As a thank you for his willingness to work with me, I offered Alan the attunement for Reiki Level II. Since the first attunement had helped him in ways I couldn't comprehend, I thought the second one might further his healing. Plus, he had watched Wayne and me teach Reiki Level I and II, so he was familiar with the curriculum and could put the teachings to use.

Alan agreed. "You are kind to do this for me."

Repeating what I'd done previously, I made myself comfortable on the couch and conducted the short meditation for him.

Afterward, Alan said, "Thank you. I am feeling the effects. It's hard to put into words, but the heaviness from the cancer is starting to lift. I feel lighter, freer. It's incredible."

I was amazed. "I'm honored to share Reiki with you. I wish I could have done this while you were living."

Suddenly, I smelled a putrid odor. It wasn't Alan's musky aftershave, but I suspected it was another spiritual scent.

I asked Alan, "Do you know what that strange smell is?"

"I do," he replied. "That's medicine I had been given intravenously in the hospital shortly before my death. Sorry, I am still recovering from my ordeal. I didn't realize that was going to happen."

I understood that losing his life to cancer had devastated him, and this smell was a manifestation of the pain he was still carrying in his heart. Even though he was now in a better state, he was still healing.

Because the odor was unpleasant, Alan needed to release it. So I asked him for permission to remove the smell using some energy healing techniques I had learned. He allowed me to do so. I never smelled it again.

Alan had died of pancreatic cancer. From what I've read, this form of cancer exhibits no symptoms early on. It's most often discovered in late stages when it's more difficult to treat. As a result, the prognosis usually isn't good.

"Cancer is such a dreadful disease," I said. "So many people contract cancer each year and succumb to it. Could we talk about this? Are you willing to share what you learned from your experience with cancer?"

Alan then took me on a spiritual odyssey. His face slowly expanded in front of me until most of his facial features disappeared beyond the periphery of my vision, leaving only two bright eyes piercing through mine. Then his face receded and turned to his right.

Now he was seated behind the wheel of a car, intently peering out the windshield as he drove. I assumed we were in the UK because the steering wheel was on the right. I was in the passenger seat on Alan's left. Neither of us said a word. I waited to see where he was taking me.

He watched the road carefully and made a left-hand turn. We drove down a residential street and pulled into a long driveway beside an older looking home. He nodded for me to get out. We strode up the front steps, and Alan pushed open the door with little effort. It wasn't locked.

He announced that this was the home of one of his relatives who was still living. I had no idea if this was a vision of the person's actual home or merely a symbolic representation. I took a few steps into a wide empty foyer and looked around, but saw no one and heard nothing. The house appeared to be deserted.

A thought instantly popped into my mind; perhaps Alan had planted it. I sensed that this family member was afraid they were going to die of cancer like Alan. He wished he could tell his relative this wasn't so.

He broke the silence then. "Just because we lose a family member to cancer, that is not a death sentence for us. That does not mean we are going to contract cancer. We are all unique individuals on our own unique paths. Cancer is a disease of the mind. It has its roots in errant thinking. It is very important for people to understand this, Sonya. It has its physical causes, and I am not downplaying that, but there's a deeper side that the average person doesn't consider."

"Please tell me more," I said.

"I will show you," he said without hesitation.

He turned toward me and held his hands up with his palms facing me for a moment, as though he were sending me Reiki. Then he walked over to a conveyor belt, pulled a suitcase from it, and wheeled it down what looked like an airport terminal and up an escalator.

I didn't understand right away what Alan was trying to tell me, so I waited to see if the meaning would eventually come to me. After a moment, a wave of grief washed over me. It was the grief Alan had experienced when his mother died. It felt so real that it could have been my own.

"I know how you felt when you lost your parents," he said.

Now I understood what he was showing me. Losing his mother had been very hard on him. I wondered if he had ever gotten over her loss. I could feel how much Alan had loved her. I'd read that his father had died of cancer when Alan was a boy, and he and his siblings were raised by their mother.

As a busy actor, Alan had traveled all over the world, hence the airport and suitcase, so his work helped him to keep his mind off his grief. He didn't fully mourn his mother's death because of it. Perhaps the suitcase symbolized his grief. Everywhere he went, he took that suitcase—his grief—with him. Reiki had helped him release this unhealed pain.

"My mother and I had both handled grief poorly," Alan explained. "After my father died, she carried her grief with her for the rest of her life. Even though this is not what killed either of us, grief was a debilitating emotion in our family. While on the surface everything had seemed fine, my grief hadn't healed in my subconscious. It weakened my immune system over the years and was a contributing factor in my illness. I did not realize this until after I died. Emotional and spiritual health is very important to overall wellness and disease prevention.

"Memories are precious; we hang on to good ones and bad ones. They only have the power you give them. Reframe your memories and release old hurts, especially deep despair. Do you want to grow love? Or do you want to grow tumors?"

I understood what Alan was saying. My father had suffered intense grief after my mother's death in 2008 and lost the will to live. He died three years later. Grief had contributed to his quick demise. Now here I was, five years later, still struggling to heal my own grief.

Our discussion reminded me of the five stages of grief that were popularized by psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I wondered if Alan hadn't fully processed one or more of these stages. So I asked him.

He replied, "While there is validity in breaking down a complex subject into manageable pieces, grief can be more complicated than that. Thoughts and emotions aren't linear. Grief has its own energy that is particular to each individual.

"It's important to recognize the conscious and subconscious aspects. After I met you, I learned that Reiki has the power to heal the subconscious. Reiki helped me tremendously, in all aspects of my being. While I'm not saying that everyone should become a Reiki practitioner, energy healing methods like Reiki can work on deeper levels of the psyche than more traditional healing methods. That's the key."

"Thank you," I said. "That's very helpful."

Alan continued, "I have more to show you." Then he laid his hand on a plain black doorknob, turned the handle, and allowed the door to open wide. Before us was a stuffy little office with bulky black furniture. Everything looked oversized and too big for the space. "This is the judgment room," he said and quietly closed the door behind me, leaving me alone inside.

I went to the guest chair in front of the desk and sat on its edge. The leather chair behind the desk was turned so that its back was facing me and I couldn't see who was sitting in it. I waited several minutes, but the chair didn't move. Finally, my curiosity got the better of me. I reached over the desk and jiggled the chair. It felt light. I pushed against it, hard enough to force it to swivel around and face me. No one was sitting in it.

I understood the meaning of this scene. Alan had taken me to a judgment room where there was no judge.

The office vanished, and Alan reappeared beside me. He said criticism had also played a role with his health. He had judged himself his entire life and been too hard on himself. I had to admit, I could relate to that.

He explained, "No one judges us. We pass judgment on ourselves. Another reason I didn't go into the light immediately after my death was because I had feared being judged in the afterlife. No judgment was waiting for me."

He added that souls choose their lives and the major lessons they want to work on when they incarnate. With our limited perspective here in the physical world, we tend to label what happens to us as good or bad. But from the soul's higher vantage point, there is no judgment and everything is intended to help us grow.

"Did you choose to experience cancer in this life?" I asked.

"Not as such," he answered. "It was the result of other choices I had made throughout my life. I should have taken better care of myself physically. That's an obvious one. Genes play a role. Karma from past lives also. It is complicated. But I've shared with you the biggest lessons I learned.

"Cancer can be stopped, but it's a difficult road to travel. Cancer and viruses—all manner of diseases—will always exist. If you eradicate one, another will take its place. l. There's where you will find your answer."

Then I remembered a friend of Wayne's who contracted spinal cancer soon after Wayne and I had become Reiki Masters. He and I, along with two of our classmates, met at his friend's home and performed a group Reiki treatment on him a few weeks before he died. Seeing the man in pain and knowing that he didn't have long to live was difficult. It's easy to give into despair when you think you can't do anything to help someone who is dying. Giving Reiki to Wayne's friend was a powerful, memorable experience for all of us.

Alan responded to my line of thinking by saying that even a little Reiki helps. It may not cure the disease, but it can help ease suffering. "It shows that you care and that the person is not alone," he said.

I thought about how I'd given Alan a brief healing after his death. "I don't know how much I could have helped you while you were living, once you found out you had cancer."

"Reiki would have helped some," he said. "I would have been comforted by it. I would have wanted it and let you work on me. I would have felt a little better. It would not have cured me. But I would have felt your love and the love of Reiki. I would have known it was a good thing, nothing to be afraid of.

"I appreciated the Reiki you gave me after I died. You helped me immensely. Don't feel that you should have done more. You did plenty."

What I had been unable to do for Alan while he was living, I was able to do for him after he died. I had reached out with an open heart and talked to him. I had given him Reiki on pure faith, not knowing if it would help him. I now understood that my efforts had affected him profoundly and healed him in ways I couldn't have imagined. Taking solace in that, I learned that our task is simply to act, move from our heart, and freely give love.

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TIP: Never hesitate to send healing, prayers, and blessings to your loved ones, whether they are still here in corporeal form or in spirit.

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I breathed a heavy sigh. "This has been a lot to take in. Thank you for sharing with me. I appreciate it."

After I pondered Alan's words for a moment, I asked him, "Since grief has played a part in both of our lives, can I ask you a question? Can you help me overcome my grief? Do you have the ability to do that?"

"Yes. I can work with you as a spirit guide and help you heal your emotions, if you grant me permission to do so."

"I give you permission," I responded. "Thank you."

I was elated. I'd never had this kind of interaction with a spirit before. I couldn't wait to see what would happen.