How A Dream Manifested A Documentary

How A Dream Manifested A Documentary

Editor’s note: When Mother Teresa appeared to the author in a dream over 10 years ago, she summoned her to India to film her message of Love to the world. Without hesitation, Christina gathered her film crew and boarded a plane to Calcutta. Here is the story behind the incredible dream that turned into a reality.


LOVE front cover

Tuesday, Jan. 26, 1993
Santa Paula, California

I find that the first time you meet someone is the truest moment of any relationship. The energy between you is pure — untainted by human error or worldly influence.

I daresay if my first connection with Mother Teresa hadn’t been such a surreal, almost preordained event, I may never have given what was to follow the authority needed in order to hang in when all heck broke loose.

Before dawn, I emerged from my meditation somewhere between heaven and earth. I meditate early and sometimes it can be so deep that I seem to drift back into dreamtime. I shook myself awake and opened my eyes, stunned, shaken, almost moved to tears. It was pitch-dark except for the one brilliant beam of light streaming in through the open window. I sat up and looked out at the full moon sitting on the mountain ridge, reaching into the recesses of my mind in an attempt to hold onto as many details of the quickly dissolving images as I could.

I realize that many who meditate do so by emptying all thought and chatter from their mind, replacing it with mantras or positive affirmations to ultimately enter a state of relaxation. But for me it becomes like a waking-dream experience, where I go to feast on soul food. I open all chakras, and if there is something I need to know or a place I need to go, a solution I need to find, or a friend in need of guidance, I close my eyes and the doors of perception open wide.

Some people don’t believe in the value of this. For me, it’s a tool that connects me to the untapped 88% of my consciousness. I am transported to a realm not of this world, and there resides all I will ever need. I have found that what I see and hear in this dreamlike state always has a purpose. With my hand clutching my heart, I know this one did.

Here is what manifested to me in that dream:

There I was, standing in what appeared to be a natural utopia — a technically perfect, interconnected, parallel world. Instinctively, I knew the environment well, almost as if a part of me lived there. I had been there before.

I was inside a magnificent domed structure, where the walls were made of glass. Sunlight steamed in, bringing its godlike illumination. I looked out the windowed walls to emerald rolling hills that led to a meadow beyond. There, all kinds of animals were grazing. Birds and butterflies played in the air, and in the distance a river flowed. The light all around didn’t just shine, it glowed. And there was something else that was unusual — it was the rocks at the river’s edge. They weren’t dense as most boulders are. Instead they appeared to illuminate and shimmer from within, reflecting the river itself as they, too, were living and breathing.

Something told me moving in this world would be effortless, that making contact with the ground was gentler, the air lighter, and if I wanted to run, the wind would carry me. I wanted to test it out — to run down to the water — but an inner guide stopped me.

Instead, my attention was drawn inside. I turned. What came first into focus was an inner dividing glass wall reaching high with what was the treasure of this place — knowledge. Fashioned into the glass walls were clots containing crystal sheets — and each sheet contained information. I was inside a massive library of books! Books written centuries ago and books yet to be conceived. There was a timeless quality about this akashic place and everything in it I couldn’t quite grasp. All form was movement — shapes changing at lightning speed around me, until what had been random particles in the air transmuted themselves into a human form.

What emerged was a lady sitting quietly upon an old wooden bench.

The first thing I noticed was her bare feet. White cracks around her heels and misshapen toes told me those feet had walked a million miles.

Colors and shapes shifted until they became a palette of loosely woven white fabric, edged with blue. I followed the folds of material. Resting on her lap were hands — soft ripples of skin enveloping strong, generous, highly capable, beautiful hands.

She noticed my presence and stood to greet me. A glow of white surrounded her diminutive frame. My eyes were drawn to her face. A sublimely peaceful and loving expression beckoned me to come closer.

She reached out and took my hands in hers. I was magnetized by her power. She looked deeply into my eyes and said quite clearly, “If you wish to film me, I will let you.” And then her gaze and her touch electrified my being as she cautioned, “But you must come soon.”

Her warning stopped me for a moment.

Then she looked deep into my eyes and lightened the moment by playfully lifting my hands up and down as two children would when repetitiously chanting words they didn’t want to forget.

Then, all too quickly, she was gone. And the vision evaporated.

I burst through from that wondrous place empowered by a sense of urgency and by an odd mystical shove.

What just happened? The illumined emptiness before me had no answer other than a hollow echo that had been the benchmark of my life.

As is my way, without another thought, I sprang into action. I jumped up, my bare feet welcoming the shock of the cold floor. My fingertips, my arms, all the way down to my toes, vibrated heat from her touch. I transported a physical sensation from that world into the real, corporeal world.

Though I knew so little about her, I knew I had just met the icon of Love: Mother Teresa.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had been called.

“God will call each of us in a different way,

on a different day, and with a different voice.

Just know, you will not be left out.”

Excerpted from Love: The Saint and the Seeker by Christina Stevens. Published by Hay House, Inc.


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