Moonview has in some cases done “end of life” work with its clients, preparing them emotionally and spiritually for their own deaths. In certain situations, Laurie will also delve into “soul communion”—assisting a client in contacting someone who is dead. She uses the same technique she employed to speak with Levin’s deceased son. “My life’s mission has been proving that we are eternal,” says Laurie. “That we don’t die and that we graduate to a guidance realm.”
Laurie is also writing a book, and attempting to file a patent, regarding “the way a corporation or an endeavor can be founded using ‘the other side’ as your partners. You’re bringing in souls past and present.” As Jerry describes it, “Organizations can consult the guidance of an unseen realm. The metaphor is that it gives off into the ether, and it’s always there, like a television signal. Everything that’s ever been broadcast is somewhere out there.” Laurie says that during the planning stages for Moonview, she personally consulted Albert Einstein and Benjamin Franklin. She says Moonview as a whole consulted “Christ, Buddha, and doctors who’ve made breakthroughs.”
“This isn’t like writing a letter to Santa,” she says. “These souls are operative all the time, but we have to invite them in. This is built into the fabric of Moonview. We consult parts of the unseen world in everything we do.”
“The founding of Moonview has been inspired by—to use a word everyone is comfortable with—angels who died,” says Jerry. “This is not The Secret, this is not What the Bleep, it’s not something for Oprah—not to demean anything. This is a very profound understanding that’s there to help people.”
Laurie consistently refers to Moonview as a “temple,” and the ultimate role of any religion—be it Judaism, Christianity, Scientology, or soul communion—is to provide its faithful with some sort of reassuring template for processing death. It’s easy to see why Levin was drawn to Laurie: She offered a soothing answer to the eternal question. More important, she gave Levin his son back.
“If I didn’t have this traumatic call,” says Levin, “I probably would have gone down some conventional path, I guess. I like to think that there was something inside of me and that everything here just brought it out. I always thought I was a little unusual for being a CEO. But I think what you’re getting now is the real me. I think everything that’s happened to me was meant to happen. I don’t live with regret, and I’m not into do-overs.”
He gazes out the window, and speaks once more in that measured incantation of his. “I wouldn’t redo anything, actually,” he says.