was through the visa he was about to see his father for the first time in 15 years. He, John, and I  all got welled up in tears.  
The strongest event for me yesterday as we drove in from the airport was seeing a cluster of huts. My whole body reacted. I wanted to get out of the car and go there. John said he felt like a part of me lurched out of the vehicle to go there. Where we right now is still 4 hours away from where we believe I was a child in 1977. 
We planned today and Saturday as rest and integration days. On Sunday Vanessa will come pick us up and take us to her Eco Safari Ranch where we will be closer to our goal. This is location research. I know my body will tell me when we are there.  This is the tree I am seeing in front of me while I write this on my lap top. More to come...Now I am going to go watch cream being churned by hand. 
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Before the trip:  38 days until we leave

4/15/2017

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​38 days until we get on a plane for South Africa, then Zimbabwe! We are doing well in our preparations. Vanessa and Digby, who are the people who found Maemu, are hosting us for two weeks. They live close to where we believe is the original location of my village, and also close Maemu's community. Their generosity is astounding to me.  After they take us across the Zimbabwe border we will continue our research in South Africa. If we are correct in our research, we will be staying in Mapungubwe Park within a mile of where I was taken across the border. Being there with the sights, sounds, and smells is the heart of my location research. Our next step is to hire a researcher to seek out any records of my 1977 hospital stay in South Africa. In between all the logistics that have to be arranged, I pause and can hardly believe this trip is finally happening - for 40 years I have been waiting for this return.

A special thank you to all who have donated toward our journey. So far, your donations have covered 50% of our needs for the trip. Thank you also to everyone who is supporting us with your thoughts and prayers. It means so much to me that I have a supportive community involved in this adventure. This is an incredible contrast to being abducted in secrecy as a child. You are all part of my healing.
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Gratitude for this Return Trip to Africa

4/2/2017

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On our way home from doing our first aid training, we stopped at a store to get first aid and food supplies for the Africa trip. As I took things off the self and put them in my cart I thought, "I am going to eat this in Zimbabwe." When John rejoined me and asked me how I was doing I burst into tears because my gratitude at being able to answer the call in my heart and do this return trip was overwhelming. There really are no words just this feeling that I have been waiting so long and this return trip is really happening.
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47 days until we leave for Africa Return Trip

3/2/2017

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My Near Death Experience in Africa

12/30/2016

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When I was eight years old I was abducted from the US and taken to Africa. It was 1977. I have reason to believe the man who abducted me was a Vietnam Veteran going to Rhodesia so he could fight in the Bush War for the Rhodesian government. He drugged me in order to abduct me and I didn’t wake up until we were in Africa. He threatened my life constantly and broke my ribs by kicking me. Since I came from an abusive home and neighborhood it was normal for me to deal with dangerous adults. After about a week, I was given to another man, and my abductor rode away in a military Jeep.  

The man took me on an old bus that broke down out in the bush. Everyone from the bus got out and started walking. I couldn’t keep up because of my broken ribs. The man left me behind. I sat down on the dirt road expecting to die soon. After some hours had passed, I was picked up by a military truck full of black soldiers and dropped off near a rural village. 

The following is a summary from my upcoming book which is not yet published. Please sign up for my newsletter to find out the most recent updates on when the book will become available. This opens starting shortly after I was dropped off by the soldiers.
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I spend the night alone in the bush. I am hungry, but I found a tree where I can tuck myself in between the great fin roots. In the morning I hear singing voices. I make my way to a tribe who gives me water and food. It is the children who first welcome me. With laughter and storytelling, they take me to a fire circle and cover my white skin and light brown hair with black ash.

A woman comes near and calls me to her with a singing voice like I have never heard before. I have been fighting to survive on my own, and don’t know if I can trust any adult. She keeps pouring love into me with her song. I finally come to her and collapse in her arms. I start existing when I look in her eyes and see a loving mother. I am no longer lost, I have been found. 

This tribe becomes my new family. Over the next month they teach me how to sing their songs, and how to plant and harvest. I am given my own dress and a naming ceremony. My village is peaceful until a group of armed guerrillas rides in shouting and making threats. After they leave the men in our tribe began to carry guns. 
Days later, the guerrillas come near the village again. I am alone by the river when they spot me. I see one of the soldiers in the back of the military truck begin to take aim at me. I lose all hope when the sight of his gun barrel becomes just a circle. I am in mid-turn to run when I hear his gun go off. The force of the bullet grazes the top right side of my head and slams my teeth together with the force of a car wreck. I am knocked off my feet and thrown sideways to the ground. I blink my eyes open, hoping to see someone from my tribe who can help me. My final sight is my own dark red blood rolling down toward the blue river. I close my eyes and feel everything I am swept out an open window at the back of my heart.

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I am no longer by the river. I have arrived somewhere I cannot make sense of. I am mostly blind. A soft and feminine hand touches me. The caring coming through this touch astounds me, and helps me feel less shattered and more whole. The fogginess in my eyes is clearing so I can begin to see the woman who is touching me. Her skin looks like it is made of rich brown earth. Another young woman is standing behind her. I have the feeling that I already know both of them, but I cannot name where. 

They are pointing to a huge yellow sphere. I look at the sphere and remember it is a source of energy that can totally renew me, and it will not be diminished in the least. I also somehow know that stepping into the sphere means going back to where I was created and not coming back to my life in Africa.
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I start to go with my brown sisters into the yellow sphere, but then I am torn because I don’t want to leave my tribe behind. I want to hold onto Mama and the others I have grown to love. As I grasp for my tribe I begin falling backwards through a thousand invisible curtains that slow my descent. Gone from my sight are the sphere and the two brown sisters.

When I hit the ground it does not hurt. I am now sitting on the landing of a stairwell made of black stone. I become aware of an old man in front of me offering to help me up on my feet. I don’t want his help, but when I try to get up on my own I feel like a newborn deer with spindly weak legs. After three awkward attempts, I take his hand. He looks rickety like he is on death’s door, but his arm is far sturdier than I expected. He invites me to walk down the stairs.

We cross under a stone arch, then enter a cave where there is barely enough light to see. I have to grip on to the old man’s steadiness and let him lead me. Once in the cave the pain from my head becomes a scream echoing off the angled rock. I am not making any sound with my mouth. The suffering in my body has its own voice beyond my control. I see ghost-like images of adults from back home in the U.S. trying to humiliate and hurt me again. As each ghostly image rushes at me, another scream echoes around the cave. Soon it sounds like a hundred bad radio stations have been turned on at full volume. The sounds of my pain echoing back from every direction are confusing me, making it so I cannot figure out which way is forward. I try to pull away and run out of the cave.
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He puts his hand solidly over mine to keep me with him. I want to collapse on the ground and blame myself but he keeps me upright. I believe there is something wrong with me and that is why the adults hurt me. I turn myself to look at this man who has been guiding my every step forward. He is not trying to fix me. Through his eyes I see there is nothing wrong with me. The echoes of my own yelling fade away. I stand in the quiet and admit to him that I need his help. He touches my hand and quietly nods a gracious “Yes.”
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We exit the cave and come to a cliff edge. The night sky is all around us and filled with stars. I turn toward him. I know he sees me, all of me. He could have gone anywhere he wanted, but he chose to come here and guide me so I would not get lost in my own pain.

We stand on the cliff edge facing each other. He shows me with a nod toward the open sky that our next step is off the cliff edge. With complete trust I put my hands in his. We leap off the cliff together. As we peacefully fall he looks at me with pure love, and with his voice speaking inside me he tells me, “This is dying.”
We fly to where I can again see the glowing yellow sphere. It is a hundred times bigger than when I saw it before. He tells me directly through my heart to continue onto the sphere. He then parts paths from mine and is gone from my sight in an instant. I fly forward feeling the steadiness that I saw in him is now within me.

I could fly forward into the yellow sphere, but I see a field of tall green grass. I wonder if my African family is there. Maybe this is my last chance to find them. I land in the field and begin desperately calling out for them. No one calls back. I am crying out their names because I am overcome with the fear they are hurt and cannot call back to me. Finally, I feel hit by a huge wave of sheer panic. I collapse on the ground and explode in tears. I cry until I am cleared out like after a storm.  
A man appears nearby who looks like a Royal Shepherd. He is so still, like a high mountain lake without a ripple on the surface. Standing before him I cannot remember why I would ever feel disturbed. He closes his eyes and mine close also, because we are linked in a way I have not known before. Behind my closed eyes I see millions of lights connected by living lines. What I learn is that all of life is gracefully linked together like a flock of swallows flying as one great bird.

Something changes and I am not looking from the outside at this wonder of living lines; I am inside of them. From within I can visit every living thing. My eyes open. My face is so close to my Royal Shepherd that our foreheads are almost touching. He rises up from his knelt position where he bent down to meet me. My faith in the ways I am already connected to my African family is without bounds so I lean forward into his chest. In him I trust the journey. Together we travel out of this field into a tunnel of yellow light.

We come out of the tunnel. I look down where my body is laying lifeless on the ground by the river. I notice my blood did not make it to the river, but soaked into the earth leaving a dark stain one foot from my head. I feel calm. 
Mama Eahton has arrived to where I lay dead. With urgency she gets down on the ground and pulls my body up onto her lap. She is encircling my limp body with her capable arms while she rocks back and forth holding my face against her cheek. Now I feel a sharp twinge of sadness that my face is not able to show her that I delight in her loving me. She lets out a tremendous howl of anguish into the sky.

I am now so free to love her every action, her every gesture. My heart expands in a way I did not know was possible. It is now so big I can welcome in the driver of the soldiers’ truck who first spotted me, and even the teenage soldier who shot me.

I hear Mama wailing. I want to tell her, “I am okay. Don’t worry about me, I am no longer in pain. I am at the opening to this tunnel that is glowing with beauty.” I swim upward in a warm stream of air. As I go further into the tunnel, veils close behind me like giant leaves covering the entrance to a secret garden. 

As I swim upward, love pours into the center of me like a warm river. I know I am coming home. Home where I am restored. Home where my soul began as a seed grown in love. I am being returned where I am a beautiful sound sung by the Great Heart. Even though I cannot see it directly yet, I can sense this Great Heart is so close. I am glowing like a firefly matching the brilliant light around me. 

My attention is drawn back to Mama Eahton’s sounds. She has changed her wailing into singing. Her song is so powerful it is passing through all the veils that have closed behind me. It is reaching me at full volume as if there is no distance between us. I stop moving toward the Great Heart so I can devote myself to hearing her song. Other voices have joined hers. This warm tapestry of sound stirs me. I realize she is calling on the Ancestors to make her song so powerful it can find me anywhere. 

I begin drinking in the beautiful sounds of the Ancestral choir who have joined her. Their singing stirs something vastly old in me that I did not know I was missing. The songs are calling me back into the events that make life rich: births, healings, celebrations, and losses. These singers sound like old friends I recognize and long to reconnect with. I suddenly remember I have been part of this choir, and I know these songs myself because they live in me. The cloud that covered my life’s purpose is instantly cleared away. I was born to sing to people so they can recognize their wholeness just as Mama Eahton did for me when I first arrived to the tribe, and just as she is doing right now. My desire to sing turns me around in the tunnel and I begin to head back to Mama Eahton. 

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I arrive at the last veil of the tunnel before returning to life. Here I meet a woman who feels to me like the First Great Grandmother of all people. She speaks to me through her touch and song. Her voice sings inside me as if I am a cathedral, and she is the solo singer blessing me with her prayer. Her blessing song is a long-held praise affirming my belonging. She declares that no matter what any other human being does to me, and no matter what I have to do to survive; it can never reduce her love for me, or my belonging to the Great Heart. 
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Her song is so powerful inside me all I can do is listen. It is stronger than my own breathing.  She is telling me it is vital to love people and have faith in them. I trust that her song is true. I turn to head out of the tunnel. I breathe in, and on my exhale I am born out of the tunnel back into physical life. Like a long stream of light from a stained glass window I return to my body. Now held in my Mama’s strong arms, I am ready to be carried back to our village.
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After I was shot, the guerrilla soldiers attacked my village, and I saw that many people were killed. One of the mothers hid me until we tried to escape. I was found by the people of a nearby tribe. I was later given to a white farmer in South Africa. From there I was taken to a whites-only hospital. I do not remember the plane ride returning me to the United States. Now almost 40 years later I am preparing to do my first return trip to Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe).
This trip will be my opportunity to find any people of my tribe who are still alive while reconnecting with the culture and the land. It will also be a chance to fact check and location research the details of  where I was. ​​
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​Robin Aisha Landsong is a Visual artist, Medicine Singer, Craniosacral Therapist, and Health Intuitive. She has given over 9,000 healing sessions both in person and Distance treatments. She and her husband, John Utter, offer Singing Medicine Circles and workshops including Trusting your Spiritual Experiences and Knowing Your Strengths. 
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I signed with a Literary Agent !

11/20/2016

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I signed a contract with my literary agent yesterday!Last May I began the challenging work of writing my book proposal; which is basically a business plan for a book. Authors use these proposals to get an agent. Then, the interested agent uses the proposal to get a publisher.  

For 7 months I labored on this proposal with the help of three other people; my husband John, Brooke Warner, and Darilyn Krupp. It is very important to make the proposal great because it is such an important step to getting published. I just finished it last week and sent it off to Lisa Hagan, the agent I wanted, on Monday. Lisa was already familiar with my story, but I didn't know if she was interested in being my agent.


She wrote back in 10 minutes with the following response,  "I was so moved by how you were able to overcome everything that happened to you that I could only hope you would want to write your story and allow me the honor of representing you. I am sending a resounding yes. I look forward to reading your manuscript." 

I am absolutely thrilled to have Lisa Hagan as my agent. She is kind, experienced, effective, and passionate. Her mission is in fabulous alignment with my mission. I will keep you posted on developments in the process of getting a publisher.

In the next newsletter I will give detailed updates on our preparations for my first return trip to Zimbabwe in 40 years. It is scheduled for this spring.  If you are not already on my newsletter please sign up (at the bottom of any page on my web site). We have found the area where I lived when I was eight years old in 1977 (this link will take you to the back story if you are not familiar with it). Through the contacts we have made in this area, we have found a woman who remembers playing with me when I was recovering from my gunshot wound. She described the wound precisely as I experienced it. She also remembers her grandmother taking me across the river to South Africa. This event also matches my memory. I do not even have words to express how important this is to me. More to come.... 
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Robin Landsong
 Author, Artist, Medicine Singer, and Craniosacral Therapist

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