I began meditating at age 12, shortly after one of my seventh
grade teachers showed a film on transcendental meditation (TM). Much
to the dismay of my Southern Baptist parents, I adopted the practice as a
daily habit. For as long as I can remember, I felt a profound inner yearning
to understand how the universe worked. My discussions with Pastor
Simpson about the Holy Bible used to irritate him to no end.
By the time I was ten years old, I had read both the Old and New
Testaments. My questions often centered upon my need to understand
the violence and pain that filled the lives of the characters in the scriptures.
When I turned twelve, Pastor Simpson asked me to start teaching
Sunday school to the younger children and the teenagers. One year later,
I was asked to moderate the Sunday school discussions as the superintendent.
During this time, I never let the church know that I had begun
to completely embrace meditation practices as well as develop a spiritual
philosophy that went way beyond what I was being taught then by Christianity.
My mother and siblings used to make fun of my meditative postures
My brother, Dennis, even used to jump on the bunk bed
while I meditated and throw pillows at me when he thought I was being
too quiet. I made him pay for that many times over after he went to
bed! You see I knew the sort of sounds that frightened him during the
night, and I became quite adept at creating most of them at-will.
Within two years of starting the routine practice of meditating, I
began experiencing emotions, visions, and thoughts that defied simple
explanation. More so, while meditating, I felt more peaceful and whole
than I did at any other time in my young life. As I grew older, my meditations
changed. In my youth, the visions that I experienced were
dreamlike and idyllic. After 25 years of TM and “Kundalini” meditations
that raised my body’s cellular rate of vibrations, my visions took on an intense
and overwhelming tone. Sometimes I would emerge from my meditations
completely enraptured. The scenes and images that I saw were
beyond verbal description.
Yet up until my 37th birthday, I was an observer in my meditative
world. However, The Golden Man changed that forever. I am not sure
why he came to meet me, but the time that we spent together changed
the course of my life.
The first time that I saw The Golden Man I was emerging from a
long solar-meditation. During my residency to become a board-certified
psychiatrist, I had adopted the habit of meditating while the Sun bathed
my face. When I opened my eyes, I could clearly see a figure emerging
from the Sun. At first I couldn’t determine if the image was that of a man
or a woman. But as the image coalesced, I saw that it was the rough
outline of a man. He “stood” before me, floating. His physical features
were faint, but I could tell he was smiling. He was roughly eight feet tall
and surrounded by a softly luminescent golden light. He floated closer to
me and in that life-changing moment I realized that I was witnessing my
first transcendental, spiritual, vision. I didn’t know if I should run and
hide, or kneel.
The Golden Man smiled and asked: “What is your name?”
Somehow I felt that he already knew the answer to that question.
“My name is Mitchell,” I softly replied.
I then mustered enough presence of mind to respond with a
question of my own.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“My name is Djeuthi.” His voice was resonant, like a soft echo.
Louder than a whisper, but not quite up to normal conversational-tone
level either. It was one of the most beautiful sounding names that I had
ever heard: Dee-jan-tee.
“I have watched over you for some time now,” he said.
“How do I know that I am not hallucinating all of this?” I asked,
although I knew I was wide-awake. Furthermore, I could see him
whether I opened or closed my eyes. I had learned over the years that
visions, in their rarity, were clearly discernible whether my eyes were
opened or closed. Simple mental images did not do that. Yet I still didn’t
know what he or it was exactly.
“If it is easier for you, then you may think of me as a figment of
your imagination, though this approach will cause certain problems for
you later,” he stated.
“Problems? What problems?” I responded.
“You will soon realize that your imagination is not capable of generating
the experiences that I will share with you.”
“What experiences?” I inquired.
“Some might call them vision quests or, simply, ‘shamanic journeys.’
You might choose to call them teaching lessons,” he counseled.
In that moment I realized that my life was about to change forever.
He floated closer to me, touched me lightly on the forehead, and
then vanished in a flash of light. I could still hear his voice resonating in
my mind, even though I could not see him anymore.
I realized that I had either had a spiritual breakthrough or the not-so-subtle beginnings of a mental breakdown.
Dr. Mitchell Gibson