History of The Reconnection

Based in Los Angeles, founder Eric Pearl has elicited great interest from top medical doctors and researchers worldwide including one of the top hospitals in the United States, a Level 1 Trauma Institute, a Spinal Cord Injury Center and a University School of Medicine.

Prior to the sudden appearance of his non-traditional healing abilities, Eric ran a highly successful chiropractic practice for 12 years. In August 1993, he discovered he had been blessed with an unusual "gift." After 12 years of practicing traditional chiropractic, he suddenly became a healing vehicle of a different kind: a conduit through which healing energy flows.

While too busy traveling to maintain his chiropractic practice, through his seminars and private sessions Eric's "gift" is constantly reported to be helping people with a wide variety of serious diseases including malignant tumors, AIDS-related diseases, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, birth disfigurements and bone deformities.

During the '80s and '90s, Eric, who received his degree as Doctor of Chiropractic from Cleveland Chiropractic College in Los Angeles, headed one of the largest chiropractic centers in the L.A. area. Often referred to as "Chiropractor to the Stars," he acquired the status of both a highly successful and popular doctor. Having studied under such masters as Dr. Virgil Chrane and Dr. Carl Cleveland, Sr., Eric Pearl was one of the few practitioners who, in addition to the conventional chiropractic approach, incorporated pure, original and all-but-lost chiropractic techniques.

In both informal and clinical settings, patients (and physicians!) have witnessed the results of these healings that occur through Eric SIMPLY BY HOLDING HIS HANDS NEAR THEM.

Why Me?

If I were sitting on a cloud scouring the planet for just the right person upon whom I could bestow one of the rarest and most sought-after gifts in the Universe, I don't know whether I would have reached through the etherium, pointed my finger through the vast multitudes of people - the shepherds, the shopkeepers, the righteous and the self-righteous - and said "Him! That's the one. Give it to him."

Now maybe it didn't happen quite that way, but that's the way it feels. Except when it doesn't. I mean, except when someone else comes up with an entirely different and convincingly plausible explanation. "Oh, no," some well-meaning person may exclaim, incredulous at my obvious lack of understanding of how the Universe works, "you've clearly done this before in your past lives." Now what I want to know is this: how is it that they're so privy to my past lives when I'm still trying to figure this one out?

I mean, let's be real. I'd spent twelve years building one of the, if not the largest chiropractic practices in Los Angeles. I had three homes, a Mercedes, two dogs and two cats. All would have seemed perfect if I hadn’t mishandled my money and my alcohol sufficiently as to bring my six-year relationship to an end, an event that left me virtually unable to put one foot in front of the other for three days. Prozac helped that. It helped that a lot.

Six months later I'm visiting Venice Beach, California with my assistant, who insists that I get my cards read by a reader on the beach. "I don't want to get my cards read by some reader on the beach," I responded with absolute conviction. If a reader were all that wonderful, people would come to her; she wouldn't be dragging a card table, tablecloth, chairs and accoutrements to an overcrowded beach sidewalk where she could proceed to flag down unsuspecting tourists to foist her version of their futures upon them, expecting them to pay for the privilege.

"I met her at a party and told her we'd be here. I'd be very embarrassed if we didn't get a reading, " she responded on a dime, adding that the woman has both $20 and $10 dollar readings. One look into my assistant's eyes told me that further protest would prove useless. "Fine," I grumbled, reaching for a ten-dollar bill, knowing that was fully half the money we had left to spend on lunch. I marched dutifully over to the woman, sat down in her folding chair, gave her ten dollars and thought about how hungry I was already.

In exchange for my money, I received a very nice yet unremarkable present-time reading and enjoyed being called "Bubelah" by this endearing Jewish gypsy. Almost as an afterthought she said to me, ?There’s a very special work that I do through the use of axiatonal lines. It reconnects your body's meridian lines to the grid lines on the planet that connect us to the stars and other planets." She told me that she was able to do this work and that, as a healer, it was something that I needed. She also told me I could read about it in a book called The Book of Knowledge: The Keys of Enoch. It sounded quite interesting so I asked the question: "How much?" She said, "Three hundred thirty three dollars." I said, "No, thank you."

This is the kind of stuff you're warned about on evening news shows. I can hear the news blurb now, "Jewish gypsy on Venice Beach takes $333 from unsuspecting chiropractor." My picture with the word "Sucker" under it flashes across the screen. " ... convinces doctor to pay her an additional $150 a month for life to burn candles for his protection." I feel humiliated for even having considered it. So, my assistant and I left and creatively went about constructing a ten-dollar lunch for two.

You'd think this would have been the end of it, but the mind works in mysterious ways. I couldn't get the thought out of my head. I found myself taking the last few minutes of a lunch break to go to the Bodhi Tree Bookstore attempting to quickly read through chapter 3.1.7. of The Book of Knowledge: The Keys of Enoch. This chapter discusses these axiatonal lines. The biggest lesson that day was that if ever a book were created that could not be quickly read through, this was that book. But I had read enough. This was going to haunt me until I gave in. I cracked open my cookie jar.

The work is done in two days, two days apart. Day one, I gave her my money, lay there on her table and listened to my mind jabber, 'This is the dumbest thing I've ever done.’ I can't believe I gave $333 to a perfect stranger so she could draw lines on my body with her fingertips. As I lie there thinking of all the good uses this money could've been put toward, a sudden surge of insight came over me as I heard myself think, Well, you've already gave her the money. You may as well cut the negative chatter and be open to receiving whatever there is to receive. So I lay there quietly, ready and open. I experienced nothing. Absolutely nothing. I, however, seemed to be the only person in the room who knew that. But I paid for both sessions, and therefore I was coming back on Sunday for part two. The strangest thing happened that night, however. About an hour after I'd gone to sleep, the lamp next to my bed - a lamp that I'd had for ten years - turned itself on, and I woke up to the very real sensation that there were people in my home. I searched the house with my Doberman, a carving knife and a can of pepper spray but found no one. I went back to bed with the most uncanny feeling that I was not alone, that I was being watched.

To the eye, day two started out pretty much the same as day one. However, it soon became apparent that it was to be anything but. My legs didn't want to stay still. They had that "crazy leg" feeling that strikes every once in a blue moon in the middle of the night. Soon that sensation took over the rest of my body, interspersed with almost unbearable chills. It was all I could do to lie still on the table. Much as I wanted to jump up and down and shake the sensation out of every cell in my body, I didn't dare move. Why? Because I paid my $333 and I was going to get my money's worth out of this. That's why. Soon it was over. It was an oppressively hot August day and we were in a non-air-conditioned apartment.  I was chilled near frozen, my teeth chattering as this woman rushed to wrap me in a blanket where I remained for five minutes until my body temperature returned to normal.

I was now different. I don't understand what happened, nor could I possibly attempt to explain it, yet I was no longer the person I was four days before. I drifted into my car, which somehow knew the way home.

I don't remember the rest of that day. I couldn't tell you for certain if the rest of the day even took place. All I do know is that the following morning found me at work. And the odyssey begins.

It had been my practice to have my patients lie on the table with their eyes closed for 30 to 60 seconds following their adjustments to relax, and to allow their adjustments to set. On this particular Monday, seven of my patients, some who had been with me for almost twelve years, and one who was seeing me for a first visit, chose this day to ask me if I had been walking around the table as they lay there. Some asked if anyone else had come into the room because it felt as if several people were standing or walking around the table. Three said it felt as if people were running around the table, and two sheepishly confided that it seemed as if people were flying around the table.

I'd been a chiropractor for about twelve years and no one had ever expressed anything like this before. Now seven people had said this to me on the same day. Something was up. Interspersed between my patients, I was fielding other observations from my employees: "You look so different! Your voice sounds so different! What happened to you over the weekend?" I certainly wasn't going to tell them. "Oh, nothing, " I replied, wondering myself what exactly had taken place over the weekend.

My patients were reporting that they could feel where my hands were before I touched them. They could feel my hands when they were inches to feet away from their bodies. It became a game to see how accurately they could locate my hands. Yet it became more than a game as people started receiving healings. At first the healings seemed minor: aches, pains and the like. As patients would come in ostensibly for chiropractic, I would adjust them, then tell them to close their eyes and lie there until I told them to open them again. While their eyes were closed, I would pass my hands over the patients for a moment or two. When they got up and the pain was gone, they asked me what I had done. "Nothing. And don't tell anyone," became my standard reply. This directive was about as effective as Nancy Reagan's "Just Say No" approach to drugs.

Soon people were coming in from all over for these healings and I had no idea what was going on. Sure, I checked in regularly with the woman who had reconnected me via the axiatonal lines. "It must have come from something that was already in you. Maybe it had to do with your mother's near death experience at the time of your birth," she said, adding "I don't know of anyone who ever responded like this. It's fascinating." Fascinating. Apparently, fascinating meant that I was on my own.

Early October found me manifesting. I held my hands over a woman's knee that had been bothering her, the result of a childhood bone disease. When I removed my hands, her knee felt better. My hands were covered with blisters, tiny little blisters that lasted for only three to four hours. This happened on more than one occasion. Whenever I would blister, people from the other offices in the building would come running to see. (I should have charged admission.) Then it happened. My palm bled. I kid you not. Not streams outpouring as in old movies or the National Enquirer, but more as if I had stuck my palm with a pin. Yet it was blood, just the same. It's an initiation! people informed me. Into what? I asked. And again, how do they know? Why didn't I know? Who really knows?

A quest arises.

November finds me in our office of a world-renowned psychic. Out of breath, lost, and 30 minutes late (as usual), I rush in, plop down on his chair and pretend not to notice "the glare". You know, that look mastered by the anally retentive, terminally prompt; the one that causes you to flash back on every lecture you've ever received about being on time and to simultaneously question your value as a human being based upon the perceived enormity of this single, yet questionable, flaw. I was certain that on his days off he was petitioning Congress to bring back the use of the word tardy in the public school system. This reading was shot, I was sure.

He spread his cards in a very businesslike fashion, carefully not showing a hint of warmth or compassion on his face. He looked at the cards, then looked me straight in the eyes with a slightly quizzical expression or a scowl and asked, "What is it that you do?" Now, I don't know about you, but at $100 an hour, I was thinking, 'You're the psychic.' You tell me. I refrained from verbalizing my thoughts. "I'm a chiropractor," I said matter-of-factly, being careful not to give out too much information that might color my reading. (I didn't even tell him my last name when I scheduled the appointment.) "Oh, no. It's much more than that," he said. "Something comes out through your hands and people receive healings. You will be on television," he continued, "and people will be coming from all over the country to see you." This was the last thing that I had expected to hear from this man. Then he told me I would be writing books. "Let me tell you something," I shot back with a knowing smile, "if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I won't be writing any books."

Books and I never got along. By this point in my life I had maybe read two books, and one of them I was still coloring. But life was to bring more changes. Psychics, healers, and channelers found me. From all over the country they would come, telling me that they were told in their meditations to work on me - and refusing any monetary compensation in return. My love affair with alcohol cooled down to a casual friendship: one and a half glasses of wine with dinner, occasionally. No one was more surprised than I.

The strangest was yet to come: My addiction to television came to an abrupt halt. It was replaced by, dare I say it, books. I couldn't read enough: Eastern philosophy, life after death, channeled information, and even UFO experiences. I looked at, listened to and read everyone, everywhere.

At night, I would lie down to go to sleep, and my legs would vibrate. My hands felt as if they were constantly "on". The bones of my skull would also vibrate and my ears would buzz. Later on, tones would come to me, and on rare occasion what sounded like voices in choir.

That's it. I've lost my sanity. I was certain now. Everyone knows that when you lose your sanity, you start hearing voices. Mine were singing. In choir yet. I couldn't have had a little light humming, a faint vocalist or even a small chorale group. No, I get a whole choir.

And what about my patients? They were seeing colors: beautiful, exquisite blues, greens, purples, golds and white. And although they were able to recognize these colors, they told me that they had never seen these particular manifestations before. Their beauty is beyond that which we know. I am told by my patients who are in television and film that not only do these colors not exist as we know color here on earth, but even using all their sources and technologies that we have today, it would not be possible to reproduce them.

And, yes, patients saw angels. Now angels are a popular thing to experience, so in the beginning I didn't pay that much attention to the angel stories until people began describing the same stories: the same angels, the same messages, the same names. We're not talking common angel names like Michael or Ariel, neither are we talking Moses or Buddha, although a lot of people do say that they see Jesus. We're talking names like Parsillia and George. George appears to children and others who might be unnerved by the thought of seeing an angel. You see, George appears first as a small multi-colored parrot. Then, as it is regularly explained to me, suddenly he isn't a parrot at all, suddenly he just becomes your friend. George has been known to appear to people later during times of stress.

The first person to see George was an 11-year-old girl named Jamie. She and her mother flew in from New Jersey because she had scoliosis of the spine, quite noticeably disfiguring the body of this unusually bright and otherwise very attractive girl. When Jamie came out of her session, she said to her mother and me, "I just saw this tiny little multicolored parrot. And he told me his name was George. And then he wasn't a parrot at all. He wasn't even a life-form." Life form: now there's a word for an eleven year-old. "Then, he just became my friend."

Within the next two to three months, several George sightings were reported to me by other patients, none of whom knew of George, because, as with all of the angels, I keep the names and descriptions in confidence so as not to influence other people's experiences. (Even in this writing I've changed the names of George and Parsillia to protect the purely innocent.)

Jamie's spine was mostly, though not completely, corrected by her third session, after which she returned to New Jersey. I've spoken with her several times since. She appears to be doing fine. And, every once in a while, she still hears from George.

Parsillia, on the other hand, comes with specific messages. First, she often lets you know that you will be healed. Following that, she tells you that, if you are healed, you are to go on television and "spread the word". I guess she would be called our Angel of Public Relations.

The first person to see Parsillia was a woman from Oregon named Michele. Michele had seen me during an NBC interview on one of my earlier talk show appearances. At the time she weighed all of 87 pounds. She had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and fibromyalgia. She had no appetite and it hurt her just to swallow. She was unable to get up from a chair to make it into the bathroom by herself. To make her pain somewhat bearable, she would have to be carried from her bed and placed under a hot running shower up to four times each night. If she took her children on a one-hour drive to visit her mother, she would have to stay there, in bed, for three days before she was able to make the drive home. She was obviously unable to hold down a full time job. And her six-year-old would have to make dinner for his three year-old brother: peanut butter sandwiches.

Michele, like most of my patients, had never seen an angel or heard voices before. It took her three days before she was able to get the angel's name. Parsillia told her that she would be healed and that she was to spread the word via television. Approximately one year later, she was a guest along with me on a different talk show. She was all smiles - and quite a few tears. Her weight is now normal, her complexion healthy, she holds down a full time job and exercises regularly. And oh yes, she cooks dinner for her family every evening. No more peanut butter sandwiches.

Another visitor patients see is a man with white hair, a white moustache and a white coat. Other times, he appears in a robe with his head covered.

Debbie, a Southern California mother of three, was the first to see this angel (whose name we don't know). She was diagnosed in March of 1995 with terminal pancreatic cancer, the same cancer that took the life of actor Michael Landon. She was told she had maybe two months to live. Her experiences included being elevated out of her body, traveling through a tunnel, seeing flecks of turquoise and blue light and ultimately being embraced by white light. Debbie experienced the white haired man in both forms. The first time she encountered him he was wearing his robe and head covering. He touched her wrist sending a surge of energy coursing through her body. He then bowed and walked away, leaving her in the presence of a very bright yet unusually welcoming light. Tears filled her eyes. She next found herself in a tunnel traveling through the galaxy, feeling "stuff" leaving her body through both her feet and her head.

By Debbie's second or third session, her previously inoperable tumor was 80 percent gone. Approximately eight months later, her doctors felt she was a candidate for surgery to remove the remaining 20 percent. Just prior to her appointed surgery date, she returned for another of our sessions. A day-and-a-half later she went to the hospital in anticipation of her surgery. After some tests, however, she was sent home. No surgery. Apparently, in the day-and-a-half since our session her tumor had vanished completely. Nothing remained but scar tissue.

As an interesting side-note, Debbie came back for another session in November. During her session she felt water droplets landing on the right side of her face. Following that, the man with the white hair and mustache reappeared, this time wearing his long white coat, which was blowing behind him in the wind. Then he simply blew away.

Patients also commonly see a circle of doctors wearing white coats, conferring and guiding the healings. They can be seen talking in the circle, yet they can't be heard. Another regular is a young Native American girl who places a leather band with shiny, square ornaments on your forehead. Often times a Native American male also comes and stands in the room. (We are not yet sure whether he's a chief or a shaman.) Another visitor is a very tall, handsome angel, usually described as eight, nine or ten feet tall with huge, densely feathered white wings in scalloped rows. I am told that he stands behind with his arms around my waist, peering over my right shoulder, silently guiding my hands. Many of these angels seem to have their own specific scents: flowers, incense, and herbs - in particular, rosemary.

Then came Jered. Jered was four when his mother first brought him in. With braces on his knees that would no longer hold him up, his eyes simultaneously looked in two different directions yet were able to focus on nothing. Words no longer came from his mouth, and in the void was only the endless flow of saliva. Jered's light had been reduced to a vacant expression which showed barely a glimmer of the beautiful being that once dwelt within.

Jered had been losing the myelin coating of his brain where nerve impulses travel. He had been suffering approximately fifty grand mal seizures per day. Medication reduced the seizures to approximately 16 a day. As he lay there on the table, motionless and almost without expression, his mother explained that over the past year she had helplessly watched his rapid deterioration. By the time of her first visit, she found herself left not with the child she once knew, but with what she could only describe as an "amoeba".

During Jered's first session, whenever my hand would approach the left side of his head, he would sense its presence and reach for it. "Look, he knows where your hand is. He's reaching. He never does that," his mother pointed out with hopeful surprise. "That's where the myelin is missing," she added. Jered became so active that by the end of that session his mother had to sit by him on the table, lightly holding his hands, placatingly singing children's songs as only a mother can. Their favorite was "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star". The day of Jered's first session, these physically violent seizures stopped. Completely.

Jered's second session found him grasping at doorknobs and beginning to turn them. His vision improved, he was now able to focus on objects. On his way out of our office, he pointed to a floral arrangement in our reception area: "Flowers," he said smiling. There wasn't a dry eye in the room.

That night, Jered was discovered reciting the letters of the alphabet with Vanna White while watching Wheel of Fortune. And before he went to sleep, this formerly speechless cherub looked up towards his mother and said "Mommy sing to me." Five weeks later, Jered was back at school. On the playground. Catching balls.

Did Jered see an angel? He never said so, but I know that he did. This one drove him one hour to and from his appointments, sat by him on the table, lightly held his hands and lovingly sang to him "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" as only an angel can.

It turns out that I had to go inside to find most of my answers. My two main concerns were, one, that I couldn't predict what someone's response would be and therefore could make promises to no one, and, two, that I would have unpredictable highs and lows in the energies that would last anywhere from three days to three weeks.

I had always been an in-charge type of person who could accomplish whatever I set my mind to. While others took a wait-and-see attitude, I preferred to dominate, manipulate and control situational outcomes. Obstacles that seemed invincible to others were invisible to me, so I would charge ahead and get things done. The most galling expression on earth to someone like me was, "If it's meant to be, it will be." Meant to be, schmeant to be. If I want it to happen, I'll make it happen, and don't any of you namby-pamby fatalists get in my way. So, imagine my surprise when the realization dawned on me that for these healings to really accelerate, I had to get out of the way and quit directing, to step back and let a higher power guide. Who's saying this? I thought. It can't be me.

But it was true. Not only did the energy know where to go and what to do without the slightest instruction from me; the more I got my attention out of the picture the more powerful the response. Some of the greatest healings occurred when I was thinking about my grocery list. The audacity!

Receive, don't send.

Who said that? I asked, searching the inner recesses of my head as if I could really see something in there. You've got the wrong person here for that kind of advice. My ego was still recovering from "get out of the way and let a higher power guide." How am I going to get these healings through to these people if I don't send them?

Receive, don't send.

I heard you the first time. Now answer my question, I mentally retorted.

Silence.

(Silence can really irk me sometimes.)

I went in to see the next patient. Hoping that I wasn't doing her a disservice and grateful that she couldn't read the hesitation and uncertainty of concept in my mind, I began, palms open, at her feet. I received from the patient through my hands. I received from the heavens through the top of my head. It was loving, it was humbling, and it was confusing. It felt awkward. And then I saw the patient begin to respond. And it felt right.

At that point I truly embraced the concept that I had been espousing, yet not fully understanding all along: I am not the healer, only God is the healer, and for some reason, whether I'm a catalyst or a vessel, an amplifier or intensifier, pick your own word, I'm invited into the room.

The session was over. The patient had seen the same spectacular colors and heard the same exquisite tones that the other patients see and hear. She too had seen two of the angels frequently described to me as being present during the healing process. Her problem, a mixture of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, fibromyalgia, and colitis, was to be gone after this session. Although not immediately life threatening, it had been ruling her life for the past eight years. She got up from the table and said, "Thank you!"

I replied, "Don't thank me. I didn't do it." She said, "Well of course you did," not understanding. "It wouldn't have happened if you didn't hold your hands over me."

I thought, maybe that person sitting up there on that cloud didn't make such a mistake after all. Maybe I was selected for this gift because I don't wear robes and turbans, because I don't hang tapestries and burn incense, because I don't walk around barefoot eating bowls of dirt with chopsticks. Maybe it's because I'm accessible and speak in relatively plain terms. Or maybe it's because of my ability to come up with silly little ways of explaining things that I'm only beginning to grasp myself.

"It's like this," I explained, searching for an easily comprehensible analogy for a young girl whose concept of spiritual synchronicity was that Melrose Place was both the name of the street where my LA office had been located and that of her favorite TV show. "It's as if you've just had a wonderful chocolate malted...and you're thanking the straw."

She laughed.

I think we both got it.

Eric Pearl has appeared nationally on The Leeza Show, Sally Jessy Raphael, The Other Side and other television programs. His patients' healings have been documented in six books to date: Hot Chocolate for the Mystical Soul; Chicken Soup for the Alternatively Healed Soul; More Hot Chocolate for the Mystical Soul; Hot Chocolate for the Mystical Teenage Soul; Are You Ready for a Miracle with Angels? And Eric's own book, The Reconnection: Heal Others, Heal Yourself (Hay House).

                                                          Kirlian Photographs of Eric's right hand taken by a medical research team (July 1998)

Dr. Eric Pearl's Healing Testimonials

"I didn't think life was worth living! I didn't 'have' a life until I met Dr. Pearl. I want you to know I am healed, my condition is not just in remission, I have been completely cured."

— Michele, Healed of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia

"It was magical! I stood up and was six feet tall. I saw that my right foot was straight, just like my left one. For the first time in my life I had two independent legs."

— Gary, Suffered with a Birth Defect

"My doctor confirmed my instincts that I no longer needed my medications. After three months I was 95% drug free with a well-functioning pituitary. One thing both my medical doctor and I understand is that I was healed by Dr. Pearl."

— Rusty, Pituitary gland malfunction required daily drugs and hormones to survive

"It felt as if angels were having a party all around me. I felt my heart open in an intense surge of every emotion imaginable. It was an enchantingly beautiful experience. I no longer require any of the every-other-day blood transfusions which had characterized my existence. I also haven't used a wheelchair. Not once."

— Isabel, Suffered with Cancer

Dr. Eric Pearl's Healing Stories

Miracle on Melrose Place

I met Dr. Pearl on October 3, 1994, a day that forever changed my life.

I was born with a birth defect. Upon entering the world, the doctor cut my umbilical cord too early. I didn't breathe for a period of time, my skin turned purple and the doctors panicked. As a result of this trauma, a portion of my brain stopped functioning and the right side of my body from my waist down did not develop correctly. My right leg was several inches shorter than my left; as well, my right hip was much higher in placement. Due to my deformity, I walked with an exaggerated limp, my right hip swinging outward with each step. Also, because of the difference in the lengths of my legs, I could not stand up straight. For balance, my right foot turned inward and rested on my left so that my two legs acted as one large leg to balance the weight of my upper body. To keep from falling, my back would hunch forward as if I were about to dive into a pool. This condition resulted in many back problems both as a child and young adult.

By the time I was 14, I visited more than 20 doctors in attempts to remedy my situation. I had surgery performed on my right heel cord to lengthen it. This neither changed the way I walked nor balanced my body. I wore orthotic shoe lifts, specially constructed orthopedic shoes, and steel leg braces, yet none of these remedies seemed to heal or even slightly improve my condition. Soon I developed spasms in my right leg. Around the age of 14, the spasms became so violent that following these frequent episodes, my back would ache for days on end. It was especially embarrassing for me when these spasms occurred in front of friends ? and even more so in front of strangers. So, against my will, I saw a neurologist. He prescribed drugs to see if the spasms would subside. They never lessened. In fact, the spasms seemed to feed off the medication. Feeling a loss of intelligence - not to mention feeling really stoned - I soon gave up on the prescriptions.

Later that year I was referred to another doctor. I was told that he would be the one to finally help me. I was so excited! At last, maybe this would be the doctor who would make me less different than everyone else.

I went with huge expectations. When I left, I felt more rejected than ever. Not only did the doctor tell me there was nothing he could do to help, he painted a bleak picture of my future as well. He told me I would always have back problems. In fact, he told me these problems would increase as I aged and that my skeleton would deteriorate, that I would end up relegated to a wheelchair.

That was the longest ride home I'd ever experienced. All hope that I'd ever held had drained out of me. I made an important decision that day: I would never see another doctor about this again. I would find some way to accept my fate and make peace with my body.

Thirteen years passed. I was working out with an acquaintance and happened to mention that I'd been having some especially bad back pain. She told me she knew a great Chiropractor. She had been in a bad motorcycle accident a few years back and had also been suffering from terrible back pains. Since she had seen this Chiropractor, her back had been pain free. I figured I'd check him out.

I made an appointment for October third and, after much anticipation, the day finally rolled around. I walked into his office, took a seat and waited until his assistant led me into a room. The Chiropractor entered. His name was Dr. Eric Scott Pearl. I intuitively knew that I was in the right place at the right time.

On that visit he asked me a few questions, took a look at my spine and gently adjusted my neck, telling me to come back in two days. I felt a little better, but nothing earth shattering. My back still felt sore.

Two days passed before I went for my second visit. Again, he took a look at my spine and lightly adjusted my neck. Then he told me to relax and close my eyes. I followed his instructions.

Suddenly, my right foot began rotating in circles on its own. I tried in my mind to stop it but it continued to rotate. Then the thought came to me that I should let it do what it wants. This went on for a minute or two, until my right foot finally turned inward again, coming to rest on my left foot just as it always had when I stood.

I remember feeling warm, as if the temperature of the room had increased by ten degrees. I felt this energy down around my right calf muscle and began to sense my right foot turning outward once more, ever so slowly. "Now what's happening?" I wondered, more than somewhat astonished. It felt as if invisible hands were turning my foot, yet it didn't feel like hands at all. It felt good. It felt right. I was totally at peace. This process occurred over a thirty-second period. Then I remember Dr. Pearl lightly nudging me. He was so gentle, yet the sudden flight back to awareness came as a shock.

I told him what I had felt and experienced. He then asked me to stand. It was magical! I stood up and was six feet tall. I was standing taller and straighter. When I looked down toward the floor - which was a much further distance than I remembered - I saw that my right foot was straight, just like my left one. I was balanced, and my right foot was no longer turned inward leaning against my left for support. For the first time in my life I had two independent legs. I gave Dr. Pearl a huge hug.

I left with an enormous smile on my face. I got into my car and turned right from Melrose Place onto La Cienega Boulevard. In my head I kept replaying the image of my foot turning outward. Had this really happened? I felt as if I were living in a dream state. Nothing seemed the way it once was.

Leaving Los Angeles proper, I turned onto Laurel Canyon to go into the Valley. I lost all control of my emotions and had to pull off to the side of the road as I broke down crying. I’m not sure how much time passed as I sat there, crying on the side of the road. All I know is that someone had finally returned to me what had been so callously ripped away years before: hope. I had lost all hope when I was 14 and found it again at Dr. Pearl's office 13 years later. As I sat and cried, my entire life replayed itself before my eyes.

I had experienced a happiness I never knew was possible. I felt at peace with my body, at peace with the world. Dr. Pearl was the one who gave this to me. It wasn't until much later that I discovered that these healings are commonplace in his office. In speaking with Dr. Pearl you would never know this, as each incredible healing leaves him as awestruck as mine left me. His kindness, caring and healing talents gave me something I never knew existed: a miracle.

Albert Einstein said there are two ways to look at life. You can either believe that there are no miracles or you can realize that everything is a miracle.

Oh. And by the way. My back pains are gone.

An Angel In My Kitchen

It is difficult for me to know where to begin my story. This has been a long road with many twists and turns.

I was 30 years old and the mother of a very beautiful, very healthy and very active eighteen-month-old boy. I had a job that I thoroughly enjoyed and a husband who was loving, caring and supportive. I had all the basics of a good and happy life. When I look back on that time, I remember feeling that my life could not have been better. I was, like most people, blissfully flowing along in the denial of our common fate. A denial that was somehow essential to my peace of mind. I never thought about mortality in a serious way. Little did I know that my reality was about to change - almost as abruptly as if I had crashed into a brick wall while traveling at 90 miles an hour.

I remember fighting with my doctor because I wanted a mammogram. She hesitated, saying, "Thirty-year-olds never get breast cancer". I, however, knew in my heart that something was terribly wrong. After all, it was my body, so I persisted until the doctor reluctantly agreed to send me for the test. That was the first time in my life I stood up and asserted myself. And boy did I receive reinforcement for this lesson: I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I had a modified radical mastectomy, and 15 of the 22 lymph nodes removed from under my arm showed malignancy.

By the time my husband and I left the doctor's office we were in total despair. I had never felt so alone or so abandoned. I was sure nothing good would come of this. I was convinced I would soon be dead. We began our drive home in silence, punctuated only by the sounds of our sobs. Suddenly, the energy in the car seemed to change. My husband began to speak as if he were guided to do so, saying that we would fight this. Other people have beaten cancer, he pointed out, and we, too, would do whatever was necessary to beat it together. Fortunately my fatalistic attitude was short-lived thanks to the strength of my husband and family. And, although at the time I was sure it was my husband who was going to save me, I now know that through my own strength, hope, will and faith, I saved myself.

I refused to allow this cancer to run my life. I had a family to care for, a child to raise, and a life to live. From that moment on we began an all-out war. We set out to educate ourselves on the different options available, both mainstream Western and so-called "alternative" approaches. We would only see doctors and other health professionals who dealt with us in an open, informative and caring way. We always insisted on knowing exactly what was going on and why so that we could make informed decisions.

Through all this, we called everyone we knew to solicit support and prayers. Friends and family flocked to our side. It's amazing how people respond when another is in need. I learned much about the innate goodness of people. I learned how essential sharing love is to the human experience. I began to feel the love in my heart and the hope that ultimately sustained me through this journey. The possibility of miracles and the wonder of life became everyday thoughts to me. I began to question my thought patterns more. This, I found, was a very important factor in my well-being. I pondered why I thought it more realistic to expect a negative outcome than to expect a positive one. I opted to expect the positive.

I began to seek more out of life. I have always asked my God to show me the right path and to provide me with the tools I need. I have had much chemotherapy and even a bone marrow transplant. These things were all gifts from God. I wanted more, however, and that drive is what led me to seek the aid of a "healer."

I have always been interested in the mysteries of healing and I began to pursue this. One morning, by chance, I saw Los Angeles-based Dr. Eric Scott Pearl and some of his patients on a TV talk show. I believe the topic was alternative healing. I was struck by his gentleness and humility. He has truly been given the gift of healing. He doesn't know why he was chosen or where the gift came from - "Call it God, Love or Universe," he says - yet somehow a healing power does work through him. His patients receive healings that are otherwise unheard of in today's world.

When I first met Dr. Pearl, I was weak from chemotherapy. Not only did I require a wheelchair to go from place to place, the rest of the time I was confined to bed. I had spent seven weeks in the hospital in isolation while doctors tried to figure out how to treat my blood counts, which, for the previous two months, had dropped dangerously low and seemed insistent upon remaining there. The only thing they knew for certain during those seven weeks was that I required blood transfusions every other day in order to survive. To add insult to injury, I was also suffering from shingles. I was determined to leave the hospital in time for my first appointed healing session…and I did just that. My healing began the day my husband and son checked me out of the hospital and wheeled me in to see Dr. Pearl. From that day on, things have miraculously gotten better.

As Dr. Pearl ran his hands above my body, I could feel warmth. I saw many bright colors, a white star, and an exquisite white light. I also saw an intensely beautiful violet light, a violet color I had never seen before. I felt the sensation of invisible hands touching me in a healing way. I could feel the presence of loving, joyful beings. I felt as if angels were having a party all around me. Not being a person who regularly sees angels, this was a very significant event for me. I wanted to get up and join in on the fun. I felt my heart open in an intense surge of every emotion imaginable. It was an enchantingly beautiful experience. The only other time in my life that I can remember feeling this way was when I gave birth to my son.

All too soon, I heard the voice of a female angel gently saying, "You're done." Just then, Dr. Pearl brought me out of the session as if he had heard the angel too. These loving angels came to me again in our next two sessions. (I had three sessions, one a day for three days, and each was as beautiful as the one before.) Without words, the angels fed me peace, love, joy, playfulness and hope, all things I needed in my life. During my sessions with Dr. Pearl, these angels allowed me to feel what I can only describe as the energy of my life - it was like the buzz or hum of my being.

The angels stayed with me for several months; we visited daily. They illuminated my path, helping me to see my needs more clearly and to become the healthy, vibrant person I am today. They came to me in dreams and while I was awake. Sometimes I would see them and other times I would sense them. They always gave me the answers I needed and I am eternally grateful for this gift.

These angels don't show themselves to me anymore, although I'm sure they continue their watch. I used to know when I was about to see the angels because, as if to announce their arrival, the most heavenly scent of vanilla ice cream cones would fill the air. The reason I no longer see them, I feel, is because of the one day that I didn't smell the ice cream cones. That day I walked into my kitchen and was startled when I unexpectedly saw one of the angels standing where I usually stand to prepare dinner. Surprised, I inhaled loudly. All right, I admit it…I gasped. I didn't mean to, but it caught me off guard and there was no taking this gasp back. Apparently not wanting to upset me, the angel vanished and never returned. I was very disappointed as I never saw any of the angels again. And I must tell you; I really do miss having them around.

Since my first session with Dr. Pearl and the angels that work with him, I no longer require any of the every-other-day blood transfusions that had characterized my existence. I also haven't used a wheelchair. Not once. I was now able to walk and drive on my own. I even drove myself to my third and final session with Dr. Pearl and have continued to improve ever since.

Even after the last angel left, I continued to reach new levels in my energy, my health and the overall quality of my life. I am once again doing all the shopping, cleaning and cooking for my family on a daily basis, not to mention chauffeuring my nine-year-old son around town and being den mother to his Boy Scout troop. This is a big change for a woman who, a little while back, spent most of her time confined to a bed. My sessions with Dr. Pearl have given me a new openness and allowed me to learn many new lessons. My feelings and emotions now run more deep, more true. I have been left with a heightened sense of love, not only for my husband and my son, but for the world as well. Perhaps the angels leaving was their way of telling me that I was ready to fully recover on my own, that I was ready to care for myself and my family the way I always had.

I see myself as a survivor. A survivor is more than a person who merely lives through a disease; it is a person who has the courage to go on with life. It is enjoying family and friends, sharing love, being open to all possibilities, hoping, and always being true to your heart.

I am now 37 years old. As I've said, it's been a long journey. I gave up my cancer in a millisecond, yet I will always cherish the lessons I've learned about myself - and life - as a result of my experience. And it will always be my privilege to feel both happy and sad whenever I smell a vanilla ice cream cone.

The Lady in the Garden

At age 11, I awoke one morning in a panic. I was so hot that I couldn't breathe well. As I reached up to wipe the sweat from my face, I realized that not only were my hands swollen to twice their size but my face and tongue were also. I could hardly see my mother standing in front of me for my eyes were almost swollen shut. She was trying to get me to take some medicine. Although this was not the first incident, this was the worst. My mom put me in the car and took me to the emergency room. I was so scared, I thought for sure I was going to die. Mom kept saying "Don't worry honey, it's going to be all right. We're all here to take care of you." She's a registered nurse, it's part of her job to soothe people. But it only got worse.

I spent the next couple of days in the bed and the nights with my mom in the emergency room where she worked. I had these strange blotches all over me and some turned into big welts. All my joints were swollen and my whole body ached. The doctors didn't know what was wrong, they had never seen a kid with so many odd things at once. So, they sent me to a specialist. Months of tests and different medications revealed that I had rheumatoid arthritis and mixed connective tissue disease. The doctor said this could include Lupus but the test was inconclusive. The course of action for this you ask? Ten—yes, 10!—Bayer aspirin per day for 6 weeks and no stressful activity, not even gym class.

Several years passed. I had learned to accept the pain ... worse, to accept the "We don't know what's wrong" answer. I learned to smile and put on a good show for everyone. It's much harder than people think and of course, it doesn't last forever. As I said, I did fairly well for several years; however, by age 20, I was worn out, depressed, and forcing myself to get out of bed for work. So, once again I saw several different doctors who now said I had severe depression. I spent the next year trying various assortments of anti-depressants, which made life easier to deal with but did not make my body feel any better. Looking back, I can see why I was depressed. You would be too if you felt as bad as I did everyday. I finally went to a doctor who ran a number of tests based on my childhood history and concluded that I was not simply depressed but that my earlier diagnosis of Lupus appeared to be correct. Again I was put on a varied array of medications, none of which worked for more than a few weeks.

I next went to a specialist: a rheumatologist. We tried other medications, some made me sick, some gave me the hives, and eventually, some worked. It was a combination of Plaquinil 200mg three times per day, Lodine 800mg and Tagamet 400mg twice daily on top of that. This was the medical approach that finally worked the best. Sadly for my mother, and me it didn't work well for long and it was very expensive. So, although there is no medically known cure for Lupus, my mom started looking for a more permanent form of treatment. One day while watching Sally Jessy Raphael on television, she saw a healer: Dr. Eric Scott Pearl. She made all the arrangements for me to see him before she told me anything about him. It wasn't until we were making that first six-hour trip that she told me he was an alternative healer, that he wasn't going to touch me and that I was going to feel better. I laughed at her and strongly suggested that she might be in need of some professional psychiatric counseling. She replied "What do you have to lose?" Who could argue with that after everything I'd been through? Besides, she knew enough not to tell me until we were well underway in the car.

So, we arrived at my 11am appointment with me thinking , "This guy must be a quack." Can you tell I was skeptical? We went in and I filled out my paperwork. Shortly afterward, Kathy, the receptionist, took me to the healing room. In it there was a table to lie on, soft lighting and sounds of the ocean playing in the background. Kathy told me to take off my shoes, lie down and relax. Easy for her to say. I tried, but I couldn't.

Dr. Pearl came in a few minutes later and to my surprise, he looked pretty normal. We talked for a few minutes about my major complaints, which were my hands. He asked me to hold up one of them. He held his hands on either side of mine but did not touch me. He began to move his hands around in this slow, circular motion. Suddenly, I was scared because there was this breezy feeling over my hand and this overwhelming smell of flowers. Flowers like I had never smelled before. I thought "Okay, this is really strange. His hands are moving much too slowly to create wind. And what about the flowers? How is he doing this?" He then moved to my other hand and that same windy feeling came. He asked me to close my eyes and all I could think was "he's a freak and I am obviously crazy!"

  I closed my eyes and as he slowly walked around my body - doing whatever it is he does - the windy feeling followed his hands. What happened next really startled me! As my eyes flew wildly open, Dr. Pearl asked, "What's wrong?" I didn't dare say. I simply responded, "Nothing," although what I really wanted to say was, "Move away from my ankle, it's getting really hot!" You see I wear a healing stone around my left ankle that I got from this old Indian doctor in Oatman, Arizona, and every time Dr. Pearl came near it, my ankle got very hot. This was weird and I was not happy.

Throughout the rest of the session I was not able to relax. When it was finally over, he asked me if I had experienced anything. I told him about the windy feeling and the flower smell. He asked if I knew what the flower smell was and I said "You." He told me he didn't think it was him, so I asked if I could smell him. "Yes," he laughed and indulged me. Sure enough he didn't smell like a flower and oddly enough, the smell was almost gone.

He took a few notes and told me to come to the front when I was ready. He left the room. I must have been in there for about 10 or 15 minutes looking around for a fan, some flower-scented incense, something -- ANYTHING! -- to explain the wind and the smell. I even took a large picture down off the wall and moved the furniture around (something I haven't even admitted to him yet). But I didn't find anything. Now more than ever, I knew I must be crazy. I left the room and spoke only the briefest words to the doctor. I was in a hurry to leave. This was the strangest thing that had ever happened to me. My mom and I drove home, I slept most of the way and when I woke up, my hands didn't ache as much. I thought Oh, it's just a fluke.

I went about the next week as normal, taking my medicine and doing pretty much nothing else. The thought of my next appointment with Dr. Pearl loomed in my mind. I really didn't want to go back, but the following week we packed up and once again headed to California. I went to the next appointment, and I was very nervous. Kathy once again took me back. I took off my shoes, climbed up on the table and to my surprise I was suddenly very relaxed. Dr. Pearl came in and we chatted for a few minutes about how I had been feeling, which was slightly better than usual. He than asked me to close my eyes and relax. He was about to begin.

I closed my eyes and suddenly felt an indescribable peacefulness. I could feel the wind around my hand and the absolutely overwhelming smell of these flowers. Where is this coming from? I thought to myself, and in that same instance, a woman appeared. I couldn't see her face, just her white dress and dark hair blowing in the breeze. She was offering her hand, standing in this amazing garden of flowers above me. It was as if she were saying “Take my hand and walk through this garden,” only she wasn't speaking to me, at least not with words, and I couldn't open my eyes. I was no longer aware of Dr. Pearl's presence in the room ... or was I somehow no longer in the room? How bizarre! I wanted to go, I reached out, felt a tug on my hand and ... Boom!, I was up there in the flowers with her. Then, just as quickly as she came, she was gone.

My eyes flew open and Dr. Pearl was finished. He asked if I was all right. I was so terrified, I didn't dare tell him what happened. I just wanted to leave. He walked out of the room and this time I didn't look for anything. I just left. He and my mom were at the front desk talking when I came out. I don't think I said a word to either of them, I just headed for the door. Mom soon followed. We got outside and I started to cry. I couldn't tell her what happened, I couldn't tell ANYONE what happened. What would my mom think, much less what would other people think? I was terrified, alone in the thought that I really had lost my mind. We headed to the hotel where we were spending the evening. I had one last appointment the following day. I didn't say much the rest of the night.

The next morning came quickly. I went to the appointment even though I really didn't want to. I was afraid. During the entire session, all I could think was, isn't it over yet? It actually ended rather quickly. I think Dr. Pearl could tell something was wrong. I overheard him telling my mother, who was trying desperately to schedule me for another appointment, not to bring me back unless I asked to return. He told her that I didn't seem to want to be there and didn't seem comfortable with the visits. He was right. I met him out front, politely thanked him and we headed home. It was none too soon for me. I spent the next two days scouring every flower shop and plant store in Bullhead City, Arizona. I had to find these flowers or at least track down that smell again. It was as if finding them would let me know that I had not lost my sanity. But then, what would not finding them mean?

Try as I might, I did not find them. No one in the shops recognized them from the description and no one knew the smell. It's as if they don't exist anywhere on earth. It was about a week before I could begin to talk about what happened at Dr. Pearl's office without crying. (Having been an avowed atheist, this had shaken my belief system to the very core.) Now that I've brought myself to talk about it, I've discovered it's actually a relief. Some people look at me strangely when I tell them about this, but I can't let that stop me. People need to know that this type of thing does exist. Had my mother not taken me to Los Angeles, I don't know what condition I would be in today. In return, I hope that my words can help someone else. Since my three visits to Dr. Pearl, I have improved 100%. I can do things now that I thought I would never be able to do again. I can get out of bed with no problem, a process that used to require a couple of hours. I can open jars, some that my boyfriend can't! I can workout and exercise without feeling like I'm falling apart. And I can wear my jewelry(!) because my hands and ankles no longer ache or swell. Best of all, no more prescription medications!

You know, sometimes moms know a few more things than we give them credit for. Mine sure did. While I was running around questioning my own sanity, she was doing a little research of her own and found out that Dr. Pearl's healings are being studied all over the country. I feel a lot less crazy knowing that I'm not the only one seeing these angels and taking trips through flower gardens in the sky. I hope to someday find a way to thank her for tracking him down, driving me six hours each way to and from my appointments and for not giving up hope when I had given up all of mine. I don't know how to explain this and I don't know what to call it. All I can tell you is that it works. I feel as if I've been given the gift of life twice, once by my mother, and once again by Dr. Pearl. And I can't say thanks enough. Call me crazy...!

For He Is The Light
And They Shine Through Him

About eight years ago I started to feel as if I had a chronic case of the flu. I had headaches, stomach pains, and my joints and body ached all the time. Some days the pain was more intense than others, but the feeling of being ill was constant. I had no appetite. Eating—just swallowing—caused me great pain. My weight dropped to 87 pounds.

I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia. My symptoms were so severe that many of the doctors who examined me thought that I had other complications as well. This led to a variety of painkillers. Since I was allergic to most of them, my doctors were constantly switching me from one medication to another.

Despite the painkillers, most of the time I was unable to get up from a chair by myself. I hurt so much I had to be carried to the shower up to four times a night, where I would sit under hot running water just to get some relief. I couldn't even drive my children to visit their grandmother, which was a short one-hour trip. On the rare occasion when I did force myself to make the drive, I had to remain there, bedridden for three days, until I could build up the strength to drive us home. Some days I was able to go into work for a few hours. Other days I wasn't.

I began to feel like I was going crazy. My life was a constant cycle of pain and exhaustion. Little things such as washing dishes, cooking dinner or even just getting out of bed each morning became major efforts and were sometimes impossible. I had no quality time with my family.

My eight-year-old son took care of his three-year-old brother most evenings, cooking dinner since I couldn't get out of bed. Had it not been for my family, I don't know how I would have gotten by. Had I not had children, I know I would have allowed myself to die.

One evening when everyone in the house was sleeping, I swallowed several handfuls of pain pills, haphazardly mixing them together. (I'm not really sure how many I took, as I can't remember exactly what happened.) I later found myself on the bathroom floor vomiting, shaking and sweating. It felt as if my body were coming out of my skin. At some point I started to pray, "Please God, help me. I can't live like this, but I don't want to leave my boys." I had reached the end of my tolerance. I simply couldn't be sick any longer, but I didn't know where to turn for help. I finally fell asleep on the floor and was awakened by the morning sun coming in through the bathroom window. I didn't tell my family what had happened.

That day I stayed home from work, feeling sick and exhausted. Lying on the couch, I turned on the TV; a talk show was on. I wasn't sure why, but I felt as if I were supposed to watch it. A Dr. Eric Scott Pearl and a panel of medical doctors were discussing how so many of Dr. Pearl's patients had been healed of unusual afflictions. One man described how, as a result of a session with Dr. Pearl, he regained the use of his leg. The TV station even showed video footage and a photograph of this man at various ages prior to his healing. Dr. Pearl explained that the healings are brought about by a "Higher Power" which, to the best of his understanding, seems to come through him. I knew that Dr. Pearl was telling the truth, that he was for real, and that I had to see him. I called the television station and found out the number of his office in Los Angeles.

I phoned and asked the receptionist if the doctor could fit me into his schedule. I didn't have the money for airfare, the sessions, or even a place to stay. I called my parents and told them what I had seen, and how excited I was about going to see Dr. Pearl. Although they were skeptical, my mother said that they would help me with the expenses and told me to go ahead and make the appointment. My mother decided to come with me and, six days later, we were on a plane headed to L.A.

The 45-minute taxi-ride from the airport seemed an eternity. I could hardly wait to see the doctor. My first appointment was scheduled for that afternoon, April 4, 1995. I will never forget that day.

When I met Dr. Pearl I was comfortable right from the start, knowing somehow that I had been sent to him. I knew that God would take it from there. My first session began in a quiet room with dim lights and a soothing atmosphere. Dr. Pearl lightly placed one finger above my heart and I immediately fell into a light sleep. I wasn't entirely asleep, though, because I was clearly aware of movement in the room and sounds in the outer office. Dr. Pearl held his hands over and above my head and I felt a warmth in and around my body. The energy level in the room was very intense. I experienced an inexplicable and continuous movement of my right knee. (I had injured that knee while skiing several years ago and it always bothered me.) My hands were also in constant motion.

At one point the doctor left me alone for a moment. I had a strong feeling that someone else was in the room, even though I knew the doctor was not there. Then I heard the soft voice of a woman. She told me her name was Parsillia and that she was my guardian angel.

Parsillia told me that I would be healed and although I had never seen or been addressed by an angel before (at least not that I know of), I knew that this was to be my healing. The physicians had done all that they could, but Parsillia's presence told me that my life was now beginning again.

My body became intensely warm all over. The most painful areas of my body became hot, then returned to a comforting warmth, feeling much better. At one point I felt Dr. Pearl standing by my left side, but when I opened my eyes I realized that no one could possibly have been standing there since the treatment table was against the wall. Someone with a very comforting presence had been standing there, however, and nothing will ever shake my knowledge of this.

My second session, April 5, was just as dramatic. Parsillia came to me again. I asked her the name of the angel who works through Dr. Pearl and she simply said, "The Healing Angel". Again, several areas of my body became hot, then relaxed and warm. Several times Parsillia repeated that I was being healed. I came out of the session feeling light-headed. My body was so warm that my legs were bright pink, as if I'd just stepped from a sauna or spa. I had so much energy after my second session with Dr. Pearl that my mother and I decided to go shopping. Suddenly I heard my mother calling for me to slow down. This was a shock for us both since, during the past seven years of my illness, everyone had been forced to slow down for me.

In my third session I fell directly into a light sleep, almost before Dr. Pearl came into the room. The angel told me that they would be working on the cause of my headaches and the sharp, stabbing pains I had been having in my head. She said they would cure them that day. I experienced warmth, first in my right cheek and then throughout my entire face, and was told that I was told that I was being filled with love, peace and patience.

During my fourth session, the angels told me that I was healed and would gradually notice other changes. I was given messages for my father and ex-mother-in-law. I was also shown some beautiful gates which I assumed were to heaven, and saw shapes but no faces. There was singing all around me, flowers of colors I had never seen before, and happiness everywhere. I instantly knew that everyone there had a purpose and that each was assigned a specific task. I was told to spend more time with my sons, especially my oldest.

Parsillia told me to keep in contact with her. She promised should would be there.

It's been many years since my first visit with Dr. Pearl, and my life is still changing. I've had more contact with my angels, and I have been back to Dr. Pearl occasionally, just to visit. My life has returned to normal - quite quickly, and quite fully. I now work full-time in my own business, then come home every evening and prepare the family meal. My weight is normal and I exercise daily. And in case you're wondering, or just in case I haven't been entirely clear, I want you to know that I am healed. My condition is not just in remission; I have been completely cured. More importantly, I have my own life back and, after all these years, my children have their mother back once again.

Dr. Pearl is truly gifted. He is a caring and loving man who helped me to appreciate my blessings. I couldn't find any happiness or purpose in life when all I could concentrate on was fighting my illness and pain. Through him I was able to regain my family, my purpose, my happiness, my life.  There are no words to describe my joy.

My feelings for Dr. Pearl can best be summed up in one phrase, something one of the angels told me:

"For he is the light, and they shine through him."

People can talk, people can wonder, people can debate whether healings of this nature truly occur; whether they are mind over matter; whether they would have happened anyway; and whether there really are angels. Ask me. I know.

The Road Home

In September of 1991, my wife and I were blessed with a baby boy. The following month, I was in the hospital getting a total thyroidectomy. I had thyroid cancer.

I was in excellent physical condition prior to surgery, so I recovered rapidly and I immediately went back to work as a self-employed contractor. As the days and weeks passed, the thought of having cancer would occasionally surface. Being a new father, however, I quickly forgot any of those concerns. I healed completely and continued to work as if nothing had ever happened.

In January of 1992, as we were coming home from a wedding, my wife and I found ourselves in an evening snowstorm. As we sat at a red light, we were suddenly struck from behind by a drunk driver. We both sustained neck and back injuries which required that we have MRI tests taken (sort of an advanced form of x-ray). One evening my doctor called and informed us that my MRI had revealed more than just herniated discs. I had a tumor in my head, located in my pituitary gland. My wife and I were devastated. We didn't know what it all meant.

I was sent to a specialist in New York city who examined me and explained that 99% of the time these tumors are benign. He further stated that since this type of tumor often tends to shrink on its own, he would not operate right away. The plan was to get a MRI of my head done every six months, just to keep an eye on it. We were relieved and satisfied with his opinion, so every six months I went for my MRI and life went on.

In the late winter of 1994, I began experiencing head pain different from anything I had ever known before. This was no ordinary headache. I went to a neurologist for an examination and was told that I was experiencing "cluster headaches". Due to their severity, cluster headaches are commonly known to drive people to suicide. They would come and go in flashes. I also had a steady pain up the back of my head that would literally pull the life force right out of me. The pain got so bad that I was bedridden. Eventually the pain became so severe that I returned to the neurologist. This time the neurologist himself brought me to the hospital for an emergency MRI fearing that the tumor had hemorrhaged. Fortunately, it hadn't. It had, however, grown significantly and surgery was required immediately.

In May of 1994, I was scheduled for brain surgery. You can't imagine the anxiety that comes with the anticipation of having someone operate on your head. My surgery lasted three hours and the tumor was successfully extracted. Recovery was long and tiresome. Unfortunately, when you tamper with the pituitary gland, it stops functioning. Since this is the master gland that controls much of your body chemistry, I was now chemically dependent. Every day I had to take four doses of hormones and 30mg of hydrocortisone. In addition, I had to get a testosterone shot every three weeks. My doctors told me that if my pituitary gland did not regain function within a month after surgery, I could expect that it never would. It didn't. Again, my wife and I adjusted to the new routine and life went on.

One day I was watching a television program about "healers". I was not familiar with alternative forms of healing and the idea interested me greatly. Since the medical world had already given up on me, I decided to pursue a healer in an effort to get my pituitary gland working again. I've never been one to go down without a fight so, even though the gland had been non-functional for several months, I was determined to find a healer and make myself whole. The search went on for over a year.

In June of 1995, I was at my periodic cancer examination when my surgeon found a tumor in the right side of my neck. A CAT scan and MRI confirmed that the thyroid cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. Surgery was scheduled for July. I kept my wife and myself on a positive track by thinking that I would come through this operation successfully and all would be well again. My search for a healer had to be put on hold temporarily.

Surgery lasted for five hours. It was a radical dissection of my right neck. Eighty-eight lymph nodes were removed and of them, 22 were cancerous. The surgery was very painful and I took almost three months to heal. Once I recovered from this operation, my search for a healer was on again. I was determined that after three major operations in less than four years, I was going to get back to normal.

My search finally climaxed when NBC in California responded to a letter I had sent them regarding a show I had seen on healers. Several names and addresses were mailed to me. I reached those that I could, but the one that really made an impression was Dr. Eric Scott Pearl in Los Angeles. I was excited! My search was over. I was finally going to have a session with a bona fide healer!

In November of 1995, my wife and I met Dr. Pearl. My pituitary gland hadn't been functioning for over a year and a half. Medically speaking, all hope was lost. After explaining my condition, I had a private session. It was a genuine experience. He held his hands over my head. After several minutes, I felt a tremendous heat. I finally passed out. Upon awakening, I was rather disoriented. He explained that some results tend to be immediate while others may only become apparent with time. He asked that I write or phone to let him know of my progress, as this is the only way he can keep track of things.

In December of 1995, about three weeks after my session with Dr. Pearl, I started to experience new and unusual feelings in my body. My doctor confirmed my instincts that I no longer needed my medications, and, under supervision, I began to wean myself off of the drugs. After three months, I am now 95% drug free with a well-functioning pituitary. My doctor and I are hopeful that I will soon be 100% drug free. My test results are now normal. I'm feeling great. My stamina is better now than it ever was before my surgeries. My spirits are high. My wife and I are once again leading a healthy, normal life.

After receiving my most recent set of normal laboratory results, I smiled and asked my physician what he now thought of healers. Following a moment's contemplation, he replied, "The only thing I can tell you is there are a lot of strange phenomena out there that I really don't understand."

As time passed, medical tests continued to confirm my miraculous recovery. I contacted Dr. Pearl to inform him of my results. He was truly happy to hear of my healing.

As a father and self-employed contractor, it's a luxury if I can find time to make it through the morning newspaper, let alone ponder the mysteries of the universe. Yet on the rare occasion that I do have a free moment, I often try to make sense of all the wonderful things that have happened since my session with Dr. Pearl. I've come to realize that there are a lot of strange phenomena out there that I, too, don't understand. One thing both my medical doctor and I do understand, however, is that I was healed that day through Dr. Pearl. I don't like to brag about it, I don't need to justify it, and I guess I don't even have to understand it. All I know is I've got my health back—and it's been a long road home.