A God-given vision changed how I see the world, my ancestry, and the Divine.
On an ordinary day in 2015, something extraordinary happened to me.
I wasn’t meditating. I wasn’t praying. I was simply tidying my bungalow, here in Australia, when an experience erupted from within and transported me into a reality beyond time.
What follows is a faithful account of what I saw, and how it opened my eyes to a greater story unfolding through all of us.
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It was an overcast afternoon in 2015. I was moving gently through my bungalow, tidying without thought, when suddenly—a blinding ball of light burst open inside my mind.
In an instant, I left my body. Carried like breath on wind, I rose into the fifth dimension.
And there!—I beheld Gan Eden, the Garden of Delight, and at its heart: the Tree of Life.
My body became a fiber, a tender, fleshy branch stretched across the length of time—from birth until now. I saw it growing from another fiber above me. I looked up, and gasped.
Above me stretched two great lines of descent, reaching into distant realms. The garden bed was vast, a living tapestry of human forms, each one a life unfurled across time, woven into the others, branch to branch. Each body sprang from the one before it, generation birthed from generation, until the whole became one body, one colossal tree—a tree made of souls.
And beyond it all, surrounding it, stood GOD. He was outside the tree, yet completely encompassing it, overseeing everything that unfolded within. Not distant, but vast. Not apart, but greater. A still, eternal presence—watching, guiding, holding.
Then the ball of light that carried me began to move—descending through my father’s lineage, passing from one ancestor to the next, each body a vessel, a story, a leaf.
As we flowed, I glimpsed their lives, brief, flickering scenes like holy dreams—echoes of Scripture, though I did not yet know the text.
And then—halfway down the Tree—we came to the fiber that was Jesus.
The light paused, and from it bloomed a silhouette: a hooded man, cloaked in mystery and mercy. And written across the figure, clear as breath on glass, was a single word: Messiah. Th image caught fire—spreading from one leaf to the next, until the whole tree bore his shape.
His body had sunk beneath the garden bed into a well of living energy beneath the soil, a reservoir of divine light. It pulsed outward from him, through the roots and veins of every soul-carrying branch on the Tree.
And with him, the vision changed. Before Jesus, the world glowed in earthen tones—browns and reds, a land of deserts and dust. But after him, the world turned pale and sharp—shades of grey and white, like rising cities, an age of steel and stone. This was the turning point—the moment my ancestors moved from the Middle East to Europe. The terrain shifted with them, from ancient soil to foreign streets, and time itself seemed to step through a new door. It was in this crossing, this scattering, that I became part of the Jewish diaspora—the living continuation of that long, exiled line, still rooted in the Tree, still reaching for the light.
At last, the ball of light reached me. And when it did—it overflowed with joy. Pleasure and radiance filled me, and I returned—back in my bungalow, but no longer the same. I stood still, eyes open—and the world, too, had awakened.
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Even now, years later, this vision remains alive in me. It showed me that every person—every single one of us—is a living part of God’s Tree. Our bodies may be separate from a third-dimensional perspective, but our spirits are woven together, branch to branch, rooted in something deeper and more beautiful than we can fully grasp.
No one is here by accident. Every life is sacred. You are sacred.
And beyond the branching of time and body, beyond the rising and falling of generations, God watches still—holding the Tree, and all of us within it.
