My dream since early childhood had always been to be an artist and metalsmith. It was everything to me. By high school I had already won 5 gold keys in The National Scholastic Contest. In college, I exhibited and competed with my professors, and was the youngest ever to be accepted in The Tennessee Artists and Craftsmen Association. My dream was fast becoming a reality.
By the time I was 24, I had outfitted an art studio with every tool I had dreamt of owning. Then my dream was taken from me—I was in a debilitating car accident. The right side of my body was severely broken, lung collapsed, numerous internal injuries, including the near loss of my arm. The following two years were spent in and out of hospitals, concluding with an extended stay at Mayo Clinic. After the hand surgeon at Mayo performed two surgeries—one on my arm, the other a second operation on my knee—he stood beside my bed, and with austerity, told me that I would be an invalid for life. My future, he said, was a wheelchair, increasing pain, and little use of my arm. Thank heaven I had the insight to keep him from fusing my foot—I never would have been able to wear a heel again!
As devastating as that may seem, the accident was a gift in disguise. I had seen the injury to my arm in a vision when I was 10 years old. After a month of crying to my parents that we had to insure my arm with Lloyd’s of London, that an artist without an arm wasn’t any good, they told me enough already—we don’t want to hear another word! I had been born with psychic clarity, always knew what I shouldn’t, and sometimes even thought things around me moved, seemingly on their own volition. The angelic kingdom was close to my heart, and my “friends” in that realm always seemed to be present.
After the doctor’s prognosis, I resolved that either I was fixing my body or I wasn’t staying in it—plain and simple! Back at home in Charlotte, N.C., as I lay on my waterbed (a traditional mattress was too painful), a circle of spirits formed around me, debating the course of my life, it seemed. Afterward, guidance was loud and clear. Each day I worked long and hard to put pressure on my foot, and also straighten my arm—difficult after 6 months in plaster, and the subsequent surgery to remove a nerve that had grown into the bone marrow, pinched in the previous setting. At first, they had told me I had a psychological problem—the continual pain wasn’t real. A nerve block done by a Chinese doctor at the clinic eventually proved that theory to be wrong.
One day not long after, I saw an ad in the newspaper about a study at the parapsychology department at Duke University, based on Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s book, Life After Death. Duke was a three-hour drive from Charlotte. At that point, I had a sling on my arm and a brace on my knee, but was able to maneuver around with a cane. An all-electric car enabled me to drive with my left arm and leg. Despite the physical limitations, the study felt crucial to me—I needed to participate.
At Duke, the assistant head of the department had a feeling about me, he said. He wanted to have me tested in the telekinesis laboratory. Honestly, I didn’t know what the word telekinesis meant at the time, but I agreed to be tested.
To begin, they sat me in front of a computer. A line had been drawn down the center of the screen, and an electronic ball was bouncing about randomly. First they tested my manual dexterity—use the button and keep the ball on the left side of the line, they said. After doing so, they told me to release the button and keep the ball on the left side of the screen without using my hands. Although the request was a bit shocking, I fixed my concentration on the ball, and lo and behold, I was able to do it. A series of tests followed. Due to a high score, they ran me through a second time.
When it truly registered that I was capable of such a feat, I knew I could fully heal my body. I began with the 3 fractured vertebrae in my neck. They wouldn’t stay in alignment. A chiropractor had told me I would be dependent on him for life. That angered me, to be dependent on anyone for my health. It took 3 days the first time, but finally I was able to move the vertebrae into place. Soon I could do it in a moment’s time. But… it would always pop back out. Determined to figure out the cause, I “looked” into the vertebrae and discovered that there was anger caught in the cells. I had been angry with my husband that day we were in the accident. Second step was to find the fastest way possible to release the anger. By directing energy into the vertebrae and telling myself I was releasing the anger, I was able to do so. Afterward, when I moved the vertebrae into alignment, it stayed!
That was a grand day—the day I learned about the connection between body and mind, and how negative emotions slow down or prevent the body from healing. That epiphany gave me the power to take control of my life and my body.
Once I was totally healed, I moved to Atlanta. I needed to make big money. My husband I had divorced after the trip to Mayo Clinic—he couldn’t handle having an invalid for a wife—and I was dirt poor. In time, I worked as a manufacturer’s rep for a line of imported men’s shoes, traveled 6 states, 30 cities a year, and did regional and national shows… and schlepped heavy bags. A miracle for someone who was supposed to be an invalid! Money was good; my partner and I were the top sales team in the company. During that time, people often came to me with their pains and aches. (Even as a child, it was the same. At camp in the summer, the girls in my cabin would line up after a long day to tell me their problems.) After 3 years on the road, I decided to leave traditional business to do healing work full time. It was a calling I could not deny. To me, it felt like art—sculpting bodies instead of metal—all the same creative energy.
After taking a year off to develop my skills in 1980, working without a fee, I moved to Los Angeles and started up a successful practice, gave retreats in the mountains and desert, and held a weekly meditation group. I also did phone sessions with people in and out of the country. Fourteen years later, one of my major entertainment clients urged me to move to NYC. At the time, I had been traveling quite often to the Big Apple, and other cities around the country to do crisis work at concert halls, on Broadway, and in recording studios—to help artists to overcome vocal problems and other physical and emotional issues that interfered with their performance. What I thought would be a two-year stint on West 57th St. evolved into 9 years.
In August of 2001, the call to return to Los Angeles was too strong to ignore. I hired movers for the end of October when my lease would be up. After 9-11, I must admit, it was difficult to leave the city and those who had depended upon me. Plans were set, and boxes were piling up. I decided to follow through as planned. Then, again, in the spring of 2004, I chose to make another life change. My father, now residing in Roswell, Georgia (north of Atlanta), was soon to turn 86. I wanted time with him while it was still available, and also with my sister who is in the area. In June, almost 25 years later, I returned to Atlanta and am now making it my home.
Some twenty years earlier, I had heard in my head that I would write
books. That made me laugh. "Who me?" I said. "I’m
an artist, not a writer." While in New York one day, I heard:
“It’s time. Get out the typewriter.” Next thing I
knew I had 90 pages of story—a book of healing in the guise of
a psychic/psychological thriller. The following years have been spent
developing the story and my writing skills, in the hours outside of
my healing work. I look forward to the day it’s published. It’s
the first of a series of four.
©2004-8 Sharon Gerber