Today, I want to share a story about my experiences with the 21 pearls, the Rainbow Pearl Holder, a trip to Malta with the seven, and a journey to the sacred Taoist mountains in Xi’an, China, with Master Feung. This journey has been about seeing light in the darkness, finding beauty in old places, and learning how to stay still in the middle of it all.
Malta with the 7: The Beginning
Before I ever went to Xi’an, the journey really began in Malta. I went there with the Seven. We visited a temple that is older than the Egyptian pyramids. It was a place of great power. The air felt thick with ancient energy. That night, I had a dream like no other. In the dream, I stood at the temple, but it was also layered with the inner altar of Mt. Kurama in Japan. The two sacred places merged, and I could feel the energy of both flowing through me. It felt like the whole universe was holding its breath, and I was at the very center. Then the pearls of the Dragon’s Garland appeared in a circle.
Even though I didn’t plan to activate the pearls, the Seven told me earlier, “You’re going to do it no matter what.” So I let go of my apprehension and just flowed with the energy of the pearls. In that moment, all 21 pearls lit up and then everything disappeared, sacred and perfect. It was an experience of deep stillness and bright light—like a blessing that flowed through my whole being. As I did the activations of the 21 pearls, light flooded every corner of my being. It was the highest spiritual experience—so pure and bright that it left me wordless.
Meeting Master Feung
I met Master Feung during my first trip to China. He told me he was planning to open a Taoist center in Xi’an—right in the city, so that more people could find their way to spiritual practice. He said, “When I open it, I hope you will come back and visit.” So, when the center was ready, I did just that. I went back to Xi’an with two companions, Gina and the Rainbow Pearl Holder.
When we arrived, Master Feung and his students were waiting for us. They wore beautiful, traditional Chinese clothing. Master Feung wore a simple white robe. It was so simple, but so powerful. It felt like it held the energy of the mountains and the quiet of the forest. I thought to myself, “I want to dress like that too.”
They welcomed us with tea and a ceremony that was both humble and full of respect. It wasn’t about showing off or impressing anyone. It was about sharing a moment of connection and peace. I could feel that this place was different—it wasn’t just about learning. It was about opening your heart to something bigger.
When I first imagined the center, I thought it would be small—maybe just a few rooms where Master Feung could teach. But when we arrived, I was amazed. It was huge. Four floors and a basement, each filled with Master Feung’s art and calligraphy. Every wall was covered with his paintings. There were thousands of pieces, each one glowing with his quiet light.
The Power of the Art
Master Feung doesn’t create art just for beauty. For him, art is spiritual practice. His calligraphy and paintings are filled with the energy of his stillness. When I walked through the center, I felt that energy everywhere. Each painting seemed to be alive, sharing a piece of Master Feung’s journey. His mind, so quiet and focused, shone through in every brushstroke.
The Center’s Spirit
What struck me most about Master Feung’s center was how alive it felt. It wasn’t just a building filled with art. It was a living place, filled with the energy of all his years of practice. Every painting was like a window into his mind—calm, deep, and full of light.
As we walked through the center, I felt a sense of peace that I don’t find in many places. It wasn’t loud or showy. It was quiet and strong. It was the kind of place that invites you to slow down and listen.
Master Feung’s Story
During our visit, Master Feung shared his own story. He said that he had spent 28 years living alone in the mountains. He said he had to go beyond the old Taoist teachings to find what he was looking for. In that quiet time, he prayed to the universe for help. He said that teachers came to him—beings not from this world. Two of them were like constellations. One was a blue being. They taught him things no book could.
When I heard this, I realized he understood where I was coming from too. My own journey with the 21 pearls and the Rainbow Pearl Holder wasn’t something many people would understand. But Master Feung did. He knew that spiritual practice doesn’t always follow the rules—it grows in the quiet places where the heart is ready.
The Lesson
This visit taught me that real spiritual practice doesn’t always look like we expect. Sometimes it’s in the quiet work of a brush on paper. Sometimes it’s in the stillness of a mind that has spent decades listening to the silence. And sometimes it’s in the simple act of sharing tea with friends.
I’m grateful to Master Feung for opening his doors to us. And I’m grateful to Tina and Cindy for walking this path with me. Even now, when I think of Xi’an and the art-filled halls of that center, I feel a little more grounded. A little more open. A little more ready to share this light with the world.
Hua Shan – The Taoist Mountains
After spending time at Master Feung’s center in Xi’an, he invited us to travel deeper—to the ancient Taoist mountains outside the city. These are the same mountains where Lao Tzu is said to have written the Tao Te Ching. They rise like stone waves, covered in mist and crowned with old pines that cling to the cliffs.
When we first saw them, I felt like I had stepped into one of those old Chinese paintings. The shapes of the mountains, the lines of the trees, the way the clouds wrapped around the peaks—it was all so familiar, yet completely new.
We didn’t stay in a hotel. Instead, we stayed in a temple at the top of the mountain. During the day, there were tourists taking photos and riding the cable car. But at night, everything changed. The crowds left. The mountain fell silent. The temple glowed with golden light, and the air was full of peace.
Master Feung had arranged for us to stay at the temple. It felt like a rare gift. The temple itself was small, but it held a deep stillness. The floors were old stone, and the wooden doors creaked softly in the night breeze.
That first night, I went alone into the main temple hall. There was a statue of an old Taoist master—not a Buddha, but someone else. I burned incense and stood there in the quiet. As I did, I felt a presence—a being of light and wisdom.
First, I saw him as a young man, full of life and purpose. Then, he appeared to me as an old man, full of deep, timeless wisdom. I felt like he was part of the mountain itself, watching over the temple. In that moment, I knew I was exactly where I needed to be. Later Master Feung said that I had been visited by the Taoist master who had founded the temple 1600 years ago.
We weren’t alone in the temple. A few young monks lived there. They were maybe in their twenties, but they carried themselves with a quiet strength. They were fully devoted to their practice. It was beautiful to see. Their lives were simple—just meditation, chanting, and caring for the temple. But in their eyes, you could see a light that comes from living close to the earth and sky.
That night, we had dinner at the temple. The food was simple—noodles, vegetables, tea. But it tasted amazing. I learned that everything had to be carried up the mountain by hand. It took devotion and effort to bring that food up, and the people who cooked it did so with care. You could taste that devotion in every bite. It was food made with love, and it nourished more than just the body.
After dinner, Master Feung said he wanted to show us something special. He took us up a short trail to a small cliff at the very top of the mountain. From there, we could see the peaks stretching out in every direction. The air was cool and fresh. The sky was full of stars.
He told us, “I spent a year walking these mountains, every path, every valley. Now, the mountain is in my mind.” I understood what he meant. He had become one with the mountain, and he shared that spirit with us.
We sat in meditation. Master Feung said he was going to invite Saint Germain to join us. I was surprised—Taoist masters don’t usually speak of Saint Germain. But as he said the words, I felt the violet light surround us. It was strong and clear. It felt like a blessing from beyond this world.
As I meditated, I felt the mountain itself breathing. It was like I was plugged into something vast and deep. The stillness of the rocks, the slow whisper of the trees, the quiet power of the earth—it all came together. In that moment, I felt small and big at the same time. Like I was part of something that had been here forever.
That night, I had another 21 pearl activation dream. I was on the mountain and within the inner alter of Kurama at the same time. Again the pearls shined. And infinity of light filled me, and I vanished in it. I didn’t sleep much. Maybe a couple of hours. But it didn’t feel like I needed to. I kept getting up and going back out to meditate. Gina and the Rainbow Pearl Holder did the same. Each of us found our own quiet corner to sit in. In the golden light of the temple, under the stars, we let the mountain’s spirit wash over us.
What I took from that night was simple but deep. The mountain doesn’t rush. It doesn’t fight to be seen. It just stands, strong and still. In that stillness, it holds everything—light, shadow, life, and death. That’s what spiritual practice is, too. It’s not about doing more. It’s about being still enough to let the world move through you.
When morning came, the temple was full of light. The young monks were already awake, tending the altars and sweeping the steps. We packed our things, but part of me didn’t want to leave. I knew that I was taking a piece of that mountain with me. A piece of stillness that I could carry back into the busy world.
Final Thoughts
This journey to the Taoist mountains showed me something I’ll never forget. Real power doesn’t shout. It doesn’t need to be seen. It just is—quiet, steady, and alive in every breath.
I’m grateful to Master Feung, to the monks, and to Tina and Cindy for sharing this path with me. And I’m grateful to the mountain itself—for holding us in its silent strength.
The Rainbow Pearl Holder
My companion, the Rainbow Pearl Holder, had been doing activations in New York at the United Nations HQ, on the Taoist mountain Hua Shan, and in Kyoto. Even when things were hard, she kept working with it. She faced a lot of spiritual attacks—real forces from the lower astral realms that tried to stop her. But she never gave up. She kept going, even when it was hard.
She is a psychic. She sees visions—gods, goddesses, and beings of light. But she also has to deal with darker forces. It’s a doorway she walks through, and it’s not always easy.
Karma and the Pushback
These activations have a real weight. When we do them, there’s often a pushback—like the energy lines of the world are reacting. Sometimes it feels like the land itself is moving. Other times, it feels like beings are watching. The Rainbow Pearl Holder has faced this too. She has always had a strong link to these realms, and it makes her both powerful and vulnerable.
These forces aren’t just in the spirit world. They show up in daily life. They can make you tired, confused, or even doubt yourself. My companion has felt this deeply. I’ve seen how it can shake her, even in simple tasks like planning events or sharing her vision. But she keeps showing up and that’s what matters.
This journey has shown me that spiritual work isn’t just about peace and light. It’s about meeting the challenges that come when you touch something powerful. It’s about staying rooted in the body, in the earth, and in the here and now.
For the Rainbow Pearl Holder—and for all of us—it’s a reminder that the strongest spiritual work often happens in the quiet of our own hearts. Sometimes it’s just about taking one more step, even when it’s hard.
Seeing that there’s opposition shows up that the work is really doing something strong in dharma. Master Wu in Taiwan doesn’t do activations. He brings awareness to the energy lines. He says that when people honor these lines, it helps the country and the world—even if nobody sees it. That’s true for the pearls, too. These quiet actions matter, even if no one notices. And there is a powerful effect that we can measure in terms of the oppositional force.
A Meditation at Kukai’s Place
My meditation at Kukai’s place on Mt. Koya was a moment that opened something deep inside me—something that felt like an ancient thread of light calling me back to itself.
When I first arrived at Kukai’s temple, I was carrying a lot of pain from the oppositional forces from my two recent 21 pearl activations. My body felt heavy. My mind felt foggy, like I couldn’t see through the noise. I didn’t know what would happen, but I sat down and began to meditate anyway. Sometimes that’s all you can do—just sit and be open.
As I settled into the stillness, visions started to come. At first, they were just shapes and colors—like pieces of light floating through my mind. I didn’t understand them. They were just there, appearing and disappearing in a quiet dance.
Then something shifted. I realized I was seeing the pearls. Each one glowed with its own quality, its own purpose. These weren’t just random images. They were the pearls of the Shingon system, each holding a key to something deeper.
I remembered that Rama never taught us Shingon back in America because there weren’t any resources then—no books, no teachers. But the Seven say that Rama carried the essence of Shingon within him, and the Seven even say he was Kukai in a past life. Sitting there, it felt like these teachings were always meant to be here, waiting for me to remember.
I didn’t try to control what I was seeing. I just let it come, piece by piece. Even though my body felt so empty, my heart felt full. When the meditation ended, my friend Gina looked at me and said, “Wow, you look so much better.” And she was right. The pain I had been carrying was gone. Since then, it hasn’t come back. I don’t feel especially strong, but I’m not in pain. And for now, that’s enough.
Later, I started to understand something else. When I do an activation—whether it’s with the pearls or anything else—it doesn’t just end when I stop. It begins something. It opens a current of energy that needs care and attention. If I ignore it, that energy can slip away. I’m learning that staying present is part of the practice, part of the responsibility.
That’s what this meditation taught me. That the pearls, the visions, the quiet work we do—it all matters, even if no one else sees it. That there’s a goodness in the world that doesn’t need to be loud or obvious. It’s enough just to be present, to keep showing up, to keep holding the light, even when it’s hard.
This meditation at Kukai’s place was a gift. It reminded me that real spiritual work isn’t always about feeling strong or impressive. Sometimes it’s about simply seeing what’s already there—letting it unfold in the quiet spaces of the heart. And when the world pushes back, we just keep going. Because in the end, even the smallest act of honoring the light helps keep the world in balance.
Conclusion
This journey—from Malta to Xi’an, from Kukai’s temple to the golden silence of the Taoist mountains—has reminded me that real spiritual work is rarely loud. It unfolds in stillness, in devotion, in the invisible spaces where intention meets energy.
The pearls, the visions, the teachings—they are not meant to impress. They’re meant to awaken. To steady us. To show us that even under pressure, we can choose light. We can hold our center.
And now, another path opens.
Next week is the Spiritual Leaders Forum—a kind of United Nations of spiritual elders and guides. I’ll be joining, listening, and holding space with others who are walking their own sacred threads across this planet. It’s another part of the journey, another way this light continues to ripple outward.
I’ll keep you posted on all of that soon.
Until then, may you rest in the quiet, and trust what opens when you truly listen.