Chapter 10 The Sign Post - from my book Changes

Tom Brown Jr. writing in his notebook between lectures.

Chapter 10

The Sign Post

In this chapter I am going to tell you a bit about my favorite teacher, who taught me how to travel in meditation to the deepest parts of myself.  Included in this chapter are my first encounters with him.

Tom Brown Jr., (Jan 29, 1950 - Aug 16, 2024), was a legend in his own time.  Not only was he a world renowned wilderness survival and tracking expert, working with the police even as a youth, in tracking down lost people in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, and as an adult, tracking down criminals too; he also trained many military personnel and travelled to other places in the world to teach and track.

     People from all over the globe took his classes, including wilderness survival instructors from other countries like Germany, Australia, and Japan for example.  I know because I met many of them during the 10 years of wilderness awareness and survival classes I attended at Trackerschool.

Tom had been shot and stabbed more than once through his work tracking down criminals, including being shot in the back by a murderer Tom was tracking.

Fortunately Tom was warned just in time by his inner vision, to move and turn so he wasn’t killed or paralyzed by that bullet.

(This story was loosely told in the movie The Hunted)

I was fortunate to have known him as his student and as a sister, being a member of the “Tracker family”.

When Tom came in to the Taj to lecture us for the first time on that rainy, rainy day early in the week of my Standard class, I think his first words were, “Hey Gang.  You staying dry?”

We laughed because no one was staying dry.

Then his straight face became a smirk.   He pointed out a sign that one of his students made for him in the past.  It said, “No Sniveling!” And was always posted in the front of the Taj near the lectern.

Tom was sometimes lovingly referred to as a cross between a mother hen and a drill sergeant.  He loved us and pushed us and brooded over us.  He wasn’t always nice to us, and when I got the brunt of his ire a couple times, I cried my eyes out.  But I decided it was for the best because I dropped the warm fuzzies and chose to learn from him with a fierceness I can only compare to a clean, hard, sharpened blade.

Tom was my teacher and we were bonded by the sheer intensity of an avid student with a teacher set on growing the abilities of his students, no matter the difficulty.  As students, we were being put through a refiners fire with a combination of fierceness and delicacy.

I call Tom my teacher, but early on Tom disclaimed the title of teacher.  He said, “I am not your teacher.  I am but a signpost pointing the way.”

I will be calling him my teacher for simplicity’s sake, but even in so doing, I acknowledge that my real teacher is God, The Creator, The Spirit, The Great Everything, The Universe, and/or my deeper Self.

Tom showed us how to wake up our spiritual side, but the actual teachings that changed my life were from Spirit, not from Tom.

Being able to travel in meditation to the subconscious and spiritual mind allowed me to find truths about myself.  Truths that enlightened me and helped me to understand who I really am.

Tom didn’t depend on himself alone to know what to teach.   I found out later, when I took his Teaching Grandfather’s Philosophy class, that before and during classes, he would ask the Creator, “What can I teach them?  What can they learn?” And he would surrender to answers.  He mentioned that sometimes he didn’t know what he would teach until the students were present, or he would completely change what he was going to teach us once the class was assembled.

One weekend class I went to was called The Way of Immersion.  The description was that we must be prepared to get very wet and very dirty.  Then, during that class none of us got wet or dirty, at least not on a physical level.

Another class had no description at all.  You went to it if you were directed by your inner vision, trusting that you would get what you came for.

My upbringing was such that I was steeped in scripture and religion as well as some alternate spiritual studies.  I wanted to tell Tom that from what I had read in his books, there was no contradiction to my religious upbringing.

So, one night, early on in my Standard class, after dinner and before lecture, I decided to approach him.

My standard class was in October of 2005, in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, at the primitive camp, so it was dark by the time dinner was over.

Tom was alone, pacing the floor in The Doghouse smoking a cigarette, head down, deep in thought.  He was most likely in prayer or contemplating his upcoming lecture.  The rain was falling steadily.  I felt anxious about approaching him but decided my anxious feelings meant I was supposed to overcome my fear and talk to him.

I had forgotten that the interns told us never to disturb Tom or the instructors if they were in the doghouse.

I had all my layers on and the hood of my rain poncho up over my head.  Holding the hood tight, only my little face showing, I slowly walked up to the opening of the doghouse.

I stood there, looking up toward him until he noticed me.  He bent over from the raised wooden floor he was standing on, cigarette in one hand, the other hand cupped to his ear, to hear what I wanted to say over the sound of the rain.

I said, “Can I talk to you?”

His eyes got wide and he looked at me with a look of horrified panic and yelled, “No, I can’t talk to you right now!”

I stood there dumbfounded, staring into his eyes as the energy of his emotion rushed over me and through me.

It seemed like we stared at each other for the longest time, but it was probably only seconds.  But during those seconds I felt like I was looking into the universe, and the blue sky with clouds, all at once.  I was transfixed; caught between the reality of having just been yelled at, and the beautiful state of gazing into the Great Everything all at once.

Then Tom broke the spell and pulled back.  He turned away, head down, and muttered, “No. I’m sorry. I can’t talk to you right now.”

I turned away too, and as I walked into the night, I was shaking from being yelled at, and in awe of what I saw in Tom’s eyes.

The next day, during lecture, Tom would look from student to student as he spoke.  This was the first time in lecture that he looked at me at all while he talked, and he was doing something that seemed unbelievable.  He would look at me for a moment or two while talking, then right as he looked away to someone else, I would feel a basketball sized ball of energy hit me in the chest!

Shocked, I would wonder about it, asking myself, ‘Did he really do that?’

Then, pretty soon, he would look at me again while lecturing, and I would wonder if he had actually thrown energy at me.

Then right as he looked away, I would get hit with another ball of energy!

This was repeated over and over until I KNEW, without a doubt, that Tom was doing exactly what it felt like he was doing, throwing basket ball sized balls of energy at me.

The energy didn’t feel bad. It just felt like energy. But it was strong and real and I couldn’t deny it or question it any more.

Then, as soon as I stopped wondering about it, he stopped doing it.

He must have been able to tell he had gotten through to me and had taught me something important; something I would never have thought possible.