Remembering the Way Home
By James Guiry
Certified Life Between Lives® Facilitator, USA
Talia arrived in her safe place barefoot on warm, sunlit sand. The beach was alive behind her with laughter, plates clinking, and the soft bustle of coastal life. The sun soaked into her skin, comforting, familiar. The sky stretched a bright, contented blue. It felt good to be here. Not perfect, but peaceful. She sat down, letting the sand cradle her body.
And then I asked her: What would make this a 15? Her answer came without hesitation.
“A man,” she said. Not one she knew, but one she had always felt. A partner, a future love, the kind of connection she’d never had but deeply longed for.
She placed him to her left, and the moment he appeared, the entire world changed. The colors grew bolder. The smells richer. The air safer. She felt her senses sharpen as her body relaxed. He was touching her arm now.
They were talking about the future—businesses, travel, dreams, life. And in the center of all of it, a quiet certainty:
It was all going to happen.
The Eagle Appears
She breathed this joy into her body. With every inhale, peace. With every exhale, something began to loosen. There were residues buried deep in her body, old sadness, fear, unworthiness, the weight of stories that weren’t even hers. As she exhaled, storm drains opened in her palms and feet. The grief flowed out. Smoke. Sludge. Tar. Whatever it was, it poured down into the earth and disappeared.
Then came the call. Something had been waiting to arrive.
A guide. A being.
And from above, the eagle descended.
It circled first, then met her eyes. She knew it. It had always been with her. She remembered seeing them in Alaska, always drawn to them, always told she had eagle medicine.
And now it came with a message: Rise above.
Not just a command, but a transmission. The eagle showed her how it saw. It rose above the noise, the struggle, the dust. It saw the whole landscape and the smallest details.
And it said plainly: “You are me”.
And so she flew with it.
The Cobra and the Staff
They flew until the world below changed, a vast desert opened up, and she landed. The eagle landed too, and in its place now stood a tall Egyptian man, dark-skinned, wearing a headdress. Human, but not just. She knew him. He was familiar, like kin.
He placed a staff into her right hand. A cobra at its head. A red jewel glinting inside its mouth.
The moment she gripped it, she felt it: Power.
It surged up her arm and anchored in her body. She was not just someone who survived. She was someone who knew.
The Fog and the Fourth Door
The landscape shifted again. A fog rolled in, and within it, four doors appeared.
Three doors stood quietly in the mist. But the fourth— that one she created. She breathed it into being. All her sadness, grief, confusion, and loneliness— it became the door itself. A window of light among the others.
The Egyptian guide pointed. Door Four.
And she walked through.
Sarah, the Lost Girl
She became a child. Small. Alone. Sitting on a dirty curb in a gray, colorless city. Her fingernails were caked with dirt. Her feet too. She was forgotten. Others passed by, but she was alone. There had once been a family, but they were gone. She didn’t know if they left her or if she got lost. The confusion was part of the wound. She survived.
She learned how to stay out of sight. How to steal, how to move, how to remain invisible in plain sight. Later, she grew into a young woman—eighteen—living in a brothel, using her body to stay alive. She was funny. She had spirit. But her soul was exhausted.
At twenty-one, the sickness came. Clammy skin. Fevers. No fear. Just a quiet readiness to go.
Her last thought before death: I’m tired.
Soul Family
But her spirit didn’t end there. It rose up, ecstatic to be free of the body.
And then she returned.
To the light. To the Source. To her soul family. They were there. Waiting. And with them, the man from the beach. His soul. He told her gently:
I’ve been waiting for you. We’re going to meet. Just trust. Keep walking. I’ll show up.
Sarah came forward again, one last time. She looked at Talia and reached inside her.
From Talia’s gut, heart, and throat, she pulled a thick, smoky slime. Heavy. Clouded. It didn’t belong to her. It vanished.
The Girl Returns
Then the final moment arrived. Talia called to a missing part of herself. A girl appeared. She was four.
And she was vibrant. Joyful. Playful. Light. She ran to Talia and hugged her tightly.
“I missed you,” Talia whispered. “I left you to protect you.” The girl understood. She always had.
To protect her, a figure of light emerged—a Star Maiden made of rainbow and shimmer, like a cosmic mother. She promised to stay with the child, to teach her the sacred ways. She had always been with her.
And then came the vow. “I trust. I trust in myself. I trust in you. I trust in my guidance. I know it’s real.” She placed her right hand over her heart and locked it in.
The beach was still there. The man. The eagle. The staff. The child. And now, so was she.
CLOSING REFLECTION:
For Anyone Who Has Ever Felt Lost or Stuck
We work with people who come to us feeling like something’s missing. Like they’ve wandered too far from themselves. Like they should know what’s next, but don’t.
Talia’s journey shows the truth behind that lostness.
What feels like confusion is often unprocessed grief. What feels like being stuck is the soul holding its breath, waiting for permission to return. And what feels like being alone is usually a part of us that was never gone, just waiting to be seen.
She didn’t find something new in this session. She remembered what had always been with her: Strength. Vision. Trust. Love.
And most of all, herself.
This is what the work is about. Not finding the path. Remembering you’re already on it. ♥
James Guiry is an LBL facilitator in Las Vegas, Nevada, and sees clients in-person and online.