The Light of Heaven

I am thankful that these thoughts I share with you, were shared with me by a great Teacher, Tara Singh, and though I have added my own expression and my learning to it, I wanted to give thanks to him. Namaste!

Suffer the little children…We are coming into a season where we idolize a babe in a manger, his parents poor, his circumstances low. There was not even a room left at the Motel 6 for him, so he and his parents stayed outside in little more than a cardboard box would be today. We are asked to look at this child as the unique Son of God and we expect each year to receive from this some answer to our personal and social questions about life. But what if EVERY child were thought to be the unique Son of God. The word “unique” keeps us at arms length from that child. It separates us from him and we never get those answers we long for. Let us see that child as every child. A Course in Miracles offers us a different vision of every child. Every child comes here for one of two reasons, depending on OUR mind. If our minds are wrong, every child comes here hiding from God out of guilt, assuming a physical body to escape the pursuing God s/he fears. If our minds are right, every child comes here as a fresh Light, the Light of Heaven, and would come here to share the facts of Heaven with us. The facts of Heaven are innocence and peace, guiltlessness and love. Every child brings the Father’s touch to the fearful world that hides from Truth. The child is Holy and brings Holiness to the fearful world. The child comes first to the parents who called to him and it is to them that he would first try to communicate the facts of Heaven. He wishes to instruct his parents in the Truth of things, to teach them God’s ways, Heaven’s ways. But the question is whether the parents are prepared and willing to learn from the child; or do they think of the child as “theirs,” as something they have a right to condition with the ways of the earth? Invariably that is what happens, isn’t it? The child comes fresh with the dew of Heaven and would teach his parents the holiness they have forgotten. They were children too and their parents beat the remembrance of heaven out of them, teaching them fear and suspicion, a terrible sense of lack and separation, a loneliness that nothing can dispel. They have forgotten the facts of Heaven, which are their facts too! So will they see the holiness of the child and be still? Will they learn from the child the things they have forgotten? Or will they see the child as needing their guidance in the fearful things of the world? The child comes from Heaven and you would make a citizen out of her and have her saluting flags! Is that not the abuse of holiness. Can we learn from our past mistakes now and see the Heavenliness of things, all things, but certainly children? There is a Knowledge of who we are down deep in us that we cannot completely forget, try as we may. It comes out of us in stories and myths and makes us unwilling to call the world home. Thank God!

When my daughter was about three years old, I spoke with her calmly and frankly and asked her if she remembered Heaven before she came to be my daughter in this body. Children will happily tell you if you ask in love. She said, “Well there I was in Heaven, minding my own business, when an angel came up to me and said, ‘Look down there. Joe and his wife are going to have a baby. Would you like to be it?’ I said, ‘Sure,’ and then I jumped and the next thing I knew I was a baby and they were holding me and saying ‘Look how cute the baby is.” She told this story in a manner of fact way that was very disarming. When her brother was about the same age, I saw him approach my daughter and say, “Tell me again about Heaven. I am beginning to forget!” And forget we almost do, so indoctrinated are we in the ways of the world. The world is the place WE made. Heaven is the universe that God created. It is the Home we long to remember fully. The key to awakening into that remembrance is the awareness of the awesome holiness of all things, and yes, certainly all children. Who will cherish the child as the messenger from Heaven? Who will dare to look at the terrible ego need involved when we see the child as “mine.” “This is something I made.” The fact of it is that children do not come “from” parents but rather “through” them. They are not ours to claim, nor are they ours to indoctrinate in the strange ways of the world. They come through the parents, accepting the vibration of them, agreeing to share that vibration with their own, and then they begin their own path of remembrance. If the parents were ready they could learn from the child. If they had made space for the child and counted it as holy from the first moment of their awareness of conception, then a great event could take place. Learning the ways of Heaven from the child would be as cool water to a scorched earth, torn from God’s Oneness by the mad thought of separation. The Light of the child would dispel the darkness of the world’s illusions with its little mad ways. Then we wouldn’t need to keep looking at Jesus in the manger every year, trying to remember all that we have forgotten. Every child is Jesus and every parent potentially Mary and Joseph. If we could see the holiness of children, it would come out of the remembrance of our holiness. Then, who could fail to cherish the child? Could there ever be child abuse? Could there ever be child abandonment? Could there ever be children in poverty? Obviously not!! We would remember ourselves as Children of God, all brothers, all parts of the One Spirit that God created like unto Himself. Every child would give us the chance to remember ourselves as God created us!!! What a gift!!! But WE think WE have to bring gifts to the child! Invariably, what do we bring but the things of this world? Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh, the things valued by THIS world! We begin immediately to encapsulate the child into the world! Is this not a tragedy? Is this not the ultimate abuse? In three or four years the child will have forgotten Heaven and see only fear, loneliness and lack!! But if we had made a space for the holy child that was coming to us, could we not then protect them from the madness of the world? If for, say, the first five years we could keep the child in the fullness of Love’s Presence, not exposing her to the ideas of the world, the child might grow up without learning fear and reaction. But how often does this take place? We are so worn out, we just want to get a baby sitter and have a few drinks! We were not prepared for the child because we just thought she was “OURS.” And soon, she will be three years old and a citizen saluting flags and entering child beauty contests!! Is there any wonder then that we so idolize Jesus in the manger!!! Let just that ONE child be holy. All of the other children will be OURS and we will teach them to be just like us!!! Can we not now see the tragedy of the world we have made in our mad attack on God? Thank God it is a tragedy that will end for it is only a long dream. In Truth, nothing but God and His Creation exists! We will awaken from fear eventually in time. In Truth no separation from God ever occurred or could occur. In Truth no world exists! Only in Time does it appear otherwise and time is temporary just as the school bell eventually rings and children return home. The child awakens from the bad dream and sees that it was not real.

At this Christmas time, allow yourself to awaken to the awareness of Love’s Presence. Forgive and set aside all of the little blocks you have made to keep such Truth out of your vision! Love the little children; the child of the world and the child in you. We are all just used and abused kids! We too came here as emissaries of Heaven, bringing the Light of eternal Truth to a dark place in the mind that believes itself to be separated from God and on the run from him. We too tried to teach our parents the holiness of all things, and they just claimed us as “theirs,” and made us do as they said. We have been here so many times trying to light up this dark place!! We have need of our own holiness. Let the “holy” child bring this memory back to us to stay a while, long enough to awaken the world from its long dream!

Image may contain: one or more people, people sleeping and baby

None but the lonely heart

None but the lonely heart

By Joseph Shore

(This story is fictional in form but factual in Truth. It is constructed from actual events I have experienced and actual situations I have encountered while working in deliverance and healing. Any resemblance to any historical person is purely coincidental)

It was about 4:00AM when I received that call that you never hope to get.  I was half-asleep when I answered the phone but was propelled to full alertness as I listened to the voice of one of my eighteen year old students hysterically pleading with me for help. Her mother had just committed suicide in a most graphic way. She had jumped off the Second Narrows Bridge that connects Vancouver with North Vancouver and plummeted hundreds of feet to the inlet below. I tried to calm Giada over the phone. Her parents were divorced and her father was currently in Europe. The grandparents had passed away and she was an only child. She was all alone. She told me that she was in her house and that the police were there. I told her that I would get in my car and be right over.  Giada lived in West Vancouver, normally about a 45 minute drive for me. But at this hour I drove my big Cadillac like a madman and reached her house in 20 minutes.  The police questioned me and wanted to know why I was there. About that time Giada came running out of the house and hugged me for dear life. She explained that I was her teacher and she had asked me to come.  I took her inside and tried to find a private place away from the police where we could talk. I made her some tea and sat her down in a comfortable chair. She was still semi-hysterical and I needed to calm her down more to be able to talk to her.  She continued to cry and just wanted me to hug her. I hugged her and just held on. In a few minutes she was more able to speak. I asked if her father had been contacted yet in Europe. She said that no one had been able to find him. He was on a private yacht with one of his clients.  I asked her to tell me whatever she wanted to say about her mother. I knew the family. I knew the divorce had been very hard on Giada since she was an only child. Her mother was Dr. Eva Morin, a clinical psychologist, who had been married to a man, Edward Johnson, a Canadian investor.  It was not a loving marriage. The two were apart more than they were together and they had little in common. Johnson was the kind of man who saw what he wanted and got it. He had met Eva at a socialite party in West Vancouver and fell in love with her. He courted her extravagantly with cruises, fine dining, and extravagant gifts. You might think that a clinical psychologist would know all the tricks but Eva needed loving attention. She allowed herself to fall in love with him and soon they were married. Giada came the next year.  Dr. Morin was a fine clinical psychologist but she had enormous personal problems stemming from an austere childhood devoid of love. She was born in Milan into a wealthy Italian family deeply rooted in European politics. Her father was a very important man and seemed to be narcissistically devoted to his political career. Eva had been totally unwanted. Her father wanted an abortion but the mother refused. Her father reacted by simply not admitting Eva existed. He never spoke to her or touched her. It was as though she didn’t exist.  When Eva was four she painted a picture that she wanted to give to him. She walked into his study to give him the picture but he was in a meeting and did not even acknowledge her. With a small wave of his hand, he had his body guard remove Eva from the room. Her mother was not much better to turn to. Her mother was an alcoholic and a socialite who had neither interest, sobriety, nor time for Eva. Eva grew up alone and unloved. She never had a hug or a kiss as a child; never had a birthday party or sleepover. She was neglected and severely emotionally abused. Is it any wonder that she became a clinical psychologist? She wanted to cure herself! Unfortunately, her wounding was so deep she had never found the courage to work on it with another therapist. Her colleagues would volunteer but she would push them away. She held all her wounding inside and tried to cover it up by helping others. It was a technique which was not working for her.  Her marriage to Johnson failed for many reasons, not the least of which was that she had never learned to love. She did not know what love really was. The early infatuation that she called “falling in love” did not last long and she found herself as lonely in her marriage as she had been as a child. She and Johnson held the marriage together until Giada was sixteen and then they divorced. Eva threw herself into her work as the only technique she knew for dealing with her deep problems. It was not working.

Giada was my private student in singing and she confided in me about all the problems in the house. I acted as a counselor to her, a role I often took with students and friends. I had been trained in pastoral counseling when I was a minister and I had also been a social worker in New York City where I counseled abused and neglected children as well as their abusive parents.  Counseling is a role that had come with me through life.

First, I made sure that Giada had a friend who could stay with her until her father could be located. Giada was 18 and would surely inherit the house, but what would her life be like all alone unless her father came back into her life?

The police finally left and Giada began to calm down a little bit. “It was all his fault, you know?”  I thought she was referring to her father. “No, not him,” she said. “It was all Richard’s fault.”

“Who is Richard,” I asked, wondering if we needed to make a call to another involved party.

“He was my mother’s patient,” Giada said. “And mom loved him.”

Here was a development that Giada had never mentioned to me. “Would you like to tell me what you know,” I asked.

“Of course I am going to tell. I have to tell somebody.”

“OK,” I said. Would you like a glass of water?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t need anything. I am just so glad you are here. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“That’s OK,” I said. “I am glad to be here for you.”

“My mom told me she had fallen in love with one of her patients,” Giada began. “Mom didn’t usually talk about her work with me. We were not really close. I mean, we were pretty much enemies in my teens, until maybe this year. She thawed a little bit.”

“OK, so she thawed a little bit?” I responded.

Giada continued: “I always knew mom was fucked up really bad from her childhood. Her dad never loved her. He wouldn’t even treat her as really there. And I know her mom was no prize either. Poor mom grew up without hugs or kisses, without any emotional support. I always knew she had this hole inside of her. She needed love so badly. I don’t know if she ever really loved daddy, but I sure know that daddy did not love or respect her. It made me feel really badly for them. And there I was caught in the middle and they would take their stuff out on me. It was so unfair. But I didn’t want them to get a divorce and I sure didn’t want mom to kill herself,” Giada said, crying.

After she calmed down, I asked her, “What role do you think Richard played in your mom’s problems?”

“Mom told me that Richard came to her to work on problems just like hers! He had not been loved as a child. When he was little, his parents would not even get a babysitter if they wanted to go out. They would just lock Richard in the closet! ‘Now be good! Mommy and daddy will be back in just a few minutes.’  Shit like that. Mom said his dad was a real piece of work. He thought he was an inventor and was always building things in the back yard. One time he even built a big sail boat and bought a trailer for it. One day he called the family together and said, ‘We are going to take a little sail on the ocean in our new boat. Everybody get in the truck!’ They drove to the ocean, off-loaded the boat and everybody got in. Richard’s dad did not know how to sail. Nobody did. His dad just thought he could figure it out on the ocean. They sailed for three or four hours and a big storm came up with huge waves and rain. Richard’s dad yelled at the family to all get under the tarp that was on deck.  They continued going into the storm and Richard raised his head out from under the tarp and said, ‘Are we all going to die now dad?’ Somehow they managed to get back to port.  Shit like that. Mom said Richard did not know what love was and he wanted to find out.”

“And so was their therapy successful,” I asked.

“Yeah, to a big extent, mom said. Richard began to make real progress. He was really beginning to open up. He started doing nice things for people. He said that he had hated his neighbor for years and didn’t like feeling that way anymore. So he knocked on his neighbor’s door and asked him if there was anything he could do for him! The guy thought it was a stupid joke so he said, ‘Sure. You wanna help me? You can wash my car.’ So Richard did. He washed the guy’s car. His neighbor was so stunned he thought Richard had gone nuts. But it made Richard feel really good. He would volunteer to help out in soup kitchens for the homeless. He was always bringing flowers to mom. NOBODY had ever brought her flowers. I think the roles got changed. Richard had really found something and he was giving it to mom.  She didn’t know what was happening. Richard was doing therapy on her. She would find little ways to get him to come over. Once she turned off the water and broke a pipe so she could ask Richard if he knew anything about plumbing. He came right over and fixed the pipe and mom asked him to stay for dinner. Richard really liked mom and he thought her therapy was really helping him. But mom liked Richard a lot more. She loved him. She was receiving more love from Richard than she had ever received before.”

“So what was the problem,” I asked.

“Well, my mom is 62. She had me really late. Richard was 30. I don’t think it ever occurred to Richard that my mom really loved him. He certainly could not imagine being in love with a 62 year old woman. But my mom was changing inside. She was a lot nicer to me and we actually started being friends. She stopped thinking of herself as being old. She really started to live for the first time because of the love she was getting through Richard. It was more like the love was there when Richard came and she just absorbed it like a dry sponge. I mean, she actually was happy in the morning and that had never happened.  She would hum little tunes around the house and work in her garden. She would play with the cat and she never paid any attention to him before! It was like she was really changing! Then she asked me one night, ‘What would you think of having Richard for a step dad?’ I said ‘WHAAAA?’ Then she stepped back and said, ‘Oh well, it was just a hypothetical question.’ But it was pretty obvious that she was in love with him. I didn’t see anything wrong with that. Mom deserved love after all she had been through. And I didn’t see anything wrong with a 62 year old woman loving a 30 year old man! Like, it happens, right?”

“It can happen,” I said.

“Right. Well mom was really happy. Richard would come over to dinner and tell us all about the people he had just helped and how good it made him feel. Mom would just sit there beaming at him and thanking him for sharing. She began to do loving things for Richard too. She knew his brothers and sisters were also really fucked up so she volunteered to counsel them for free! It made her feel good to do that and she brought that home to me. We began to have really wonderful talks. She spologized for not being a better mother to me, and she began to cry. She never cried before. I cried too and we just sat there in front of the fireplace crying together. God how I loved my mom right then,” Giada said as she began to cry again. She was sobbing, almost uncontrollably. I asked her if it were OK if I hugged her. She nodded yes and I hugged her in my arms as though she were a child.  When she had calmed I asked her, “Where did the problem come in for your mom and Richard?”

“Richard began to sense that mom loved him. At least that’s what mom said. At first he was just surprised and startled but then he began to feel uncomfortable. He started to cancel his therapy appointments for funny reasons, like his car kept having trouble just before an appointment or he would come down with a cold and just not want to come. Mom is a good therapist and I am sure she saw what was going on but she wanted Richard. She loved him as best as she knew how to love. You can’t criticize that. She could visualize a great relationship with Richard but Richard was hung up on the age thing. If mom had been 30 years old I am sure they would have gotten married and been really happy. But she wasn’t thirty and she was looking at love in a wholly different way than Richard. He was still looking for young chicks with big boobs who liked to screw, even though he was learning about another love by helping people. Richard hadn’t put the big picture together yet. Mom got sort of desperate. She would break something in the house and ask Richard if he could fix it. Richard would say he was too busy. She would ask him over to dinner and he would say he already had plans. And all this time my mom was still being faithful to her pledge to counsel Richard’s family for free. She never once tried to use that to try to manipulate Richard. She just suffered. Gradually she started to change back to the old sad mom. She wasn’t happy anymore in the morning. We wouldn’t talk at night. We started to fight. She would criticize me for my choices in boyfriends, what I wore, or the way my room looked. One night she was laying into me and I just starting crying very hard. I just blurted out, ‘Why don’t you go talk to Richard and tell him how you feel about him?’ She stopped still and just looked straight ahead for a minute and then left my room and walked out of the house. I heard the garage door open and her car pull out, and that is the last I ever saw of my mom.”

Giada was now sobbing harder than ever.  I comforted her as best I could.

The police came back and questioned me again in my involvement with the family. I asked them directly if the body had been recovered yet and if they had any information about what took place after Eva left her house. They answered that yes the body had been recovered and was in the city morgue awaiting identification. I asked them if that had to be done by Giada. They replied that usually a relative would need to make the ID but since Dr. Morin was well known clinically, one of her colleagues could do it. I prevailed upon them to call the counseling center where Eva worked and request that one of her colleagues indentify the body and release it to a local mortuary. Apparently, after Dr. Morin had left the house she drove to the apartment of Richard Langley where she roused him from sleep, demanding a meeting with him. According to Langley she blurted out that she loved him deeply and wanted to be with him the rest of her life. His reaction was one of shock and disgust. He said something like, “You woke me up in the middle of the night to dump shit like this on me?” He had no compassion for her and certainly could not envision marrying her. He told her to get the hell out of his apartment and go sleep it off!! Apparently, that was more than she could take. She drove her car to the Second Narrows Bridge, parked it and jumped.  When she did not return home Giada called the police. They had traced the car parked on the bridge to Dr. Morin and had come to the Morin house to investigate. Shortly thereafter a witness had called in a report of seeing a woman answering to the description of Dr. Morin jumping off the bridge. It was about this time that Giada called me and I arrived on the scene.

Now there were some practical things that I had to do. I asked Giada if she knew where her mother kept her check book and bank records. She took me to her mom’s dresser drawer where bank records were found.  I showed them to the police. Apparently Eva had been thinking of suicide earlier because she had made her banking accounts into joint accounts with Giada. The house and all its possessions had been signed over to joint ownership with Giada. There was no will. Giada was the sole owner of the estate and we could now plan for a funeral service. The checking account had over $300,000 in it and other accounts held much more. Giada could just write a check for the funeral. I explained all this to her. It was now 6:00AM but she could not sleep. We sat up together. At 10:00AM one of Eva’s colleagues, Dr. Lawrence Fogel, identified the body and we asked for it to be released to Park Lawn Mortuary in West Vancouver.  Giada’s father had been located in Morocco but declined any interest in returning to Vancouver! There I was, with an eighteen year old girl, planning a funeral for her mother. The family’s friends and Eva’s colleagues were notified and a simple funeral was conducted two days later. I road with Giada in the  limo to the funeral, burial and back to her house. The family doctor had prescribed sleeping medication for Giada but I also stayed over with her. She was just about to take her meds when she asked me, “Did I kill my mother? After all she just did what I told her to do.” Her face was full of pain and the tears were welling up again.

“No. It was not your fault. Your mother had been thinking about ending her life a long time. The cause of her pain was in her early life and she had carried around those past hurts her whole life.”

She began to cry. “Is my mother in hell now? I mean, we were never religious but I always heard that suicides go to hell.”  She burst into inconsolable tears. I thought to myself, “Dear God what am I to say to her now?” My inner voice said, “Stay in your compassion for her and you will be guided in what to say.”  I put my hand out to see if she wanted touch. She grabbed it with a desperate grip. “Do you want me to hug you,” I asked?  She nodded yes and I hugged her like a loving father does with a frightened child. Then I told her of people I have known who died and came back to tell of a life after death. One of the people was Sandra Rogers, a nurse, who had tried to kill herself. She was surprised to find herself out of her body as a spirit in another dimension of spirit. Instead of being condemned she was surrounded by Divine Beings who helped her to see her life fully. She came back to life and became a very loving, wiser person.

“But my mom is not coming back,” she said.

“I know. But it may give you comfort to know that people who kill themselves out of pain and confusion are not met in the afterlife with judgment. We can pray for your mother’s spirit to find peace. Would you like us to do that?”

Giada nodded yes. I closed my eyes and extended my mind into Spirit, inquiring of my guides about the soul of Dr. Eva Morin who had just passed over. Giada knew about my work in Spirit. We had discussed it in the course of our time in lessons.  The message I got was, “inquire again when she asks you.” This was sort of a cryptic message but I tried to stay true to it. I advised Giada that it would be good for her to sleep now. “In your sleep you can pray for your mom.” I really did not know what that meant. She took the sleeping meds and within an hour had managed to go to sleep. I sat up. I did not feel it was right for me to sleep.  After about three hours I was just beginning to nod off when I heard Giada’s voice say, “Mom? Mom?” I quickly came to her bed side. Giada was sitting up looking at the ceiling. “There was a woman here all shining and dressed in white. I thought she was mom but the woman said she was an angel. She asked us to pray for mom. Will you help me?” That was my cue. I extended my mind into Spirit once again and this time I was met by golden orbs of Light who I knew to be angels. They said, “Look there. She is down there.”  I looked down from the spirit dimension I had gone into and saw a dark layer that we call the Astral level.  There I saw her mother’s soul wrapped in layers of a dark substance. I asked two of the angels to take me there and in that instant we were there. She was surrounded by malicious spirits who enjoyed the state she was in. But at the sight of the golden orbs with me they fled. She was in a fetal position, rocking back and forth, saying something over and over again. I asked the angels to let me hear what she was saying. Over and over again, she repeated the words, “Nothing good will ever happen for me ever again.” I was filled with such pain, the angels had to sustain me. “Help her,” I shouted to them. They conveyed to me telepathically,” Call in the missionary angels to help.” I did not know who they were at that time, but I had faith and called for them. Instantly that spirit space was filled with the most amazing Light Beings I have ever seen. It was their job to rescue lost souls from the hell minds had made. In the deepest part of hell, no souls are alone. These angels are there, trying to turn their gaze upwards to the Light. As I stood in their presence I also had hold of Giada’s hand. “Pray for your mom right now,” I screamed. These divine Beings moved into that Astral layer as though it were not there. They unwrapped Eva’s soul from that bondage. As they did Eva’s eyes opened and all the Light of Heaven moved into her soul, washing out all of that pain and illusion. A great smile came to her face. Down below Giada screamed, “I love you mom. GO, GO, GO. You will find what you have always been looking for.”  Those amazing Beings took her under each arm and ascended with her. Giada saw her too as she ascended and we both gave thanks. As I came back to Giada’s bedside, all her tears were gone. There was just the same bright smile that I had seen on Eva’s face.  “My mother is in heaven,” she exclaimed. Words failed me. I just cried tears of gratefulness, for in the darkest hour for both Giada and her mom, Love had come at last to show its presence. All pain had been wiped away as easily as a breeze disperses a little cloud. Love truly is all that is real. Everything which is of fear and pain is an illusion which confused minds have miscreated. Love truly is present. It is our natural inheritance. The pain and confusion we miscreate on earth cannot harm us in truth. Only Love is real and nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists in truth. We are truly as God created us. No cloud of illusion can be left to obscure the truth of God’s creation.

In the days that followed this great event of ascendance Giada came to peace within herself. Her father returned from Morocco and begged for her forgiveness. The angels had touched him as well. They eventually sold the big house and moved into a smaller house in the interior of British Columbia. Giada has entered Nursing School and her father works at home.

Amazing are the works of peace and blessed are they who know Love’s Presence.

This Quietude

Looking out my window at Burnaby Mountain at dusk, with the twilight shining golden on the side of the mountain, in the crisp, honest, cool air of Fall, I think perhaps I have found another sense of things to replace this loneliness I have had most of my life. There is a calmness about things now, a quietude which feels so familiar and so satisfying. This quietude brings in the seasons. It directs the Geese in their flight to the South, and assures the Wood Ducks it is alright to winter over in the safety of Burnaby Lake. This quietude colors the leaves and brings a different shade of beauty to the forests and meadows which were touched with the gold of summer just a short while ago. At the foot of Burnaby Mountain, all is quiet and all is right. The mountain whispers the assurance, “There is only eternity and only Love is real.” This quietude grew my bones and made me. I am a part of the mountain, the shade, the cool it provides and the majesty of which it speaks…and I know that I love.

IMG_3502

We are that

Life here is pretty much designed to require all our concentrated awareness. Life’s lessons are not usually easily learned. For this reason esoteric thought has usually been viewed as suspect, as though one were cheating on a test or seeing what is happening behind the screen of perception. (“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.”) Like the great and powerful wizard of Oz, if we could see behind the screen the great and powerful Jehovah would appear just as silly to us. We are pulling the wool over our own eyes. We are making it up down here as we go along! But underneath this dream world of our perception is a divine ground and we are in truth that ground. In spite of this dream world, there is that which is never born and never dies, that which changes not. We are that changeless ground. In spite of religion’s spooky stories of sin and judgment there is that which cannot be threatened, and we are that.