Intertwines: The Threads of Life

Intertwines: The Threads of Life

by Eileen Goggins


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Awakening comes at different times and in different ways. This is the story of one women's quest for greater knowledge of the higher unknown spiritual world. Her husband's death in an auto accident followed by her daughter's near death two years and two days later marked her awakening. There was something larger, much bigger than her research had shown, and she would travel the world in search of this higher wisdom.

Her quest touched many cultures and much was learned, but the answer she searched for would not come from her world travels. On a short 130-mile trip from her home, the greater awakening occurred and thus completed Intertwines.

The threads of life-physical and spiritual, past and present-merge as she travels through lifetimes and discovers the blending of two diverse cultures.

Prepare to be awakened.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781504326667
Publisher: Balboa Press
Publication date: 02/16/2015
Pages: 164
Product dimensions: 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.38(d)

Read an Excerpt


The Threads of Life

By Eileen Goggins

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2015 Eileen Goggins
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5043-2666-7


A Day's Beginning Does Not Declare Its Ending

It was early December, and I was starting to decorate the house for the holidays. Hopefully, it would be a good Christmas. It was time. The last two years had been difficult ones, but we'd made it through the tough times. This year, I was planning a festive holiday filled with all the traditions we'd created and loved since the children were young. I'd ordered most of the gifts right after Thanksgiving, and I was assured that the truck would pull into the yard with delivery in plenty of time for wrapping before Christmas Eve. Now just the decorating remained.

After making a short trip to the florist for fresh greens and ribbons, I was ready. Beginning in the foyer, I would work my way through the house. I particularly loved decorating the curved stairway. It set the ambiance for the entire home as one entered through the front door. We had ordered the hand-carved staircase from a craftsman out East known for his precise architectural detail. The day it arrived was a big day. It was to come in one piece. Would it fit?

Our builder, very nervous about his awaiting curved wall, kept looking at it and saying, "I built it according to specs."

The truck pulled up in front of the house late morning, and all watched as the beautiful staircase slid perfectly into place. With smiles all around, the relieved builder proudly patted himself on the back and proceeded to install the wainscoting.

Every year, I would start my holiday decorating with the staircase. Some years, I would put poinsettias on the first few steps. Other years, small wrapped gifts would be waiting there. I liked to have everything real, a little bit of nature inside. I draped and tied the greens on the curved banister with rich, burgundy velvet ribbons. Pinecones, collected over several years, hung in large clusters. Now standing in the center of the foyer examining my finished work, I nodded. It was good.

Moving into the living room, I sighed as I looked at the mammoth job ahead of me, but I'd done it many times, and I was determined to make this Christmas as perfect as possible.

In the late afternoon, I heard the phone ringing. Good, I thought. I can use a break.

"Hi, Mom."

"Beth, how are you? I've been thinking about you."

"I'm great. I got a call this afternoon from the photographer. Our photos are ready so I'm driving into the city to pick them up."

"Wonderful! When do you want the engagement announcement to go into the paper?"

"Oh, whenever it works. Rob was up last weekend, and we went to look at rings."

"Did you find the perfect one?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, we did."

"Great. I've been decorating for Christmas today. The house will be beautiful this year. We'll open a bottle of champagne to celebrate when you're both here."

"Oh, fun."

Looking outside, I could see that it was lightly snowing. "It's just beginning to snow here. What is the weather like there?"

"It's raining right now, but the temperature is still above freezing. It's supposed to stay fairly warm. I'll be okay."

"You be careful. You know how quickly things can change. Perhaps you could go tomorrow?"

I was sure that she sensed the concern in my voice, an ingrained concern that gripped Beth, her younger sister Becky, and me whenever one or the other was traveling on snowy, slippery roads.

"No," she said with hesitation, "I just got out of class, and I'm excited to see the finished photographs. It'll be all right."

"Okay. Call me later."

"I will. Don't worry, Mom."

"Love you!"

"You, too."

Returning to my decorating, I moved into the sunroom and climbed the ladder to hang a thirty-six-inch wreath in the upper curve of the north window. I thought of how far we had come. Two years and two days ago, my husband, Bill, the girls' father, died when his car slid on a snowy road and hit a tree. It was the toughest time we had gone through.

On December 11 at 5:20 pm, our lives changed forever. I had just gotten home from work and expected Bill to walk in any minute. He had called to ask when I was leaving my office and to tell me to drive carefully as it was just beginning to snow. He too would be leaving work shortly.

When I got home, I started dinner and poured two glasses of wine that I set on the table. Bill had five children from a prior marriage. Two of his grown children were raising their families in our community, and we wanted to support our whole family as much as we could. The month of December was always a busy time with many holiday events, all needing to fit into the Christmas season.

That night, his oldest grandchild was in a school Christmas program, and our daughter Becky had a basketball game. We decided that I would go to the game and he would go to his grandchild's Christmas event. But first, in this busy season, we would enjoy a glass of wine and a light supper together.

We'd built our home, a small horse ranch, five years prior. Wausau is built on the Wisconsin River with hills surrounding it on the west and north. We chose one of the hills to the north on which to build. Only a mile from town, we found it to be the perfect place. From there, we could see the lights of the ski hill illuminating the winter sky. It offered beauty and privacy, and it was just a short drive to the girl's school. We chose the highest point on the land as the location for the home with the barn located to the northeast.

Many people described it as an English Tudor house, but it was actually done in the Normandy style, which is lighter in design than Tudor. The road running in front of the house was a narrow two-lane avenue, heavily treed on both sides. One could follow our driveway to the garage, head straight back to the barn, or turn onto the circle in front of the house. Everything was in perfect balance with the contour of the land, and the small farm was a lovely, welcoming place with huge, old oak trees filling the yard.

With dinner almost ready, I wondered what was taking Bill so long. Then suddenly, I felt a thud in my center chest. It hit me hard. I stiffened and froze where I stood.

What was that? I felt shaken and confused. I looked around in a panic to see what it could have been. What had just moved through me? Trying to calm my breathing, I was drawn to the back window. From there, I could look out over the hill to the narrow road that led the way to our drive. I saw the lights of police cars and an ambulance. They were on the high spot to the east, clearly visible just before the cover of the trees began. Something inside of me knew what I was seeing.

Then my eyes moved over our east lawn, and I saw an image of Bill hovering above the garden area in his gray cashmere coat.

He said, "I'm so sorry. You're going to have to put the horses in their stalls tonight."

He knew I loved the animals but did not like bringing hungry horses with snow-encrusted hooves into their stalls.

I knew. I watched as the flashing lights were turned off. All became dark as the emergency vehicles left the accident scene. The red and blue flashing lights of the police car were the last to be turned off. Only the police car's headlights remained. I watched as it began to slowly travel in my direction on the narrow road. I followed those headlights as they lit the canopy created by the snow-covered trees and then turned onto our drive. It climbed our hill toward the front circle.

A sinking feeling moved through me as I walked from the back of the house toward the front door. The lights of the moving car shone through the large dining room windows, eerily lighting my way through the interior of the house.

Reaching the foyer, I saw the police car, now without lights but clearly visible in the early evening. Two silhouettes were walking toward the house. I opened the door. An officer and a neighbor stepped in.

There was a pause, a moment of uncertainty, but then the officer spoke the words. "There has been an accident. I am so sorry. Your husband has died."

I will never forget the numbness that immediately entered my left arm. Instantly reacting to the sensation, I began rubbing it. I then knew a part of me was no longer there. After a few more words, the officer left. Closing the front door, he walked back to his squad car. He had probably just delivered the worst news that he'd had to deal with that day.

The neighbor, who had been on her way home from work when she happened upon the accident, stayed for support and helped me make the necessary phone calls. She called her son to come and help bring the horses into their stalls and give them their nightly feed. By the time we got back to the house, people were already filling it.

A friend later asked me, "How could you have opened that door?"

I answered, "The door was already opened. I knew."

To this day, I don't remember many things, but I do recall how much I worried about the girls. Bill had held an important position in our community, and his death received a lot of attention. It put the three of us in the spotlight, as if we were on stage. I went into a controlled mode, putting my emotion into a non-touchable realm to be visited later, and I simply did what needed to be done.

We—Beth, Becky, and I— felt alone in a sea of people, unable to touch our grief. It seemed like the entire town wanted to be a part of our family, all wanting a say in how things should be done and all watching our every move. A saving grace was the company that Bill worked for. They were of tremendous help.

The local newspaper requested permission to attend and photograph the funeral. I denied the request, and I was deeply disturbed when they chose to ignore my wishes and a photographer crept through the back door of the church. Though the intruder kept himself hidden behind a pillar located at the side of the altar, I could see the flash of the camera. My daughters and I stood in the front pew with the draped coffin directly in front of us. That intruder will never know the feeling of helpless submission to the degradation of my husband's funeral that I felt as his camera continually flashed its intrusion. This negative, lasting memory was created because he thought it was his right to invade a private moment for a photo to put on their front page the next day.

The week took a year from all of us. We did get through it, not without scars, but we got through it. Beth was a freshman in college when her father died, and going back to school was difficult for her. The following year, she transferred to a school closer to home. Now in her senior year of college, majoring in music and first-chair flutist, she was driving to the photographers to pick up her engagement photos to be announced in that same paper.

I thought of our younger daughter, Becky. She had been a freshman in our local Catholic high school at the time, the same school her sister had attended. I was glad she was there because it was a small school and offered good support for her through that difficult time. Now in her senior year, she was an excellent student and enjoyed sports. I had served many a pasta extravaganza before a big cross-country meet. Tonight, she was attending a basketball game at the high school. Later when she came home, we'd have dinner and then call Beth to share her excitement about the engagement pictures.

Cutting greens to go around a centerpiece on the sunroom coffee table, I heard the phone ringing. "Hello."

"May I speak with Eileen Goggins?"


"I'm calling from Ramsey Hospital in St. Paul, Minnesota. Your daughter Beth has been in an accident. You need to get here as soon as you can."

In that instant, I felt as though someone had slammed me in the chest. I thought, No, no. It can't be.

With all the strength I could muster, I asked, "What happened?"

"An oncoming van crossed the center line and hit her car head-on. She rolled down an embankment. She's badly injured."

"Is it life-threatening?"


"I'll be there as soon as I can."

As I hung up the phone, a dark, sinking feeling moved through me. Once again, I was in that awful world I thought I had left behind two years ago.

Slamming my fist down hard upon the desk and with a long, deeply crushed breath, I said "Damn! Not again!" I began to shake, not violently, but that inward quaking that wants to explode.

I looked at the clock. 5:20. It was lightly snowing. I had just begun decorating for Christmas. Becky was at a basketball game. When her dad died, she was at school practicing for a basketball game. Everything was the same. Déjà vu.

* * *

What to do? I had to get there. It was more than a three-hour drive. It would take too long by car, and the weather was turning for the worse. I felt helpless but knew that, if I were going to get through it, I had to go into that same controlled mode, putting my emotions into that non-touchable realm, as I did when Bill died. Only this time, I was weaker, not having fully healed. The emotions were hard to get under control. Taking a deep breath and not having many options, I reached for the phone.

I dialed the home number for the chairman of the board of the company that my late husband had worked for. "Joanne, it's Eileen. May I speak with San please?" Even with my attempt at control, my voice was shaking.

Alarm was in her voice as I heard her call her husband to the phone. "San, it's Eileen. Something is wrong."

He came on the phone. "Hello."

"San, Beth has been in a terrible accident, and I must get to the cities as quickly as possible. Is the plane here, and if so, can I use it? I'll pay for it. I just need to get there as soon as I can."

"Let me check. I'll call you right back."

I called Becky's half-brother Shawn and asked him to go to the high school and tell her to come home. Then I called Robb, Beth's soon-to-be fiancé. His mother answered and told me that he was at St. Matthews, coaching the eighth-grade team. She and his father would go to the school and tell him. Running upstairs, I threw a few things in a small suitcase and then went back downstairs to get things organized there.

Robb, Shawn, and Becky all were walking in the back door just as the phone rang.


"Eileen, the pilots are on their way to the airport. When you get there, everything should be ready to go. You drive carefully."

"I will. Thank you so much."

I hung up the phone. "Becky, go throw some things together. The plane is waiting."

Shawn said, "Don't worry. I'll make sure the animals are taken care of."

From the first call, everything might have taken forty-five minutes, and we were on our way.

* * *

As we turned onto the drive that led to the closed airport, the only light to be seen was above the company logo over the door we would walk through. The blackness intensified the dark foreshadowing that was filling me.

Parking the car in front of the large private hangar, memories of the many times I had done this same thing in the past flooded my mind, recollections of the many trips we had taken to wonderful places. Tonight, as we walked through the entry door of the hangar, I was struck by an intense feeling of grief that engulfed me.

The pilots were old friends. They were anxious, wanting to help, but no one, including me, knew what to say. The pilots knew time was of the essence, and they worked quickly getting everything ready. Once we were on board with seat belts fastened, the huge door folded up. The opening of that door was a surreal moment. I was gripped with an intense awareness of my own powerlessness in life's plan.

After the plane was backed out, the door folded down, closing on everything the day's beginning had promised. The terrible phone call was now the reality of our future. Alone on a dark tarmac on a black snowy night, the plane began to roll onto the runway, beginning a long journey.

All was quiet as we gained altitude, all thinking about the unknown and all praying that it would not be as bad as we feared. Robb was sitting in one of the chairs facing me, and Becky was on the side couch.

Robb leaned forward and touched my hand. "She's going to be okay."

I couldn't speak or respond to his positive thoughts right then. I just nodded at him, sighed deeply, and said a silent prayer for help. At that moment, I looked up. Between Robb's chair and the couch where Becky was sitting, I saw a hazy image of Beth and her father standing there together. I was seeing in between the worlds of the living and the dead, seeing into the invisible veil.

My first thought was that Beth had died, but then I heard Bill say, "I will watch until you come. She needs your help."

At that moment, I could see the future as one can when one sees into the veil. I instantly knew without a shadow of a doubt that, if she were alive when we got there, she would be okay. But for that to occur, I would need to stay very close to and protect my connection to the veil while working with the energy that is available from it.


Excerpted from Intertwines by Eileen Goggins. Copyright © 2015 Eileen Goggins. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents


Acknowledgments, vii,
Introduction, ix,
Part 1,
Chapter 1: A Day's Beginning Does Not Declare Its Ending, 3,
Chapter 2: Healing Years, 25,
Chapter 3: Completion, 51,
Part 2,
Chapter 4: Life Continues, 61,
Chapter 5: The Answer Begins Unfolding, 71,
Chapter 6: Hazelhurst, WI, 80,
Chapter 7: Madeline Island: Two Years Later, 92,
Chapter 8: The Legend, 104,
Chapter 9: Ancient Healing, 118,
Chapter 10: The Perceptive Winter, 134,
Chapter 11: Mary, 143,
Epilogue, 147,
About the Author, 151,

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