Fall 2009
A Personal Encounter with Love ~ by Debbie Graham
Marianne Williamson, author of
A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles (1992) believes that love is the intuitive knowledge of our hearts. It’s an energy that we all remember. It is a return to loving ourselves.
During an almost fatal accident, I personally encountered what I believe confirms Marianne’s statement. In my journal, I describe an exciting experience of love outside of the physical realm. Not felt with physical senses, but with a knowing. Starting with that near fatal day, in the twinkling of an eye, I had an experience that I kept a secret for most of my youth. It began when my big brother and I were just playing around outside and I tripped over a garden hose, landing on my stomach.
The fall had internally ruptured my spleen. I remember trying to catch my breath, but to no avail. My brother took me into the house, and my mother instinctively knew something was terribly wrong. I laid down in my bed, and now I too knew that something was happening. As my breathing slowed, my world became silent. I could see everyone around me, but I couldn’t speak. My insides felt like a waterfall was moving through out my body.
Quickly and without hesitation, this beautiful woman I called Mama picked me up in her loving arms, and I felt safe. Although I could hear her heart beating so fast, I could not gather the strength to hold her in my arms the same as she held me. The next few hours were a blur. I remember traffic driving towards us, horns blowing, and my mother’s loving words repeating to me that it’s alright baby, everything is alright my angel. My mother was running towards the hospital with me in her arms. I’m sure I was heavy, but I believe a mother’s love knows no bounds.
Soon there were doctors, nurses, and machines all around me. They taped my arm to a board and put a needle in me. The solution was calming, and I started to feel some what conscious. Then my mother walked in where her baby laid. She had swollen eyes, and very little color in that now gaunt pale face. She reached for my hand and said that I have to go to go with these people, and that she would be waiting for me. I cried and told my mama that I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to leave my mama.
As the tears fell from her cheeks, I knew I didn’t have the strength to stop the doctors from taking me somewhere I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to be anywhere other than in my mother’s arms. Didn’t they know that her soft caress and gentle voice could heal any discomfort I was feeling? Didn’t they know that I could never bear to leave this beautiful face? I cried tears upon tears as they wheeled me away from those beautiful loving arms. My mother’s cries became louder, as they took me away.
Down the hall, and several corridors later, I laid in a white room filled with machines and lights. The doctor put a mask over my face and asked me to count back from 100. 99, 98, 97… I don’t remember 96. It is in my head, but I can’t say it. Slowly I went to sleep. From this place I could feel something cold push into my stomach, and feel the ooze of something warm all over my chest.
I’m not sure what really happened next, but I was no longer in my body. I could see everything from above. There was someone with me. It wasn’t a person, but a beautiful glowing light the size of a person. It was translucent. I could feel myself move in and out of this energy. It was though we were one. I felt such peace and love. No more pain, no more tears, no more fear.
Together we hovered over an area in which my mother sat. She was alone in those orange plastic chairs, and she was crying all alone. She went to the payphone, and I could see her shaking, her hands barley gripping the receiver. She put the phone down and sat once again in those orange chairs. I could hear her thoughts and she was scared she would lose her baby. She prayed and her voice was like a song rising to the heavens with such rhythm and beauty. It was as gentle as the rocking she committed her body to do.
The energy next to me asked if I would like to stay in this place of peace and love, or return to the loving arms of my mother. I was surprised by my hesitation. I looked at this beautiful light glowing next to me and said words that haunt me even today. “I know you will always be here, but I want to go back.” I laid in the comfort of this translucent light which seemed like hours. I could feel the power of the whole universe pulsating through me. I felt love. Not a word, not an expression, but a being. I was being held by love itself.
Imaginary Friends ~ by Heather Estey
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IMAGINARY FRIENDS
by Heather Estey
Manny walks around the side of the house. He passes through the gate, kicks an empty beer can on the cigarette butt-filled patio, and enters the house by means of the back sliding glass door. The door is unlocked. It is always unlocked. This is how Manny accesses the house after school.
A sight for sore eyes, red sweat pants torn and too short, a dirty green and white shirt, and a giant backpack filled with more than he can carry, Manny climbs the stairs to his room. He doesn’t spend much time in his room. He has outgrown all of his toys, which still occupy closet and shelf space. He sets his backpack down next to his bed and heads outdoors to play.
Sometimes, Manny shoots baskets at the portable hoop out back in the patio area until his friend Mobyron comes around. Mobyron lives nearby, however, he and Manny don’t attend the same school. Today Mobyron has some street chalk with him, so he and Manny go into the alley to draw with it.
Although they are both in the second grade, neither can read. They know a few letters hence the alley is soon covered in random “M’s” and “N’s” as well as miniature square houses full of smiling happy faces. Manny hopes his parents will have another baby in the near future; consequently he would have a sister.
As Manny draws smiling faces in happy houses, he tells Mobyron about how he heard his Mom talking to her imaginary friend. He heard his Mom say how she wishes she had a baby girl. She doesn’t like to play sports and doesn’t know what to do with a boy. She wants a girl that she can buy pretty clothes for, dress up, and whose hair she can brush.
His Mom’s imaginary friend agrees with her, adding how dirty and messy boys are. Manny is now crying, and between his sobs he asks Mobyron if he thinks his Mom loves him.
Mobyron, looking over to Manny said, “of course she does. Mom’s always love their kids,” and he drew a heart on the pavement.
Manny, unconsciously drawing little hearts too, asked, “Then why does my Mom say things that hurt my heart?”
Mobyron retraced the heart he was drawing. “I’m hungry,” he said, “come on now, let’s go get something to eat.”
While they were rummaging through the kitchen looking for the peanut butter and jelly, Manny’s Mom arrived.
“Hi honey,” she said as she reached from behind Manny for a container stored in the cupboard high above his head. “Good, you found yourself something to eat. Your Dad and I are going out to dinner with the neighbors. We shouldn’t be late.” She vanished as quickly as she had appeared.
Calling out in the direction she fled Manny managed to ask, “Can Mobyron spend the night?” He smeared some peanut butter onto his sandwich bread in the much accustomed to silence.
His Mom was in too much of a hurry to provide a response; however, Manny and Mobyron knew the sleepover was approved. It was a school night, but in spite of this fact and that even the older kids on the block weren’t allowed to have sleepovers on school nights, Mobyron was always a welcomed guest.
The two boys watched some T.V. and then got ready for bed. The light was still on when they jumped into Manny’s blue racecar shaped bed and pulled the blanket up to their chins. Manny always slept with the light on.
Mobyron tried to convince Manny that he didn’t need to sleep with the light on anymore. “There isn’t anything to be afraid of,” he reassured, “nothing can harm you.”
Manny wanted to turn the light off to show that he wasn’t afraid. He mulled over the matter in his mind. He had almost gathered enough courage to crawl out from underneath the covers and switch it off, but asked Mobyron the question he had been pondering instead.
“Do you want to fly airplanes when you get older, too, Mobyron?”
Moving closer to Manny Mobyron whispered, “We are going to fly to the moon.” In his glee, Manny forgot about the light and fell asleep.
Later that night Manny was awakened by the sound of his parents coming home. He could distinguish the sound of their car from anyone’s. He listened as they drove up and parked in their designated spot in the alley.
He heard both doors open and shut. It was a small car with only two seats so he had never ridden in it. It was sporty, bright, and shiny. It looked like a spaceship and it had lots of gadgets inside that only adults could touch. Manny’s parents’ imaginary friends admired it and claimed it was the fastest car in town.
Manny’s Dad reached in and turned off his light without checking to see if he was in bed. If he had checked, he would have seen Manny sitting upright with his eyes wide open, a small tear beginning to form in the bottom of each. It was Manny’s biggest wish to have his Dad come in at night, tell him a bedtime story, tuck him in, and give him a hug and kiss goodnight.
As the first tear rolled down his cheek, he overheard his Dad and Mom inform each other about the busy day each would have in the morning, and their current exhaustion. Manny flopped over and pressed his tears dishearteningly into the pillow.
Daylight woke Manny, yet before he had dressed for school he heard his Mom’s words, “Don’t be late for school,” uttered from the bottom of the stairs.
He followed the clicking of her heals to the car, and listened as she raced off into the distance. Mobyron headed home while Manny grabbed his backpack and a handful of Cheerios on his way out the door to school. He had forgotten to do his homework assignment again, but that was okay, his teacher had stopped asking him for it.
It was Friday, and at school all the children were talking about their weekend plans. Some kids were going to the mountains or to the desert with their family. Other kids were going to the beach or to the park to have a family picnic. One girl was going to Disneyland.
“What are you doing for the weekend?” a schoolmate asked.
Without looking up, Manny told the boy that his parents had invited their imaginary friends over for dinner and card games, and that he was having Mobyron sleep over.
Puzzled, the classmate inquired why Manny called his parents' friends “imaginary friends”?
Manny glanced downwards and in a faint voice murmured, “I call them imaginary friends because they aren’t really friends at all. They cause my parents to forget about me and make them so tired that they don’t even have the energy to tuck me in at night. They only like fast cars, grown up food, and games I’m not allowed to play. They think they know everything, but they don’t even care about me.”
That evening, Manny came downstairs to get a glass of water. His parents and their imaginary friends had just finished dinner and were engaging in gossip at the table. “You hurry up and get what you have to get,” his Mom spoke without turning her head.
“We’re having an adult conversation,” his Dad added, imaginary friends nodding in agreement.
Manny quickly poured two glasses of water and was mounting the stairs when he overheard one of his parents imaginary friends probe, “why did he get two glasses of water?”
In an act revealing her contempt, his mother rolled her eyes, peered at her husband, and explained, “Manny has a make-believe friend. The second glass of water is for him.”
“That just goes to show you,” one of Manny’s parents imaginary friends began, “you work your hands to the bone for these kids, give them everything they could possibly desire, make innumerable sacrifices for them, and what do they do? They go off and create some nonsense, humbug fantasy world!”
Manny just barely caught the tail end of his parent’s imaginary friends comment, when he handed Mobyron his glass of water. Mobyron had met Manny on the stairs. A glass of water in one hand, and each other’s hand in the other, Manny and Mobyron ascended the stairs together. They climbed and climbed and climbed, and never looked back.
Inner Peace Tip ~ Article by Catherine VanWetter
Inner Peace Tip: Choosing Faith over Fear
By: Catherine VanWetter, MSW
It was brought to my attention the other night that you cannot be in faith and fear at the same time.
I have been thinking a lot about that and consciously noticing when I slip into fear to bring myself back into the space of faith. I am aware how vigilant one needs to be to stay in that space, especially with all of the negative news we get bombarded with daily if we choose to watch or listen to the media.
I am noticing how people I run into throughout the day describe how their lives are going. Listening to the words they are using, whether they empower the person or disempower them. Watching how their whole physical appearance can shift as they either talk about the joys in their live or the hardships. It’s this noticing that allows me to notice my own state of awareness.
During my meditations and through out the day I question, what is faith? What does that mean and if I am feeling doubtful, how can I muster up the strength and resiliency to go there?
What I have noticed is that as I move through the day it takes faith. Just crossing a street there is the deep knowingness that I will make it to the other side. When I speak in front of a group of people, there is the inner knowingness that I will get my message across. And yet if I am in a place of doubting my knowingness, I get stuck in my insecurities and feel vulnerable, thus slipping out of faith and into fear. Sometimes this shift is so subtle that it takes me a moment to notice it.
At times I think about what faith is too much and discover that is a way to get hung up in the details of faith rather than trusting the divine unfolding, which is done in the invisible realm, known as quantum physics. Something I can’t even wrap my mind around. When I think about it, my ego gets involved and I start to look for loopholes or question the whole process rather than just being with it.
In the morning I open the day with an intention, which is, “show me faith in ways that I can understand.” Within this intention are 4 steps that I follow.
- The first one is my deep belief in the perfection of my life, and how everything unfolds perfectly. There are no accidents only opportunities.
- The second one is the confidence that I will step into the day with. It is with this deep confidence that I will be able to look at any situation with an open heart and compassionate eyes. Knowing that there are no problems only situations.
- The third step is trust. Trusting that I will be shown the way and when I find myself forcing a situation that I will stop and re-evaluate my direction.
- The fourth step is the deep inner knowing of how interconnected we all are with each other and with the Universe. Being part of the wondrous web of life that supports my every move and action.
And so I enter into my day with wonderful expectations of how perfectly my day will unfold. The perfection in meeting the right people, receiving information that I have been waiting for or a wonderful opportunity to do my work and to be of service.
At the end of the day, I look back on all that transpired with gratitude. Especially those parts that were uncomfortable for me because that is where I receive the perfect lesson, if I am able to release the drama and story behind it. I can then begin to see how everything in my life has been perfect and that I have been divinely guided by blind faith.
_______________________________________________
Catherine VanWetter is a Holistic Family Healing Practitioner trained in a variety of healing techniques that help people find peace within themselves. She invites you to be gentle, compassionate, and courageous as you put down your weapon of choice and step into a field of Grace.
Her newest book and meditation CD, "The Soul of the Heart", offers inspiration, deep healing and hope. Catherine invites you to listen to her Morning Meditation, Welcoming A New Day, Free at
http://www.ToTheHeartOfTheMatter.com.
Visit Catherine's blog:
http://totheheartofthematter.com/blog.html
Interact with Catherine: Twitter: @SouloftheHeart Facebook: Catherine VanWetter
Lessons from the Hibiscus ~Poem by Art Noble
LESSONS FROM THE HIBISCUS
~ by Art Noble, 6/29/93
At dawn,
I note a loosening
of dew wrapped petals:
by mid-morn
my blossom unfolds.
I peer at the shrub,
the bumps
where buds will be,
pink
peeking through emerald
for opening tomorrow,
or the day after.
The marvelous blossoms,
including mine,
and the dead ones
from yesterday.
Which of these
is perfect now?
When open,
each lives only today
as my today
will be dead tomorrow,
as my now
becomes my then.
My website is
www.myspace.com/asacredfemale.
Selected Poetry ~ by Marion Mantel
DISENLIGHTENMENT
Obsessed by quest of grail – a promise made
this soul agreed to dress in mortal shell
just for a while, distress for bliss to trade
and freeing missing soul-parts from grief’s hell
So willingly, the contract then was signed
and journey soon embraced to planet Earth
all subtle bodies, layers, sheaths aligned
then followed by this body’s painful birth
But less enthusiasm than was planned
provoked this path in realms of karmic law
Who am I ? just a footprint in dry sand
pursuing promised diamond without flaw
And then, without announcement, it was there
Yet, no more “I”, who for that gem would care
SOUL RETRIEVAL
My soul set free to soar in lofty heights
I leave behind the shell of old belief
Unburden now my spirit from past plights
That darkened childlike soul with wrath and grief
Revisiting old systems on my quest
My teachers wish me well before they leave
Their work is done, I leave their presence blessed
While, one by one, my soul-parts I retrieve
I'm healed from times of old, the path is gone
The past has merged with present moment's grace
My gaze is peaceful while it rests upon
The mystery contained in timeless space
With joy, I leave behind the thorny road
My soul installed in freedom’s sweet abode
AKASHIC CONFESSIONS
I am silent space hosting all elements
subtle substratum of vibration and sound
omnipresent expansiveness without boundaries
invisible magician of mystic transformation
I know not of earth’s solid structure of foundation
nor am I burdened by its defensive walls of rigidity
for I am weightless touch of butterfly’s wing
lighthearted freedom of unlimited formlessness
I feel not fire’s fervent flames of passion
nor am I shattered by its volcanic explosions of anger
for I am soothing coolness of ocean’s breeze
sangfroid essence of eternal emptiness
I move not with water’s whimsical waves of devotion
nor do I drown in its stagnant pools of nostalgia
for I am innocent smile on baby’s lips
detached presence of solemn serenity
I soar not in air’s creative currents of inspiration
nor do I fear its impulsive tornados of rebellion
for I am soundless whisper of angel’s voice
immobile center of blissful oneness
Meet me in the core of your undisturbed mind
I am the space between two thoughts
the stillness between two breaths
my expression is silence - my nature peace
Follow me to the primordial source of manifestation
comforting cradle of your sighing soul
for I am akasha residing in Purusha
your own subtle spirit dwelling in Oneness
The Human Condition
Encased in bone, flesh, marrow and tendons
Struggling with feelings and emotions
That distract from one’s true purpose.
Experiencing highs and lows intensified by mortal limitations
Disappointments are acute,
Superficial success fleeting.
Plagued by a yearning to search for a unifying thread,
Connecting humanity to the divine
All in the span of a single human lifetime.
~ by Marion Mantel
Visit: http://mariananda.free.fr/
The Artist ~ Short story by John Vann
The Artist
WOW!
Brightness!
Vision?
Confusion.
Where am I?
Where is this?
Not dark.
But see nothing.
No window, no door.
Wall ends where? Floor begins where?
Nothing more to question!
See a little more now. Something in the corner.
Round on sides, but flat on top. Seems to have a handle. It swings up.
I can lift it with this handle. It has weight to it. The flat top seems to have a lip. I run my finger around it. It is smooth. I put my finger underneath. POP.
COLOR!
The round thing with the flat top has liquid color in it! The color is cold on my fingers, but very interesting. It drips on the ground and sticks to the wall. It even sticks to the ceiling when I throw it. It's really nice! So much more interesting. I don't like drab walls. I'll throw this liquid color around. And more... and some more.. This is fun! I throw and dribble and drop and splatter.... I will do this more! I will do this all day!
===========
I awake to lots of sprinkled and spattered color. I sure did a lot yesterday. Funny.. I remember it felt nice to do yesterday, and I thought it looked really good, but today I don't like it...it looks stupid. I go over to the cans and open them like I did yesterday. Much easier to open them today. And there's something here I hadn't noticed yesterday.. a stick with hair on the other end.
The hair is nice and soft and all pointing the same way.
While looking at it I dropped it in the can and the liquid color stuck to it. It makes nicer drips than my fingers. And really neat spatters on the walls. I paint over my old colors from yesterday, and it looks so much better! I like this stick! I really like what I can do with it... I paint with it. I paint more and more...I am so much better at it today! I will again paint all day.
===========
I awake today to my room of painted strokes. Again, it looked nice yesterday, but today it annoys me, angers me. It's so stupid! Why did I choose to paint this color here?? I don't even know what color to paint over it! And that brush... is that all I can use? Why can't I have a better brush? Why can't I reach the ceiling better? Everything would be OK if I could only reach the darn ceiling! I don't even want to paint today.. heck with it. But it annoys me terribly... that I can only paint again and hate it tomorrow?? What's the point?? Might as well just go back to sleep.. this whole thing is stupid.
===========
I awake today and see my unchanged room. Still painted as I left it. I'm not angry anymore, but I do feel kind of hopeless. Will I ever find a better brush? Newer colors? Should I even have painted the room in the first place? Will I get in trouble? Trouble with whom? Who owns this room anyway -- who's in charge? Oh shoot... I hope I haven't pissed them off with this painting... I mean, I was just trying to kill time, you know? I didn't mean any harm by it. Will they be angry when they see it? Will they make me wash it all off? Can I even do that or is it permanent?? Oh geez... I may have made a HUGE mistake. All for the sake of a little fun! Oh Lord..... I can't face the day... I sob myself to sleep..
===========
I awake and quickly remember my anxiety. Am I in trouble with the Landlord? I don't know... how will I ever know? But I guess what's done is done, right? If I'm to face the consequences... well, so be it. I sure hope the landlord is a forgiving type. And then it dawns on me! I can paint it back to the original drab color! I've learned how to paint well, so I'll give it a try now.. There we go, paint over and over and ... over... and over... hmmm... can't quite cover it all up.
I keep painting... I keep trying to cover it up... all... day... I... TRY....
I've done all I can do! I mean, it looks pretty good... but is it good enough for the Landlord? I think it is... but is he really picky? I mean... I tried! I really tried!! It ought to be good enough, I put in a good effort here! Damn it! Despite my best efforts to undo my mistake... it's clear what I did. I can't cover it up... And if he doesn't like it, ... well.. tough! I mean, how was I to know? It's totally unfair to expect me to NOT paint, and then hand me ALL THIS PAINT to use!!! What kind of a Landlord does that?? That would be totally cruel! I'll tell you, if that's the case, then I want no part of this Landlord. He can go stick it! If he doesn't like it, too bad!
===========
I awake to my nearly drab room, with my old paint subtly shining through. And today, the drab seems to compel me to ignore my fear of the Landlord. I really don't like the drab here, and I'm here now, and I need to make the best of it. The drab is just going to sap my strength, and since Landlord will know I've painted anyway, I may as well paint it MY way.
This is my room, at least for now, and I think I have the right to decorate it in my fashion. I reopen the paints in such a different mind than in the past -- I'm excited. Not with the blank curiosity of my first day, or the reckless abandon of my next, and certainly not compelled by the fear of most recent. I'm here... right now... and the wall calls to me. I have no one to please but myself.
And with the honest desire to do just that, I begin my work. I paint carefully where I wish, and aggressively where I wish. One color here, a different there, all because it is what _I_ want to see. I'm the one who is in the room... I'm the one who must see this every day. Makes sense that I make it the way I like it. This is my driving force as I continue. By day's end, I am tired.. and achy... and... rather satisfied. A plethora of colors, strokes, blends, drops and splatters.
Every square inch its own story, and the more I look, the more I see. I even notice how areas I did separately blend together in a way I didn't notice at the time. Interesting! You can tell what I was thinking and feeling at any point on the wall! I've truly left my mark here! I mean, it's not a masterpiece, but it's me.. and it's honest... and it's rich and vibrant and full of life. Come to think of it, I guess it IS a masterpiece! It is.. MY masterpiece... It is..... ME!
===========
I awake... finally... to the sound of the opening door. A door I had never seen before in my room. On the other side of the door, I could not see, or truly.. perceive. I could SEE, but I could not understand. And yet, I felt that I will.. soon.. A figure slowly steps in to the room with a smile of a long lost friend. No words, just that smile. He looks around, slowly and carefully, at every blessed paint stroke.
Every drop, every drip, every streak. Such care in his examination! Throughout, he would smile and nod before continuing. I felt no urge to interrupt him, I was rather intrigued... he now DID seem familiar, as if a friend from long ago... after quite some time -- I'm not sure how long -- I spoke to him. I spoke! I hadn't spoken in... well, I can't remember when I last spoke! But I spoke, saying:
"Do you like it?"
He turned to me with that amazing smile... "Yes! Of course I do! I love it. How could I not?"
I commented, "Did I do OK? I mean... there was no instruction, no list of rules. No way for me to know what to do... so I just did what I thought was right, you know?"
He nodded knowingly. "You've done very very well indeed. It's so unique... there's nothing like this in the entire universe."
I wasn't quite prepared for all the accolades here.. "Well... thank you. You can paint over it if you need to..."
"Oh no. I would never do that. This will stand forever. It is a masterpiece indeed, and I thank you for your efforts!"
I'm feeling quite humbled now.. "Wow... I mean.. what are the odds that I'd do a good enough job to earn that kind of praise?"
And through that smile, which now seemed so much more familiar, he said "I never had a doubt!"
As we walked through the door, and left my room behind, I began to really see what had happened, and to really see what my room ended up becoming. It truly was a masterpiece -- perhaps not measured by the strokes of paint themselves, but of the efforts I went through to get the final result.
The room is the testimonial to the process, and as such, is a record of all that I had experienced. And here it was for all to see now, anyone could go into my old room and through the layers of paint, be told the story of 'me', what I was, how I was feeling, when I was tested... it's all there... forever.
You know... I may want to paint another room sometime......