Look and Listen

Biography

IRENE KENDIG is an accomplished speaker, self-acceptance coach and author of Conversations with Jerry and Other People I Thought Were Dead. She is a trained NLP Practitioner and certified Hypnotherapist, with a B.A. cum laude in Psychology from UCLA and an M.A. in Spiritual Psychology from the University of Santa Monica (USM).

Irene is dedicated to living and sharing the gifts of Spiritual Psychology, and is part of a team of USM graduate volunteers who have been bringing these principles and experiential practices to women inmates at one of the largest maximum security women’s prisons in the world, Valley State Prison for Women. The program has been nominated for a national award that recognizes excellence in prison reform programs. “Freedom to Choose,” a moving, 22-minute documentary that conveys the power of this work, was a winner in the Emerging Filmmaker Showcase at the 2009 Cannes Film Festival. View it here: here.

One of Irene's favorite quotes comes from Victor Frankl, a Jewish psychiatrist who chronicles his experiences as a concentration camp inmate in his best-selling book. Man's Search for Meaning, in which he describes how he found meaning and a reason for living in the most challenging of circumstances: "Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom."

As a self-acceptance coach, Irene assists clients in identifying the judgments, misconceptions, and limiting beliefs that are the source of unnecessary suffering, and then facilitates healing through compassionate self-forgiveness, an elegant and graceful way of embracing what is, and a process at the very heart of Spiritual Psychology. Since our beliefs generate our thoughts and our thoughts generate our feelings, in order to feel differently, we have to change our beliefs.

Ms. Kendig has taught communication skills in both family and corporate settings. As a certified instructor for Parent Effectiveness Training (PET), she has presented programs to parents in the U.S. as well as in Latin America. As a senior corporate trainer for an international management consulting firm, she has delivered customer satisfaction, team building, and problem-solving trainings to a wide array of companies, including AAA, American Express, Avis, Lufthansa, Marriott, Oracle, Sun Microsystems, Telecheck, Trane, and Tumi, with satisfaction ratings consistently over 95%. Ms. Kendig has also taught presentation skills to managers in Corporate America and is fluent in Spanish.

She is the proud mother of two adult sons, David and Josh, and currently resides in northern Virginia with her husband Charles and their dog Scooter.

To schedule a private consult or speaking engagement with Ms. Kendig:
1 (888) 422-0239
www.irenekendig.com
irene@irenekendig.com
www.conversationswithjerry.com
irene@conversationswithjerry.com

Inspiration

I think the introduction to Conversations with Jerry and Other People I Thought Were Dead best describes what inspired me to begin my journey as an author. Wouldn't it inspire you?

Two years ago, on a cool October afternoon, a friend called to tell me about an extraordinary woman.

“Jana has the most amazing gift,” she said. “She can communicate with people who have passed on. She wants to make this her life’s work. Would you be willing to do a phone session with her?”

I hesitated. A lot was going on in my life, and even if she did have this remarkable gift, I didn’t feel compelled to speak to anyone who had passed on. Still, I was curious.

“She wouldn’t charge anything,” my friend added, sensing my hesitation. “She’d just want you to tell other people if you thought she was the real deal.”

I figured I had nothing to lose, so I scheduled an appointment for later that week. I phoned Jana on a Thursday. I was in my home office, sitting on the futon with my dog, Scooter. I placed a pen and a pad of paper by my side in case I wanted to take notes.

“Hello?” she asked, picking up after only one ring.

“Hi. This is Irene Kendig, Cindy’s friend.”

“Hi. I’ve been waiting for your call.” “Is this still a good time?”

“Perfect. Thanks for agreeing to the session.”

“No problem. Your work sounds fascinating.”

“I love it.I share what I hear from those who’ve crossed over.Why don’t you give me the first name of someone with whom you’d like to
connect?"

Crossed over. I’ve always liked those words. It’s as if people who’ve died aren’t dead at all, as if they’ve paid their toll and crossed a bridge, as if they’ve gone from Manhattan to Staten Island, and not from life to death.

“Beba,” I answered. “I’d like to connect with Beba.”

I didn’t tell Jana that Beba was my mother or that it had been three years since her death.Jana repeated the name, mispronouncing it.
“Beebee,” she said. “Let’s see if she’s here.”
An awkward silence followed.

“That’s Bee-buh . . .”

“She’s here . . . Beba? She has a big personality; she’s not someone you could easily ignore. She’s wearing a hat. She’s in her late fifties or early sixties and has dark hair and pale skin.”

That sounded like my mother. Although she had died at the age of seventy-four, she prided herself on her youthful appearance; her face had almost no wrinkles. She spent a fortune on facial creams.

“Does she like to play cards?” Jana asked. “Because she’s playing cards. She’s laughing; she says she’s winning.”

I was shocked. Some of our most intimate conversations had taken place over games of gin rummy.

“Does this sound like Beba?” Jana asked. “I want to make sure I’ve got the right person.”

Astonished, I nodded my head, and she must have felt it because she continued speaking.
“She has a daughter?”

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled.

Does her daughter have children?”

“Uh-huh.”

“She says her daughter doesn’t consider herself a good mother. She says that’s nonsense. Do you have any questions you’d like to ask Beba?”

My thoughts flashed on my son, David. I’d given birth to him when I was nineteen, and I still hadn’t gotten over feeling guilty and inadequate as a mother.

“Do you have any questions you’d like to ask Beba?” Jana repeated.

I didn’t know what to say, since I hadn’t expected to connect with anyone.

“So how are you?” I blurted. I had no idea that would be the first of many questions, nor could I have known how the answers would change my life.

During that first hour-long session, I connected briefly with four loved ones. Each of their personalities came through in a way that was unmistakable, unequivocal, and irrefutable. By the end of the session, I knew with certainty that my loved ones were still very much alive. It was mind-boggling.

The experience came full circle a couple of days later. I was reading an excerpt in Time magazine from Barack Obama’s book, The Audacity of Hope. Obama writes about an exchange with Sasha, his youngest daughter.

“What happens when we die?” Sasha asked her father. “I don’t want to die, Daddy.”

Barack hugged Sasha and said, “You’ve got a long, long way before you have to worry about that.”

Although his answer had seemed to satisfy Sasha, Obama wasn’t sure he’d said the right thing. “I wondered,” he wrote, “whether I should have told her the truth, that I wasn’t sure what happens when we die, any more than I was sure of where the soul resides or what existed before the Big Bang.”

Reading this, I couldn’t help but think of my own son, Josh, who’d asked me the same question twenty years earlier when he was three.

“I don’t know what happens when we die,” I’d told him. “And I don’t know if anyone knows.”

He didn’t like my answer, and frankly, it wasn’t reassuring; yet we have a relationship built on trust and I’ve never regretted my response.

I phoned Josh after my session with Jana to share what I’d heard from his grandmother, Beba. I reminded him of the question he’d asked me twenty years earlier and asked if he remembered. He did.

“Well,” I said, “today I have a different answer to your question. I know with certainty that we go on.”

Before meeting Jana, I’d had my share of spiritual experiences that pointed toward life after life, but I’d always had my doubts. Unless I could actually connect with someone who’d made the transition—and lived to tell about it—how could I know for sure? Well, now I do know. Everything inside me has shifted to accommodate this truth.

Three days after my first session with Jana, I phoned to schedule another. Since that time, I’ve been on a quest, asking questions of those with first-hand experience about the process of transitioning from physical to non-physical reality. After more than a year, on an almost daily basis, I’m as comfortable having these conversations as I am talking with the neighbor down the street. The result is a series of conversations with seven loved ones, all sharing their unique experiences and perspectives.

Jerry, for example, was a deeply spiritual man whose desire to be of service to God began at age nine after a transcendent experience. Jerry was confident he was moving toward loving expansion. Jared, the second person you’ll meet, had been in chronic pain for a number of years before transitioning at age thirty. Beba, my mother, was fearful that there’d be nothing after physical life. Vince, a seventy-something artist, was a freethinker, curious and open about what was to come. My friend Bill committed suicide in his mid-thirties. Zaydeh, my grandfather, transitioned suddenly from an unexpected heart attack forty-three years ago; and my Aunt Paula, a strong-willed, adored-by-her-family octogenarian, died in her sleep.

Each conversation begins with the same question: “What did you experience when you released your last breath on earth?”

Prior to these sessions, I was ninety-five percent sure we continued on after transitioning. Now I’m one hundred percent sure. While five percent may not seem like much, experientially the difference is monumental. Knowing with certainty that I’ll continue to evolve after transitioning from my physical body inspires me to live my most loving life—now. Knowing I’ll review my life and experience how I’ve affected sentient life around me with every breath I’ve taken and every word I’ve spoken, makes me want to live more consciously, graciously, and respectfully—now. Knowing I won’t cease to exist, I am empowered to live courageously—listening to and acting on my heart’s desires—now. Knowing I am an eternal being living in a beneficent universe, I’m open and available to the miracle of each moment, and my moments are filled with peace, trust, and joy—now, now, now . . .

When people ask me what my book is about and I tell them it’s a series of conversations about the process of transitioning as told by those who’ve transitioned, they often ask, “Aren’t you afraid?” My answer is always the same. “Afraid of what?” Our nature is loving, and the universe is beneficent. When you know this with certainty, there is no room for fear.

Death is a taboo subject in our culture, so it’s no wonder that people are afraid. When I was learning to lead corporate training sessions, I was told never to bring up the subject of death unless I wanted to lose my audience. My purpose in writing this book isn’t to convince you of an afterlife. In fact, I don’t want to convince you of anything. I’m simply inspired to share my experience. I’m reminded of my mother’s response when I asked her, in Conversation Eleven, if she had any advice for me:

“Don’t believe everything you read or everything people tell you. Question things. Life goes by quickly. Take advantage of each moment. Breathe deeply and express yourself. Connect with your own creativity. Be eccentric. Dance. Enjoy.”

“Was there something specific you read or something that someone told you about the afterlife that was untrue?” I asked.

“I’d read about heaven, and frankly, I thought it was going to be boring. And here it is, not the least bit boring; there’s always something to do. I thought everyone would be sent to one place or another—some people would be here and some in hell and some in-between—and I’d never see them. That’s not true, either. But my original reason for saying, ‘Don’t believe everything you read or everything people tell you,’ was to remind you to listen to your heart. See if what you’re reading feels true. If someone tells you something, check in with yourself and see how it resonates with you. That’s something I didn’t do. When people told me something, I’d either tell them they were full of shit or I’d believe them whole-heartedly. I reacted to who was telling me rather than to what they were telling me.”

I invite you to take my mother’s advice and listen to your heart. Check in with yourself and see if what you’re reading feels true. Notice how it resonates with you.

As I consider this book’s potential, I am inspired to create a paradigm shift that fundamentally impacts the way we choose to live by healing the underlying misconceptions we have about death. Let’s start with a conversation. As Zaydeh, my grandfather said, “When a child’s afraid of the dark, turning on the light and exploring the room—discovering together that there’s nothing hiding underneath the bed or in the closet—is a loving thing to do.”

Jana and my loved ones have turned on the light and explored the room with me. We’ve looked underneath the bed and peered into the closet and, in the process, love has rushed in and filled the places once occupied by fear.