Chapter 3: Polarities

The late eighties were a very exciting time to learn about hypnotherapy. Practitioners like Bill Baldwin and Edith Fiore were teaching about demons and entity releasement. Raymond Moody and Elizabeth Kubler-Ross were stretching the boundaries in other directions with their writings about near death experiences and past lives. The air was full of miraculous tales of healing.

After I came back from my trip to the Yucatan with my uncle, I continued to sit in on sessions with Fred Liedecker. It was in these sessions that I discovered exactly how my hands had been changed by my trip to Tikal. First of all, I found that I could pass them over Fred's clients like dowsing rods. When I asked the client about areas that felt different to me, they told incredible stories. The stories were the vehicles for their healing. Then, I discovered that simply holding my hands on people could change them.

One of Fred's clients had just been diagnosed with cancer and was scheduled to check into a hospital the following week. After Fred had moved him into an altered state, I simply laid my hands on the client's stomach. I had no intent, no ideas about what I wanted to happen. Whatever power my hands seemed to have was as new and strange to me as to anyone else.

As I held my hands on the man's stomach, something about the size and shape of a golf ball rose though my fingers. It floated slowly upward to hover at about three feet directly above my hands, like a tiny space ship, and glowed dark red. Then it suddenly shot forward like a bullet, straight out through a wall, and disappeared.

I turned slowly to face Fred. "Did you see that?" I asked him. His eyes were as wide as saucers. "Yes," everyone in the room answered simultaneously, in a kind of collective exhalation. We had all stopped breathing. None of us knew what we had just seen, but we had all seen it.

Four days later, my secretary put a call through to me at the printing company. "Is this Ken Page?" a voice asked tentatively on the other end.

"Yes," I answered. "This is Ken Page." The caller paused for a moment.

"I'm the man you worked with at Fred's house the other day. The one who had cancer. I had to call you."

"Well, I appreciate that," I told him. People often wanted to call Fred or me. It was a way of confirming that they had actually had their experience. "How are you doing?" I asked. "Is everything going okay?"

"It's gone," he said.

I waited for a moment, hoping that he'd tell me more. He didn't, and so I asked: "What's gone?"

"The cancer. All of it. I just had my biopsy. The doctors, they were all arguing with each other."

"That's really great," was all that I could think of to say. My mind was racing in a thousand directions. Had I really been a part of this?

"I just wanted to thank you. I called Fred and he said to call you."

"Well," I said clumsily. "You're very welcome."

After I hung up, I leaned back in my plush leather chair and watched the dance of the lights on my telephone, and thought about how difficult it was to talk about miracles in our culture. There wasn't a single person in my office that I could mention my telephone conversation to. Miracles frightened people. Today, I know that miracles are as much a part of life as gravity, rainbows, fire, and rain. The belief that miracles are as rare as four-leafed clovers tips the scales of power away from the beholder. I didn't need a Commission from the Vatican, or a television crew, to come investigate what I had seen and heard with my own eyes and ears. I had learned to trust what I knew to feel true.

Years later, when I was in private practice, I finally learned what that red ball actually was. I was working with a female cancer patient. The hospice had called me to help her with a visualization that would allow her to sleep. Like many terminal patients I had worked with, she was afraid to close her eyes, fearing that she might never wake up. The radiation treatments had left her as pale and insubstantial as the starched white sheets which covered her like a shroud. A flask of morphine at her bedside advertised her constant pain. She had been given two days to live.

Inside her room it was as quiet as a mortuary, a feeling that was reinforced by the countless bouquets of flowers that surrounded her. They smelled like death. Outside the wind was howling around the corners of the house like a wild animal, and angrily spattering rain against the windows.

I had detected a strong energy around my client, and so as was my usual practice then, I began talking to it, using my client as a channel. I asked the energy if it had a name. This is one of the ways I distinguished between energies and entities. Energies tended to have bizarre otherworldly names, while entities of earth origin usually had the kinds of names that you might give your children. This particular energy had a name that I'd never heard in a session before. It's name was Cancer.

"Have you ever had a body?" I asked.

"NO!" it shot back assertively, speaking at about ten times my client's normal frail whisper. I asked it where it had been before it was with my client.

"I was with Jonathan!" it blustered.

"What happened to Jonathan?" I asked.

"I killed him!" it gloated.

And so it went, like wandering around a graveyard looking at the names on headstones with Jack the Ripper. It yelled out their names triumphantly, as though they were its trophies. Finally, I tired of this macabre tour.

"And how many other times have you entered the life fields of a human being to kill them?" I inquired.

"Thousands!" it proclaimed.

That's when it finally hit me. I wasn't just talking to something that had named itself after an astrological sign. I was really talking to the essence of cancer.

The consciousness of cancer, it proudly told me, encircled the earth like a huge cloud, 33,000 feet above the surface. It created illness the same way that other negative energies created fear. The more cancer it created, the more people feared it and cancer used their fear like a factory used electricity, becoming more and more powerful. This, I realized, was the solution to the mystery of the enigmatic glowing red ball. It was a visible manifestation of the same energy. When it had shot through the wall of Fred's office, years ago, it had probably rejoined that giant energetic cloud hovering over the planet, just like water evaporates to rejoin rain clouds.

Once I started asking the right questions, I found that there were energies associated with all types of diseases. There was a mass consciousness of AIDS, a mass consciousness of bubonic plague, and a mass consciousness of addiction. There were energies of war, of famine, and of concentration camps. The last of these was one of the worst things that I have ever had to deal with. They were so unpleasant that I wanted to have a shower after every session with them.

The Hindus called these powerful energies Vritties. These energies could, once they acquired enough potential energy, manifest physically as earthquakes or other natural disasters, just as electric potential could manifest as lightning.

During one memorable session, I had a client describe being on one of a fleet of spaceships hovering over San Francisco. The spaceships were there to try to balance an immense cloud of negative energy that was hovering over the city. When this energy shifted its vibration, it spilled over into our world and became the last San Francisco-Oakland earthquake. Were it not for the space ships, my client told me, the devastation would have been much worse.

I learned about blocks very soon after I went into private practice in 1986. Blocks are what clients use to protect themselves from painful memories. The more traumatic the experience, the more impenetrable the block that the client would put around it.

At the time, I began my work by leading my clients through a visualization. They would tell me about colors that they saw around different parts of their body and any presences that they felt that were in their space with them. Some of them even drew pictures for me of the strange and sometimes completely alien beings from other dimensional levels that were around them. At the same time, many of my clients reported seeing symbols as well. Shapes and symbols, I soon realized, were the language of the unconscious. Languages were specific to cultures and history, and in no way could encompass thousands, or even dozens of past lives. Later, I would visit my uncle Drunvalo Melchizedek's mystery school and see this abstract idea explicitly demonstrated with a universal symbol found in all ancient cultures, a symbol called the Flower of Life.

If I encountered a block during a session, I simply had the client remember a shape or symbol that they had already given me during the visualization. In every case the symbol took the client around the block, to a time before the traumatic event took place. This allowed us to tiptoe up to the event in a careful measured way, rather than plunging the client right back into the trauma that they'd worked so hard to forget. Unlike every other technique that I knew of, the symbols never failed to work.

Then, once I had the keys that allowed me to access my clients' most painful memories, I found that it was possible for a client to look at an experience without having to feel all of the pain that went along with it. I simply told them to watch what was happening as though they were seeing a movie. For especially terrifying experiences, I told them to see themselves safely held in my arms like a baby, and to just sneak glances at whatever frightened them. This never failed either.

From triumphing over blocks I went on to make great strides in dealing with patterns. Patterns are those aspects of our lives that we tend to recreate over and over again so that we can understand them. While I think most people who have done any amount of counseling work understand how patterns work in the present, or conscious mind, far fewer people know how patterns affect people across the spectrum of all of their lifetimes. I soon found that the patterns which had the most profound affect on my clients' lives inevitably had their origins in the birth process, or in a past life. The patterns that were accessible to their conscious mind were echoes of these more traumatic events, which usually involved violent death. Thus, what I would consider to be the major patterns in someone's life were only amenable to healing techniques based on an awareness of past lives. As long as the original event, which created the pattern, was in another life, a "conventional" therapist wouldn't be able to help the client to understand it and the client would thus continue to recreate it in their present life.

As an example, consider one of my clients who came to see me with a pattern around strangulation. He had been born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, and had nearly fallen victim to several accidental strangulations since that time. The origins of this pattern lay many lifetimes ago, when he was betrayed by someone he loved and unjustly hung as a result. He had not completely processed this event and it still had a major charge to it. All of the accidental strangulations in his present life, and in previous lives, were attempts by the conscious mind to access this event, which was secreted in a locked file cabinet deep in the unconscious, a file cabinet that the conscious mind didn't have a key to.

The difficulty in dealing with patterns like these was in knowing precisely which past life the client needs to access to find the original incident, rather than one of countless repetitions, which overlaid each other like the skins of an onion. Mistaking one of these layers of repetitions for the original experience could not only be costly in terms of money, but it could also eventually cost the client their life.

I found a way to go directly to the very heart of the onion, without having to look at all the layers. There are two aspects to this process, which I call pattern removal. In the first place I realized that the clients always directed their own healing, and that I was only the facilitator. This meant that my clients had to come to me knowing exactly what they wanted to work on. I just needed a way to communicate with the all-knowing librarian within them that knew exactly where to find the book that I needed to open.

The breakthrough came when I realized that the same energetic scanning process that I had begun to develop after my visit to Tikal, could also be used to find patterns in my clients' energetic fields. These patterns were like footprints. Using them as a key, I could access exactly the memory in my clients' unconscious that they had come to work on. They were a way the client's higher self and I were able to communicate directly, in the same way that a person goes to a medical doctor and points to the part of them that hurts. The speed at which this scanning process allowed me to work made me look like a miracle worker. People who came to see me who had seen every other type of therapist I'd ever heard of, and some that I hadn't, were able to get results with me in one session. Before long I was booked solid every weekend.

My clients brought me a wealth of new information. I soon learned to let go of my preconceptions, and once I did there was no limit to what the universe had to offer. For example, during one session I looked up from my client to see three spinning silver pyramids hovering beside us. My jaw dropped. "I'd like to speak to the three silver beings," I finally stuttered. "If those beings could speak to me now, what would they say?"

"We are from another reality," they offered.

"What are you doing here?" I asked them.

"We're curious about you," they replied.

When I made it clear that they were interfering with my client's life, they agreed to leave. Like many beings from other dimensions, they had come to learn more about the human emotional body. I gave them as much information as I could about it before I sent them on their way.

Nobody that I knew of was breaking spells, dealing with the mass consciousnesses of diseases, freeing trapped extraterrestrials, and matching wits with Satan on an almost daily basis. If that wasn't enough to destroy anyone's reality, I don't know what was. Other hypnotherapists stopped at the threshold of past-life regressions because that was the limit to their reality, the theoretical end of their world. I knew what the threshold to their worlds was because I was getting the clients that they refused to see. I still am. Beyond their known world, like the old maps said, lay monsters. I knew all about the monsters too: my clients drew them with crayons for me. That's where I was, with the monsters, and I was more and more afraid that I was about to fall off the edge of the world.

I had no one to compare myself to, no reference points. Beyond the tales of healing and the casting out of unclean spirits in the New Testament, the only established contemporary model I had for what I was doing was the Catholic exorcist, and that was almost worse than no model at all. Exorcists died like flies. It is a documented fact that Catholic exorcists have an average life span of less than 5 years once they begin their work.

The professional isolation that I felt soon spilled over into my personal life. I even stopped talking about my work to my wife, who had loyally studied hypnotherapy with me. I didn't know any way of telling her about the extraterrestrials, the demons, and the ghosts who had become part of my reality. Although I didn't understand it at the time, this impulse to isolate myself was rooted in events of my childhood that had convinced me that I was dangerous. The beings that I talked to threatened me all of the time. My family was defenseless against them-or so I thought, and so I refrained from ever talking about them in their presence.

The real problem was polarities. Polarities were what someone in my line of work would inevitably encounter as long as they believed in a universe of opposites. Believing in a universe of opposites simply meant investing in the difference between light and dark, good and evil, and so on. Investing meant taking sides.

Seeing the universe as made up of division and struggle is a function of a certain type of consciousness; seeing it as oneness is a function of another. We are all making the shift from polarity to unity or Christ consciousness, each of us at our own pace according to divine timing. At the time, I recognized the idea of oneness but I thought of it as a consequence or outcome of all of the battles that I was fighting. The way I saw it, once all of the darkness in the world had been balanced off of the face of the earth, then we would have oneness, not before.

I began to believe in my heart that I was in grave danger and that this danger extended to those around me. I know now that when we create-and we are all creators-from a place of polarity consciousness, we create both good and evil, and if we believe that our creation can kill us, it eventually will. In a sense, Catholic exorcists really kill themselves, and this is the mechanism. In my case, my belief in polarities, and in my role as Lucifer's adversary, would persist not only until I had nearly destroyed myself, but also until I had nearly destroyed everything that I loved.

Because my curiosity about energy was insatiable, I was drawing these lessons to me with increasing frequency, and they kept getting stranger all of the time. I had clients who had been raised inside Satanic cults to be human sacrifices, clients who came to me to have alien implants removed, and clients who came to me to have curses and spells broken.

As I attracted ever more powerful polarities, I began to suffer ever more powerful attacks from my invisible energetic adversaries. They ranged from a scratching or clawing at my face to headaches and pains all over my body that would leave me rolling in agony on the floor. These attacks were the physical manifestations of the belief system that I held when I started my work. The energy that they used against me was the energy that I gave them.

In those days, my encounters with the demonic were decidedly cinematic. The room would fill up with the stench of rotting flesh, the temperature would change, and right away the demonic entity and I would get into an argument. "She's mine!" the client would hiss.

"No, she's not," I would insist firmly. "You no longer have the right to interfere with her life."

"You can't do anything about it!" the client, still channeling the demon, would howl.

"Oh yes I can," I'd assert, and so it would go. The contest of wills would continue to escalate, each of us calling upon our respective legions of helpers until finally, with the aid of the dolphins and whales, the demons were dispatched. Dolphin and whale energy was invaluable in holding energies and entities in place until the appropriate angelic helpers could be summoned to help them find their way home. I'd learned about the dolphins and whales from Bill Baldwin, but I didn't understand why they were so useful until much later when I finally began to understand that there was an alternative to the universe of polarities, a place of balance between them where light was clear instead of white or dark.

Each time I called upon my legions of helpers to match the negative energy that was being directed at me, I created in essence a vacuum, which then allowed more negative energy to flow in. This flood of energy created the striking physical manifestations. As both types of energy were inexhaustible, it was an equation that I could never solve in my favor.

Meanwhile, my marriage was becoming like that famous suspension bridge that they show movies of to physics and engineering students-the one that whips back and forth in the wind like a stick of licorice before it breaks. I had never been a perfect husband. My wife's relationship to the old Ken Page had essentially ended in 1985 on the night when according to all logic I should have been killed by a head-on collision on the Silverado Trail. I was no longer a millionaire, no longer interested in being one, no longer so many things that I had once been. I was confused about reality, see-sawing back and forth between the worlds my clients brought to me and what was left of my business career, no longer certain of what was illusion and what was real, and unable to talk to my wife and family about any of it.

I thought often and obsessively of the accident that nearly took everything that I had left away from me. My wife was driving up to see me on that same stretch of road where I had become someone else. I was in a meeting room at a five-star hotel in San Francisco. My client's pager interrupted our business meeting. He strode quickly back from the pay phones, ashen-faced. "There's been an accident," he said woodenly.

Thirty minutes later, I was in the hospital driveway waiting for the ambulance. I stood behind it as it backed in. The lights inside the ambulance lit it up inside like a horror exhibit in a wax museum. I could see the pale frightened faces of my two daughters. The EMT was bending over my wife, who was strapped helplessly to a backboard, I could see the whites of her eyes as she tried in vain to turn her head to messenger reassurance to our daughters, Tara and Kendra. The ambulance's back-up alarm echoed the urgent warbling of the pager that had summoned me. A white-haired helpless ghost slowly enlarged in the ambulance's rear windows. It stared accusingly at me, its eyes welling with tears. Everything you're close to dies, the face said, recounting my crimes. You're a curse to everything that you love.

The feeling of helplessness stayed with me. My wife had driven into a rock wall at fifty miles an hour. The impact broke her back and snapped one of my daughters' arms. My wife was bending to pick up a lost cassette when it happened. The cassette was the soundtrack to the movie Stayin' Alive. She had suddenly had an urge to play it.

I had nearly lost my wife once already. At the time I had almost destroyed our marriage. My wife's response was to almost destroy herself. I reconsidered. She recovered. For a while we were closer than we ever had been before. It was blissful. Then came the flood. After the flood came bankruptcy, and my burgeoning interest in hypnotherapy. Now I was ready to destroy our marriage once again.

The bridge between my wife and I finally broke when I met Melody. Melody was a psychologist with a Ph.D., and she was the first person that I had met who actually knew what I was talking about. I felt like the condemned man who finally meets the lawyer who believes him. Melody knew things that I didn't know, things about witchcraft and the feminine dark side that I was driven to understand. She in turn was fascinated by what I knew, and before long we were seeing clients together. I was soon spending more time with her than I was with my own wife. The inevitable happened. I was convinced then that my family was better off without an exorcist around them, particularly my children. My deep and abiding fear that the forces that I was battling with would come for them led me to recreate the ancient drama of the hero who leaves behind everything he loves to face his destiny. I would find out later that this was an old pattern from a previous lifetime.

My children cried and cried when I told them. "Just stop daddy!" my youngest girl, Paris, kept saying, repeating it over and over like the incantation I had once used to try to make it stop raining.

"Daddy can't stop, sweetheart," I repeated back to her. "Daddy can't stop. Daddy can't."

"Daddy!" she cried, almost hysterical now. "Daddy don't." My tears mingled with hers to darken my shirt sleeve. My other two daughters watched this drama, stricken and mute, from their beds.

"Daddy can't stop," I said again. I knew it in my heart to be true. Daddy couldn't.

I drove back from Livermore that night, and cried most of the way. Every song that played on the radio, every shadow on the side of the road, every scent in the night air, only seemed to whisper to me of my loss. My wife had trusted her life to my certainty when we had all set sail together so many years ago. Now I had no more certainty than a dandelion seed tumbling in the wind. The stars that I had navigated by were constantly shifting. I had first set my course by my father, like any son. He had been the model for everything I had wanted to become. After I made a terrible mistake that irrevocably altered the nature of our relationship, I was compelled to look elsewhere for models of who I was to be, and ultimately I would be forced to look deep within myself.

Eventually I would leave Melody as well. I would make one more attempt to reconcile with Rhonda, but it would fail. We would have another child together, Sanonda. Years later, Rhonda and I would find ourselves embroiled in a lawsuit that would last for years. The judge found my passion for healing to be nonsensical and ordered me to keep working as an executive at the printing company. Together, my wife and I were spending $30,000 a year to prove who was the more righteous, and poisoning ourselves and our children in the process. I decided to stop fighting and leave California for good. When I did, the long drought that had begun five years ago on the second day of my three-day prayer vigil would finally end.