Peter's Tale

by Robert Bruce

Peter was a dear friend of mine, from many years ago. We were best mates all through high school. I had not seen him for fifteen years when I bumped into him by accident, in a tavern near where I used to work several years ago. I was on afternoon shift and used to call in there occasionally, on a hot night, for a quick beer on my way home. We recognised each other immediately and sat together at the bar, getting reacquainted until closing time.

Peter was married with four children and had a good job as a tool maker. But, it shortly became obvious to me that Peter was an alcoholic. He'd been living at the tavern for the past couple of weeks since his wife had thrown him out. Peter was a quiet, gentle, happy drunk, and was never violent or aggressive. He loved his wife and children dearly, and desperately wanted to go home, but for the life of him he could not stop drinking.

Heading off to his room we sat and talked much of the night away. I explained a little to Peter about the mystical side of my life. I offered to give him healing, hoping I could help him in some way. With an amused smile he accepted my offer, saying he'd try anything once.

While we'd were talking in the half dark of his small room, I had been observing his aura. There was almost nothing left of Peter's main aura. His etheric was not detectable at all and there was only the merest hint of pale-blue, with a few silver sparkles floating about in the faint auric cloud around him. This was not detectable with normal auric sight and I had to really strain to see it. I was amazed by what I could see. I had seen the auras of many people, and plenty of alcoholics, but had never see anything quite like this one before. I asked after his health, which he said was excellent; apart from the occasional hangover. Peter was a keen sportsman, but a binge drinker. He would often go for weeks drinking only a few cans of beer a day, and then he'd binge for a few days and totally wipe himself out. I was amazed he'd managed to hold down a steady job, but Peter said he never actually drank at work, even when he was binging. Although he often went to work drunk, his mates always covered for him and his luck had held out so far...he said laughing into his beer.

My intuition prompted me that somthing important was happening and I suspected, sadly, that Peter did not have long to live. This, I felt, was why we had bumped into each other again, after so many years. There are, my life's experience has taught me, no real coincidences in this world; especially not for a person like myself.

I told him all of this and it did not phase him in the slightest. He agreed with me, feeling something strange was happening within himself; but he did not really care. He was a very unhappy man. We talked late into the night about his problems. He had, basically, never got over the death of his mother. This had happened when he was a young boy, a few years before we'd met. He blamed her death on himself for some obscure reason, and that was why he drank so much. He knew this was stupid and illogical, but he couldn't help the way he felt. He felt terribly guilty inside and did not think he deserved to be happy, or even to live a normal life. He wasn't consciously trying to ruin his life by being an alcoholic, but the depression and urge to drink when it came was so strong he just couldn't fight it anymore. The booze stopped his depression while he stayed drunk, but the effect on his outside life and family was devestating.

We sat facing each other and I meditated for a short time and tranced, then gave Peter deep healing. The amount of energy that flooded through me made me gasp and the room swam around me. I almost passed out it was that intense. Peter was totally stunned by the energy he felt coming through me and into him. As this happened, the room around us faded half from sight and the air filled with soft, textured white cloud, with shafts of flickering silvery light coming from our left. Suddenly, standing beside us, were Peter's mother and father; both deceased.

Peter had never seen anything like this before and was both amazed and profoundly moved by it all. His mother touched his face and he reached out and touched her's. They gazed into each others eyes for a long time. Peter's father stood there beside them, smiling down at him. Peter looked at me with astonishment, then back at his mother and father, and promptly burst into tears, sobbed uncontrollably. His mother looked up at me for a moment, giving me such a sweet, sad little smile; moving me deeply.

The clouds faded away and the room returned to normal a few seconds later. Peter was so moved and uplifted by this experience he was galvanized with energy and purpose. He swore to me he would never drink again, and would go and seek medical help if the depression came back. I totally believed him. His aura was much brighter and full of energy, but was unchanged from its pale-blue colour and lack of etheric border. Peter, now stone cold sober, showered and dressed while I made more coffee. He came out clean shaven, wearing nice clothes and looking years younger. We finished our coffee and said our goodbyes, then he hurried home to his wife and children. It was getting close to dawn by now, and looked like it was going to be a great day.

His wife took him back immediately, awed by his obvious upliftment and the great change in him. He phoned me a few days later to thank me and let me know he was OK; knowing I was worried about him. I could hear his wife and children laughing and giggling in the background. I asked him how he felt, and he said he'd never felt better or happier in his entire life. Peter wanted to get together and discuss what had happened between us on that special night. He had not told anyone about what had happened. He was a practicing catholic and did not know how to even begin explaining it to his family. We made arrangements to meet a few days later. But two days later, Peter awoke in the early hours of the morning complaining of a terrible headache. A blood vessel in his brain had burst. He died in his wife's arms on the way to hospital. But he died a happy man. (RB)