My long way to the Here and Now





I have never doubted that a life after death is possible. Everything around us was and is proof enough. Unstoppable, I took my opinion. Even as all around me practiced atheism, my husband lost faith in the final stage of his illness. For me, you did not have to invent religion; I was and am fearless and firm in the knowledge of a life after death. I have learned many proofs myself.


And then I realized, this book is not for me, it is for the people who cannot believe in eternal life at this point.

Just because I do not see something does not mean that it does not exist.

I started when the coincidences piled up to write the book. But read it yourself ...


With love Rebecka





I dedicate this book to all my teachers who have accompanied me on the path to spirituality. I thank heaven for the skills and patience with which they have taught me.

How many times did I want to stop, but then something drew my attention to continuing. That could be a song on the radio, or talking to colleagues, anything was possible.


My thanks also go to those who helped me as teachers, especially Bettina Suvi Rode. They believed in me when I wanted to give up. They have always directed me to the question which usually included the answer. How many times did I get in my own way? My friends and tutors Lutz and Dirk, who despite their many tasks, never lost patience. Lutz, who always patiently pushed me to the most important, gentle but determined.

But at some point I understood that this book should be out there for all the people who have to deal with death. They do not do this voluntarily, either preparing themselves or losing someone. The book will help them to realize that death is just a stepping aside. The thing you should ask yourself: Have I done all of my tasks that I wrote into my life plan for this life?

During my writing I was reminded again and again that heaven is funny. I also thank the souls who did their part.

Not to forget my family who did their part, like my sister Erin who did the English correction..






C hapter I


In the Anteroom to the Hereafter


Rebecka, It's Your Turn


Okay, I Will Write






In the Anteroom of the Hereafter


The trip to my siblings in Buffalo is always an annual highlight for all of us. We are a normal family who is happy to come together. Not all family members can be with us. I am the one with the longest way out of Germany, and so I try hard to schedule an important family event or holiday. Every now and then my brother from Arizona gets up and sometimes my Uncle George from Tennessee comes to see us. That's like Thanksgiving to other American families. Saint Patrick’s Day is one of those highlights I am trying to hit.. Many New York State residents have Irish or German roots, and Saint Patrick’s Day is a major Irish holiday. The radio and television stations send everything worth knowing, and ask the listeners to participate with stories. I was traveling by car and was listening to the radio. 'Call us if they can say what is Irish about you', the man encouraged us. My name is Scandinavian, that would not do it, but a saying that my husband liked to spread about me came out well. 'My wife,' he said, 'has the gift to start from zero to one hundred in less than two seconds.

'I thought she had a disease until I heard she was of Irish descent.'


Even though I did not spend my childhood in Buffalo, I have a sense of home. I see German names on every street corner. Germans and Irish have a long immigration history, which is also reflected in the streetscape of New York City. Both ethnic groups lived in juxtaposed neighborhoods in New York. One finds in many families a German and an Irish name. In my relationship, there is a German grandmother, my sister was married to a Radke, the Butcher around the corner is called Hanke, I could attach a long line of German names from the area around Buffalo. My brother Michael learned German at school and forgot it again. There are many connections to Germany and Ireland, and the Irish connection is more present. Annual Saint Patrick's Festivals, many pubs recall the Irish past. JP Fitzgeralds is one of the pubs we go every now and then. But this time we got stuck on a completely different route.


We plan small tours into the past. This time we were in a restaurant with bar operation called Uncle Frank's. Even my dad was a guest in that bar, and we have the fun of our life to try out the barstools. Maybe Dad was sitting here? Or here? Uncle Frank's is the kind of restaurant found throughout the United States. You meet here with friends, or with the whole family for lunch or dinner. A bar where you go after work to drink a beer, where to meet friends and watch sports on television.


This year was an additional highlight on the plan, Lou Ann my sister-in-law, finally wanted to go to Lily Dale. Lily Dale is the place where people talk to the dead, the place of high spirituality.


'But not alone', she said to me. 'If you go with me, then I will go too'. 'Lou Ann', I said, 'you have to leave that to the person in charge'. We searched the internet for the suitable medium and could not find one.


'Rebecka', Lou Ann said, letting me know, 'no one was available until later in the week'. 'Never mind', I said 'we'll see and drive anyway. ‘. ‘We do not plan and make the trip to Lily Dale on blue haze’, I said.


The small village southwest of Buffalo, is about an hour away. Lily Dale Assembly is the name of the village that has made this place, beautifully situated between several small lakes, famous.


Once again, in Buffalo, in the middle of April, Winter caught up with me. The snow from the last snowstorm was still in the streets and Lily Dale had not awakened from the slumber. Everywhere in the small community people were fixing and working on their houses. Even if here and there a spring flower looked out of the snow, it was still cold and uncomfortable. The craftsmen had plenty to do before the mass of visitors flocked back to Lily Dale on Memorial Day. The scenery did not give us many opportunities to reach a medium, but anyone who knows me, knows to give up is not something in my vocabulary.


Walking through the small community is always an experience, as it is so different there than in the rest of America. We also enjoyed the walk because the pleasant sunshine came through the cloud cover. We were happy about the hustle and bustle and looked at the built around the turn of the century small house. My eyes fell on a sign with a telephone number. 'Lou Ann, call this medium, she has an appointment for you', was my request. Kathleen Salyirs suggested a time, Lou Ann got an appointment, and we had enough time to go for lunch.


'What did she say?' I ask my sister-in-law. 'We should be there at 1pm', 'like us?', I asked ... 'She says we cannot go in together, I booked the meetings one after the other.'


'You made an appointment for me?' I asked her. 'Yes, didn’t you want to go?'  No, I did not want to..


That was not my plan; I should just hold Lou Ann's hand. My sister-in-law was a little nervous, we finally sat in the vestibule of heaven, I calmed her down. Then Kathleen came and asked .. 'Who comes in first?' My finger pointed to Lou Ann I had to make friends with the thought. After Lou Ann came out again I went.  I took a picture of the 'door to the heaven', and asked myself what the souls had been up for.


I remembered all  sessions with different spiritually working people. My first meeting was right here in Lily Dale, two blocks away. Shirley had prophesied to me then that a big change would come into my life. I was intrigued and forgot the part she filled with my grandmother. Years later in 2015, I visited her a second time. At that time she was already very subtle, her leaving this earth became visible to me. In January, my husband Tom had passed. I wanted to contact him, and hoped that he could show himself.


Shirley did not speak much that day, it bothered her, only one thing she let me know with great emphasis: 'I only see violets around you; the color purple is all over. You have to use your gift; you should sit on this side.'


I was not sure of my gift and never wanted to talk about it. So I decided, as soon as I came home from the US, to do something in that direction.


I started accepting my spirituality, became a Reiki master and teacher, then started my training as a hypnosis coach. My clients, who came to me, often had a problem with dying. Either they had lost a loved one, or they had generally fear of death.. That brought me to Bettina Suvi Rode, two years later I started my education.


And now I'm sitting here in Lily Dale, waiting for me to go to a medium. My path since I have been educated has taken on so many facets that sometimes I am quite confused in my head. Maybe Kathleen brings clarity into this tangle.




Rebecka, its Your Turn


The session should take a half an hour. I avoided showing my accent, spoke only in choppy sentences, and answered with a nod or shake. I tried not to attract attention, amazed at how the medium worked. She did not give me any convincer*.

My attention was initially not so much focused on what she said, but more on what I saw, or better, did not see. I tried to see her aura. Kathleen was sitting against the light. I looked straight into that light coming from the window. It dazzled as soon as I looked past her head. For me as a beginner not a good position and so I returned my attention to her voice. It strongly reminded me of my media teacher Bettina Suvi Rode. When Bettina 'received' then the announcements could not be said fast enough and she started to stammer, with Kathleen it was the same.

Kathleen began to show my life, spoke of me as an old soul, a long line of healers. Your dedication took place at the age of three, the next step you took at ten. Now I realized why certain things from my different previous lives have always been repeated. Kathleen confirmed virtually all unanswered questions. I had no reason to look for excuses; I had to face my spirituality. It was my life plan that I had written for myself.

For the first time since I heard these different requests, I wanted to face the challenge. She did not have to convince me anyway, but I was surprised that all the previous questions I had asked over and over again were addressed and solved by her. I was destined, yes, had finally chosen the way myself. I was beaten.

And then she addressed the book: 'Use your talent and write this book'. Not again, I had no desire to write a book, but there it was again. Kathleen was the third and then she let me know what was on my mind for a long time. Kathleen took a deep breath and then the ancestor spoke:


'We had to do a lot of tricks to get you here, this time you did not want to come,' she complained. I had to laugh, had not I just told Lou Ann I did not mean to go? Then the ancestor went on 'You never listen to me, you're always busy with something else, so I'll wake you up in the night by turning your computer on. Write at last, write everything down' ... Great, I thought, but I could have saved a lot of bills from the computer shop. It was annoying, this permanent update I thought, brought the computer to the shop and let the updates only run manually. Nothing helped, the computer started with a heavenly regularity between 2 and 2:30 in the morning. I had new virus programs installed, at some point I gave up and disconnected the computer and gave him to the unfathomable depths of a drawer. Should all this have just been a penetrating 'hello'? The souls are funny. Where will  this end, I thought.




 Text Message from Tom


My husband could eat what ever he wanted, he never got to fat. With the drinks it looked completely different and this small, but handsome round belly formed itself. Tom found it difficult to go without his evening beer every once in a while, and the excuses where increasing.


There was no reason to discipline him, because my scales have shown a certain excess weight for a long time. ’I have to lose weight’, said Tom. 'How are you going to do that?' I asked him, mentally rummaging through my recipes. Eat half of it.. was his quick reply and I was glad not to have to take part in this campaign. That was in spring of 2013. During this time I didn't notice whether he was eating less, but he lost weight. 'Look, my belt buckle ..I can go one hole further,' he remarked and I accepted it. Then my sister Colleen died and I had neither eyes nor interest in my husband's weight loss, he was losing serious weight. What he thought was pleasant turned into  a critical action. In addition, there was an unusual tiredness and I noticed that my husband hardly ever drank anything. 'Water is important', I let him know and tried to convince him. 'You could have diabetes II, get a blood test,' I asked him. That didn't convince him either. My pleading became more intense and penetrating every day, every week, '' Do you like to live? '' I asked him and he looked at me with startled, big eyes and went to the doctor. My first question after his return 'did he draw blood' was answered by Tom with a no. I got angry, my Irish soul was struggling not to become abusive. 'You'll go back tomorrow,' I ordered and my Tom left, but only a fortnight later. He did not want to pick up the results, said the office would call. I trusted the careful handling of his doctor and was far from it. It had been a few days, maybe weeks, when I needed a referral slip. It was only to the careful girl at the table, she got things started.

The next day he had the colonoscopy and the day after he was in the hospital getting prepared for surgery.


The conversation that followed was devastating. The cancerous areas were removed, only the metastases on the liver could not be removed. I advise all readers at this point; in the right time the examination and you can defeat the cancer.


What came next had a huge impact on both of us. My work as a healer began without having the faintest idea. We started talking about life and death. There is no afterlife, was his attitude. I countered, 'if there is no life after death, you can let me know'. 'Good', said my husband, 'I'll send Sleipnir to you if there is a life after that'. 'Sleipnir?' I asked 'where do you want to find an eight-legged horse?' 'Let that be my concern,' he countered and that closed the subject. I continued to convince my husband about my time of illness. I was admitted to the hospital in 2002 with the diagnosis of Lyme disease in the third stage. I was lying there with a daily infusions listening to music. I heard a choir sing 'Onward Christian Soliers' every day. With every infusion, I imagined that this serum would form an army of soldiers who would search for Borrelia in every corner of my body and then eliminate it. After two weeks I was free of Borrelia. What remained was a sarcoid on the lungs, which was found during the general examinations. I insisted not to see a pulmonologist for the next three months.


After three months, only half of the Sarcoid was visible. I went on until the spring of 2003 the illness was history.


I tried to get my husband to use this way of thinking in his upcoming chemo infusions. What my husband refused was change his diet; it had been an integral part of my therapy. We were able to extend his life by two years, but not defeat cancer.


For the time being, I left my work as a lecturer and wanted to spend as much time as possible for Tom. When he seemed to be feeling better, I went back to work. Tom tried to cope with his everyday life and started doing small repairs in and around the house. Sometimes he overtook himself and so it happened that one day he repaired the fence outside in the garden. Certainly not a big deal, if the blazing sun didn't put his blood circulation under stress after chemotherapy. Tom sat in the chair and tried to get up, and passed out, fell into the rosemary bush and broke his arm in two places. After that nothing was like before. During surgery it became apparent that Tom no longer had any resistance. I was desperate, felt like I was in the wrong film. This was two years after my sister died.


Tom tried hard to get back into life. He fought his way out of the wheel chair, but was getting weaker and weaker. When our time is up, there is no way. I was hoping and tried to make a pact with God, but God just laughed.


We drove Tom to the hospice on Wednesday. Jan and I took turns sitting at his bedside, telling him what the weather was like, and what was happening around him. He was in a coma, seemed to be far away, but I insisted he would hear us. I thought a lot about the last few days in the palliative care unit. Tom had urged the doctors to let him go. 'You know my living will, there is nothing to add,' he said and the young doctor was visibly touched. Jan and I remembered our travels and the memories that went with them. We laughed a lot and Tom must have liked it. At the same time we played his music and it was slowly getting dark, only the candle on the table gave a dim light. The man I had been with for the past fifty years left on this cold, wet January day. But was he really gone? We wished him a safe journey on his new path and I had to add this sentence '... and don't forget to send us Sleipnir'. And then happened what I call the text message from beyond began. We were still standing by my late husband's bed when the electric light in the room began to flicker for at least two minutes, it seemed like an eternity.




Okay..I Will Write…


I was back from Buffalo and the laundry was not done yet, when the computer problem started again. I really did not have time to focus my thoughts on the book. After all, I was ready to write a script that I put away a few times.

What?  The computer went on again. I decided to talk with my colleagues about this phenomenon.

All participants of the seminar series around Bettina Suvi Rode are looking forward to seeing each other again. We are all looking forward to our weekend with the souls. Conversations with colleagues help with finding your way. The book began to grow in my head. Who would have thought, after all this struggling, that I am sitting at the keyboard again writing. Anyway, I thought I was, but for the souls it was not fast enough. The printer played crazy, although not connected, the PC went on.

Sometimes my little Bichon, with the name Soso, has a backward hiccup, and to stop it I blow onto his nose. He immediately stops then and looks at me with his big, black eyes.

That night, I scolded and grumbled as I got ready for bed. My dog was already in his basket next to the bed, I grumbled about the souls, who probably thought that it did not go fast enough. I sat on my bed to lay backwards. Tired of the busy day, I was happy to finally go to sleep when I came up with a swing. What happened?  Just before I wanted to put my head on the pillow, someone blew into my I did with my dog.. I was so surprised that I came back up. Who was that? The dog could not have been it, but who else should have done it? I had to laugh, who was there that I could not see? Okay, I understand I will write faster, and ever since then my computer only turns on if I want to.


*convincer-something that a medium sees from the past


The question was: What is a Convincer?

Why convince and convince whom?

In a medial session, the medium looks for a 'Convincer' to convince the sitter (the one who asks) that there is someone he/she knows.

For example, my late husband shows himself to my medium. To convince me that it is him, he shows the medium a bottle of coke and a bottle of rum, and gives her the word 'Cuba Libre'. Immediately the thought arose that Tom had been a drinker. But no, here’s the meaning:

My husband Tom was an American soldier in basic training, peeling potatoes when the military was set on alert. Ships of the Russian Navy drove towards Cuba. They brought missiles to be deployed against North America.

The resolution of the puzzle ...


The young soldiers promised to drink Cuba Libre if they were not assigned to fight for Cuba. Cuba Libre consists of rum and cola. If my husband once drank alcohol, then Bacardi Cola with the sentence, I must free Cuba '.