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Except from Writing the Divine: How to Use Channeling for Soul Growth & Healing, by Sara Wiseman
 Chapter Three: An unexpected receiving
My first experience with channeling:
By the time I received The 33 Divine Lessons from Constance, I’d been practicing channeled writing for some time. But the first time it happened, it almost knocked my socks off.
It all started in the summer of 2004—on the very morning that I moved into my new home as the first step of divorce. You’ve heard of hitting bottom? I’d long past hit bottom and was hurtling into the abyss.
After 18 years of marriage and four kids, this was an unbelievably painful process that involved loading everything deemed “mine” from the family home into a rickety rental truck. Two burly movers, mouths dark with tobacco and reeking of beer and sweat, were there to did the heavy lifting.
I spent that morning in a state of numbness and disbelief, watching the movers haul things out my old house and dolly boxes into the gaping yaw of my new house. One mover even had the audacity to ask me out when “he was done working.”
“I’m moving here!” I felt like shouting. “I’m getting divorced here!” I wanted to scream, but I was too tired, too fragile, too heartbroken. I simply shook my head.
No.
After the movers left, I stood with my meager furniture in disarray, stacks of unmarked, unidentified boxes, black plastic trash bags stuffed full of toys and clothes after I’d run out of boxes, beds not only unmade but without mattresses (the kids and I would sleep on the floor tonight,) everything piled in the wrong room.
Complete chaos.
Absolute pain.
Regardless of how I felt, I knew it was crucial to create some semblance of order before the kids came home from school—but I didn’t know how to begin. The knife or scissors I needed to open all these boxes was packed in one of the boxes—but which one?
As I stood shakily in the living room, trying to get a grip on my roiling emotions, I looked out the front window and saw a man walking along the sidewalk. To my surprise, he headed up my driveway, and began climbing the steps to my front door.
He’s in sales, I thought ungraciously—I certainly wasn’t going to let him in.
Yet this man didn’t ring the doorbell or knock. Instead, he stood there patiently, hovering outside the front door. And finally, as I stood in the living room not breathing, hoping and praying he’d go away, he opened the door and stepped inside.
Let me explain.
He did not "open" the door in the same physical way that you or I or another human being might. I did not “see” him as a physical person exactly, even though I could easily describe what he looked like. Back then, I didn't even know enough to recognize him as a spiritual entity. But there he was, as clearly as anyone might be—my sense of him was overwhelming.
I was pretty sure he wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t a trickster, either. For although I knew very little about this kind of thing, having spent the last decades of my life at kids’ soccer games, not séances, I knew enough to understand this “being” was the real thing—I just didn’t know what kind of real thing he was.
This “being” walked or floated or moved across the floor of my living room, and it was then that I met my spirit guide, Hajam, for the first time. He was a dark, slender Indian or Asian man, much smaller than me. He looked like a guru might, but without all the drapery and turbans. He looked like a guru, I might add—except at that time, I didn’t know about gurus. I knew about angels, of course, and Jesus, and God the Father and the Holy Spirit—my Judeo-Christian upbringing had made sure of that—but this “being” had no wings. No halo. Nary a beard or pair of sandals in sight!
I dropped onto the sofa, partly for fear my legs might buckle underneath me, and he sat near my shoulder. To further clarify, Hajam didn’t exactly “sit” either, but sort of hovered patiently near me, until it dawned on me that he was going to say something.
Until this time I’d been a) stunned, b) fascinated and c) terrified, but when I realized he was going to speak to me, I freaked out.
Write it down! I heard my writer’s mind yell in panic. Write down what he’s going to tell you!
I leapt up and raced around the house trying to find my laptop (a laptop is the one thing a writer will never lose in a packing box, and sure enough, there it was on the kitchen counter,) all the time wondering if this man, or being, or whatever he was, would disappear.
I’ve been under a lot of stress, I thought wildly. This is all my imagination. When I come back in the room, he’ll be gone.
But he was not.
Hajam was definitely, entirely there, and so I plugged in, sat down, closed my eyes (mostly because I too terrified to look at him) and waited. After a few moments, Hajam, the spirit guide hovering at my shoulder, there but not there, began to speak in a soft, melodic, strongly accented voice. And in this way, I received my first channeled writing.
An emerging spirituality
Was this new to me? Absolutely yes…and no. Looking back, I see that I’ve always been mystically inclined—I just didn’t have the vocabulary to know that’s what it was. As a young child, I’d been obsessed with all things religious, prone to setting up little Buddhist altars in my room and praying endlessly to saints and angels. I went to Catholic school, but I wasn’t faithful to the creed—I checked out every book the local library had on religion and religious traditions: Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, Quaker, you name it, it was all fair game—and I this was when I was elementary school! I read all those books, literally stacks and stacks of them, because I wanted to find the perfect religion—but of course, I could never decide. As I child, I believed that I had many mystic experiences—yet I also had a rather vivid imagination—so it was very easy for my parents and teachers to dismiss things as “I imagined it,” or “I made it up.”
My parents weren’t religious—atheist, agnostic, Presbyterian—I wasn’t quite sure where they stood on the Belief ‘O Meter. Spiritually, I’d been raised with a sort of benign neglect combined with flurries of intensive religious exposure: I never went to church with my parents, but as a young girl I attended an array of tiny country churches each Sunday with my grandfather (he drove miles on country roads to attend a different church every week, just for variety). Sometimes we’d drink grape juice out of little cups, sometimes we’d have wine from a communal goblet, sometimes there was no communion. To further confuse me, my parents sent me to attended Catholic school in an ancient, saint-laden convent in Seattle—marble hallways, statues of Mary, sacred hearts of Jesus, nuns in wimples—you name it. I walked around in state of ecstatic bliss through middle school, communing with St. Francis of Assisi. Later, as an adult, I converted to Catholicism after my children were born—searching for that perfect religion again, I suppose.
I enjoyed being a Catholic at the beginning—the comfort, the prayer, community. But it was only a few years later that I began to hear from Hajam, and then I had to choose—what the church told me I should belief, or what I was experiencing of the Divine on my own, as a direct connection.
Receiving the Truths
Now of course, I’d had the help of spirit guides and angels before—all of us do, at all times. It’s just that I’d never known this personally, experientially—I’d never seen or heard them for myself. Until I began channeled writing, I’d never made a direct connection with the Divine before in such a clear, unexpected way. And after I stopped being afraid, these visits from Hajam became some of the most beautiful, intense, blissful connections I have ever known.
Over a period of the next two months, not daily but often, Hajam arrived to me. I created the habit of sitting on the same sofa, an old, antique-store find I’d gotten for $125 when I’d moved. The pillows were ripped, and there was lovely nailhead trim around the legs, and it had a marvelous vibe, as if the people who’d owned it before had been people I’d have wanted to know. I’d sit there whenever I was lonely, or anxious or completely unsure of what my next step on life’s path was to be, and meditate a little, and pray a lot. I’d sit there and turn on my laptop and close my eyes, and wait for Hajam to appear.
When he came, and in those first few months of living on my own, he came every time I called, Hajam dictated to me the Truths, a series of writings on love, the Beloved, nature, trees, the small ironies and beauties of the world. Of sex and energy and timelessness. Always his language was rich and poetic, filled with gorgeous imagery and heartbreaking meaning. Hajam gave me short, sweet writings—some a few paragraphs, some a few pages. Nothing too difficult. Nothing ugly. Only beauty, grace, love—exactly what my broken heart needed to know.
Interestingly, these Truths weren’t anything like what I would receive later in The 33 Divine Lessons (I’ll share some of them in Chapter 11). They were entirely different messages—and exactly what I needed to hear.
I accepted them gratefully, balm to my wounded heart—yet at the same time, I also wondered if I might be going mad. As anyone who has gone through divorce knows, it’s one of the most stressful events you can experience. I shared custody of my children, and missed them beyond my heart’s capacity when they were gone. I grieved the end of my marriage, which after many years of patching and applying yet another layer of spackle and duct tape, couldn’t be repaired any more. And I was always afraid at night, waking up terrified at the smallest creak or bump, alone in the house after a lifetime spent living with other people.
Yet as I waited upon Hajam’s visits, I understood my life had changed. Suddenly, out of the blue, I was a channel. “I am a voice, I am a conduit.” I wrote one day in my journal, and I understood that this was true.
It was confusing, after all these years of being Mom, wife, worker, volunteer, Catholic, to suddenly realize I was a “channel.” Why had this happened? Why had it happened to me?
Furthermore, when I received the Truths from Hajam, sitting on that old sofa (the same sofa I sit on even as I write this today,) I didn’t know what to do with them. There were not enough to make a book. They spoke almost entirely of true love, and of finding one’s Beloved. I certainly wasn’t in the dating pool! How did this apply to me?
I had so many questions, I was so confused—so at some point during the channeled writing sessions, I began to ask questions.
“What’s going to happen to me?” I asked Hajam. “What should I do next?” “How can I help my kids?’ “What do I need to know?”
To my amazement, my questions were immediately answered.
I discovered that not only was Hajam a source for me to channel what he wanted me to receive (the Truths,) but that he was also a source of complete comfort and guidance to me. To me personally! Hajam told me that he was my very own spirit guide, a Divine being who’d be with me until my time on this earth was over. And that I would always, always be able to reach him through channeling and channeled writing.
Now, years later and many miles on the spiritual path logged, I can reach Hajam, or any of the other angels who surround me, instantly through channeling, simply by calling them to me. They are available at all times; there is never a moment when they are not.
I now understand that there is no difference between Hajam and other spirit guides who regularly support me, the angels, the Arch Angels, God, Jesus, Buddha, the other saints and Holy Beings, the cosmos, the universe, the Now, source, the Divine, whatever name you choose to call it. It’s all the same.
It’s all God. All Now. All infinite, perfect and sublime. It’s all One. And we’re part of it.
But I didn’t know that back then.
Back then, in the summer of 2004, cosmic oneness was not in my field of awareness—in fact, it wasn’t even in my vocabulary. I was shattered, sketchy, fragile, pretty much broken. I was in the process of shedding the cocoon of my former life, the only life I’d ever known, and this cocoon was wrapped very tightly around me. A butterfly trying to emerge? I felt more like a shackled moth.
Thus, channeled writing became my tool for accessing Divine guidance.
“How will I do this?” I’d write. “Is this the correct path?” “Are my children okay?” Will I have enough money?” And much later, “What will happen next?” “Will I eventually meet a man?”
Astonishingly, what Hajam and my angels told me would happen was what did happen, over and over and over again, so that when the time came, I even knew the place(s) I would eventually meet the man who would become my partner, months before we’d even met.
I saw and wrote about the house I would live in a year before I knew I was moving. I even wrote I was going to have a new dog! I not only knew these things were going to happen, but I saw them take shape right before my eyes, one thing falling into place right after another.
My guides, my angels, the Divine, the universe, arranged everything.
All because I wrote to them. And they answered back.
The best news is, I’m not the only one who can do this.
You can too.
In this book, I will show you how to access a direct connection to receive Divine guidance for yourself, through the tools of channeling, channeled writing, journaling and manifesting.
Once you understand how to use these tools, your life won’t ever be the same.
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