Stories
Stories
Artwork by Janaka
Stories # 1
"The
Ant and the Honey"
By Janaka
There once lived a little ant that was no one very special. It was
just one of those worker types that would go out from the Nest with the rest and join in
the stream of ants, the Way. Like every worker it would find some choice little bits of
food and then struggle with its load to carry back to the Queen.
Everyday from dawn to dusk the same.
Then one day the ant noticed something strange. It seemed as though while many
were leaving in search of food as usual, fewer appeared to be returning as the day
progressed. It shrugged this observation away immediately and went out into the Way with
its fellow workers.
As it scurried along with its antennae waving about, out of the corner of its
eyes it saw a huge tunnel appear from out of the sky, touch the ground to its left where
several other ants had been scurrying.
Then it disappeared, along with the other ants.
In a panic it stopped several of its mates and said:
‘Stop! There is something wrong here.’
Just as the others were about to ask what exactly it referred to, several ants
came marching up with golden droplets in their pincers.
’Wrong!?’ said the leader of this group. ‘Only a fool would say
there is something wrong here. Look at all this honey we have. We have hit the Mother
Lode! The Queen will be so pleased.’
‘But I saw something come out of the sky and the next moment a bunch of us
were gone,’ said the ant.
However, no one stayed to listen; off went its companions to get some of that
honey, while the others raced back with their sweet prize.
‘Well, maybe I was just imagining it,’ the ant reasoned to itself.
And off it raced to reach the honey.
Yet no sooner had it began, again it saw the tunnel from the sky come down and
its shadow fall over another group of ants. And then the tunnel and the ants were gone.
With great panic the ant tried to stop the others racing ahead. Yet now the Way
flowed with excited ants that could think of nothing else but that honey. The ant
desperately tried to slow the other workers in order to explain to them what it saw. None
slowed. They crashed into the ant or just ran over it, ignoring its urgent pleas.
Finally, one of the soldier ants came up, twice as large as the little worker
ant, with its huge mandibles.
The soldier will listen, the worker ant said to itself.
‘What are you doing blocking the way?’ said the soldier ant to the
worker. ‘Out of the way, you fool, there is honey ahead.’
‘Wait! You don’t understand. Something terrible is happening. Honey
is not ahead. It’s death! Death, I tell you! We must all go back!’
‘You are a mad ant. And madness has no place in the Nest. If you do not
cease such nonsense and get back to work, it will indeed be death for you!’
The little worker continued along the Way, out of respect for those mandibles;
yet it no longer looked straight ahead.
Constantly it gazed skyward. Searching.
Until the ant saw it come again.
However this time it saw not only the tunnel, but to where the tunnel lead. And
indeed it lead to death; for the ant knew now what it was.
‘Go back! Go back! An anteater! Death is here! Go back!’ it yelled
while moving out of the Way.
But the Way was racing as news had reached the Nest. There was only one thought
of the Nest--the honey!
And the little worker watched them all disappear up the dark tunnel.
Janaka currently lives in the Monterey Bay Area in California where he is a
Waldorf teacher, artist, writer and tarot reader. He is the author of ‘Silent
Ripples: Parables for the Soul’ and ‘Footprints Along the Shore of an Incoming
Tide.’ He can be reached at janaka_om@yahoo.com
or at 831-484-2354 to order books, set up an appointment to see his art work or for a
tarot reading.
   
      
Stories # 2
"The Silent Heart of
Camelot"
By Stuart Wilde
Camelot is a dimension of the heart that you can’t see. It is
beyond the mind in the realm of subtle feelings. Yes, we can intuit its presence through
sensuality and softness, but mostly it remains hidden away, defying us.
That is because while many pretend to be nice, deep within they are anything
but nice. We are taught from an early age and on through our adult years, how to
manipulate others with social niceties and sexual favors or money; we manipulate to ensure
people hold us in good stead. Sometimes we use subtle or not-so-subtle threats to ensure
their allegiance. Few will admit to their hidden resentments and the true disdain and
hatred they hold for humanity.
This is so because those dark emotions are buried deep within the subconscious.
What we call ‘the mind’ is our waking intellect. But most of the mind, what we
truly are, is hidden away. Looking at the pain that is housed in the lie of your nice
guy-nice girl persona isn’t considered entertaining. The ego is a one-party state. It
reacts to anyone challenging what it sees as its supreme power over the mental legislation
that defines how you see yourself.
The dimension of Camelot, it’s legend so to speak, is hidden in a
transdimensional world that reflects its protected and sacred nature. It is in a lush
dreamscape of benevolence, respect, chivalry, honor, and a genuine goodness. One
can’t pretend in that celestial world; what you are is obvious for everyone to see.
You can’t hustle your way in with influence and gifts, phony sentiments and socially
pleasing wet-licks-in–the-ear.
The true heart is hidden in a radiance—a celestial cloud of softness and
feelings—one that is beyond fear, one that is truly accommodating and accepting of
others. It is the gentle eye cast across the panorama of our human affaires, without
judgment and self-interest. This celestial heart I speak of is humble and overawed by the
spiritual journey; it seeks nothing for itself, so by its very nature it is humble. It is
honored by the fact it has been given a chance to redeem itself.
It knows to discover the true transdimensional world it has to be accepted
there, so it willingly travels through the shadows of the mind, admitting to its
contradictions and its hidden evil. It knows if it is blind or too grand, or too much of a
know-all, it will never be reconciled in the gentle embrace of everything eternal. It
knows it will need help. The help of those who have gone before.
Parzival, on his long journey searching for the Grail Castle and the holy Cup
of the Grail, finally arrives at a riverbank. There he mills about not knowing what to do.
He knows the Grail Castle is on the other side of the river, but he doesn’t know how
he will get across. His life now seems empty. He is tired and in pain, he doesn’t
know how to proceed.
The river is where we all arrive sooner or later. It’s where our study and
perception has carried us beyond the mundane, but we find we are still stuck in the
endless repetition of the banalities of life. We reach for the infinite, never seeming to
grasp it. Even when we find that momentary bliss, it soon slips from our grasp.
Eventually to Parzival’s rescue, comes an old ferryman dressed in rags. He
agrees to take Parzival across the river. Parzival is a great knight with many triumphs to
his name, so quite naturally he looks down on the ferryman imagining him to be his
inferior.
The strange thing about the Grail journey is that we all have to have some sort
of divine inspiration in order to begin. We have to believe that we are divinely guided.
Yet, in those early visions or dreams or strange extrasensory phenomena that set you on
the path, is the propensity to imagine one is selected or chosen. Almost every religious
or New Age teacher or student has fallen for the cult of the ‘chosen one’. It is
a trap.
Parzival’s disdain for the ferryman comes from the fact that Parzival has
to believe he is special or he would never have embarked on the journey and arrived at the
river. It was his sense of selection and the idea of his ‘special destiny’,
which drove him on where so many others failed. Without the illusion of his specialness,
he would have quit long ago.
But as yet, he doesn’t see the contradiction that rests in his shadow
side. He can’t see how his pride and the haughty ways of the knight separate him from
humanity. For while he made a great show of his bravery, through the help and protection
he offered the less fortunate, he doesn’t see it was from a deep inner sense of
separation from humanity and God.
It was a high horse from which Parzival secretly looked down and hated
humanity. For deep inside Parzival’s illusion of grandeur, he does not want to be
associated with ordinary men. They are mortals of low-birth and ignorant. He is a divinely
selected being on his way back to God, destined for great things. Has his intuition not
proven over and over that Parzival has his very own direct communication to God? Has it
not told him he is so important and different, so much so, that he believes every word
that goes off in his head is God talking to him directly, leading him on? His arrogance is
such that even when in the past those instructions, which he believed to be from God, got
him into terrible pain and torment, he ignored the obvious. Concluding instead that his
misfortune was a challenge devised by God to test his faith—poor fool.
Parzival would swear blind he had loved and served people, fighting on the side
of good, and yet in the truth, he used the idea to sustain his pompous self-image. While
he pretended to fight for the light he was actually creating more and more darkness. He
liked to pretend to be the servant and protector of the less fortunate, but while he did
that he looked down on them. He pretends to be brave while in effect, he is the sniveling
coward unable to face his shadow. He pretends to embrace humanity but he can’t, can
he? For if he does so, he would have to get off his spiritual pedestal and admit he was
not special or selected.
Parzival is stuck on the riverbank until he sees that he doesn’t know it
all, and until he realizes that he is not so grand as he thinks he is, and that he will
need help. A while later, the ferryman arrives to carry him across. In the real world most
of the would-be Parzivals, both men and women, die from a self-imposed abandonment from
God’s grace (the separation of the devil), before the realization comes to them.
As the ferryman rows across the river, the knight inquires if the ferryman
knows the way to the castle. The humble boatman answers saying, "I myself will thy
host be and thou fail not to find the way." Of course, Parzival hasn’t realized
as yet that this outwardly insignificant character is in fact the Fisher-King. It is he
that commands the Grail, it is the Fisher-King who will accept Parzival or not into the
Grail Castle. Parzival is still the one-eyed fool, blind to what is under his nose.
The Fisher-King knows the Grail Castle is in a 10-dimensional world. In a
heart-space woven through the lush fabric of grace, benevolence and a silent goodness. To
arrive in a transdimensional place over the river with the shadow still in place would be
a terrifying thing. Instead of drinking from the Cup of the Grail, Parzival would soon
find he was at dinner with the devil in hell.
The transdimensional celestial world knows how to protect you from yourself. It
also knows how to protect itself from your presence, which might explain why some have
been delayed in their forward progress. I always say jokingly, ‘Make a left at the
grand illusion’, meaning of course, if you don’t turn from the illusion you will
fall into a demonic world that will scare you terribly.
The humble ferryman knows the nature of the transdimensional world as he has
taken hundreds across and he cares for Parzival out of selflessness, even though he knows
Parzival is silently looking down on him with a lofty disdain. The Fisher-King warns the
young knight saying, "Be thy thanks as is our tendance, as thou ridest around the
hill, have a care lest the wood mislead thee, such mischance would but please me."
"Be thy thanks as is our tendance…" is old English, it is the
instruction to the traveling knight to be grateful and to be humble, as is the tendency of
all those who have a soft, silent heart—the few that have ever found Camelot.
The part where the ferryman says, "…as thou ridest around the
hill…" suggests that the dimension you are looking for is not where you think it
to be. In the sense that it might be round a corner. (We know from the morph there are
celestial dimension at an angle of 90º). *
"…have a care lest the wood mislead thee," warns Parzival that
the dullness (wood) of the intellect and the ego doesn’t usually see the
contradictions, half-truths, and lies it has accepted as fact.
Parzival finds the castle eventually, and he sees the Grail only to have it
taken from him. He is not ready; he is the divinely inspired fool. His destiny is to
return. But not before he has traveled many long years through the darkness of his soul,
the darkness he swore blindly wasn’t there.
We all find the Grail in moments of ecstasy, but it slips away because we think
our heart is open, but often it is not. Parzival’s redemption comes in several ways.
First, he must go through the pain and sorrow of losing the Grail. You see, Parzival was
so grand he felt that as a ‘chosen one’ the Grail would be granted to him
naturally by right, as a gift, because of his importance, his specialness, because of his
feigned good works on behalf of God. He has to go through the sadness of realizing that
that approach did not work. Quite the reverse, it was the very reason he lost his place at
the Grail Castle. His ejection was the sacred heart of Camelot protecting itself from his
darkness.
Then he has to admit that deep within he hates humanity, while pretending to
protect and save them. He has to see how that came about. He has to realize it was because
he fell for the cult of the chosen one. He has to see the soul-crushing arrogance of that.
Then he must descend from his lofty, self-imposed hell, and embrace humanity with all its
sores and wounds, its pain and darkness. He has to love people and serve them and accept
them as he finds them. He has to see that he is nothing special—just one more
traveler trying to get back to God.
For a long time Parzival wondered why he had no friends; why people rarely paid
him or acknowledged him, nor did they offer him much help. Why, when he had fought so hard
on their behalf, did no one care? He has to realize that all the time he was pretending to
be so good and kind the high horse of his shadow—his elitism, was taking him toward
darkness and the devil. It was no surprise people shunned him, they weren’t going to
pay homage to a would-be devil; they had enough problems of their own.
Parzival has to reconcile the light and dark within him. When he fought and
defeated the Black Knight, he was in fact fighting the darkness within himself. There was
no black knight. He invented his adversary, creating him from his thoughts, in order that
he might be able to prove his worth. He needed evidence of his bravery and his holiness.
He knew deep within that believing he was divinely selected was a falsehood of the ego, it
was part of his lack of worthiness and proper understanding. It was how he created a
separation from God. But mostly it was how he silently challenged God, believing he was as
good as God, if not better. It’s the crime of the fallen angel. So Parzival points
his lance at the evil one and puts the Black Knight to death, to sustain the lie of
Parzival’s special status—his feigned holiness if you like.
It’s a terrible moment when he sees his mistake. He suddenly realizes the
Black Knight was really a saint sent by God to teach him about his hidden darkness and
evil. Parzival has to go through the terrible torment of listening to the devil laughing
at him, mocking him, for the devil has tricked Parzival into killing one of God’s
special soldiers.
To be continued…
Excerpted from "The Sacred Heart of Camelot" by Stuart Wilde. To be
published in mid-2002, as an e-book by Brookemark LLC.
Author and lecturer Stuart Wilde is one of the
real characters of the self-help, human potential movement. His style is humorous,
controversial, poignant and transformational. He has written 11 books, including those
that make up the very successful Taos Quintet, which are considered classics in
their genre. They are: Affirmations, The Force, Miracles, The Quickening and The
Trick to Money Is Having Some. Stuart's books have been translated into 12 languages.
Stories # 3
"Once
Upon A Time: A Story from the Beginning"
By Thomas Gabriel
Once upon a time, in the far
reaches of Paradise beyond the realm of earthly time and laws of space, gravity, distance,
and all the things we know and live by in the physical worlds, there dwelt a beautiful
spirit named Amara. She was of feminine energy and lived her life in the shimmering pink
light of heart love, knowing neither desire nor want, for in spirit all that she dreamt
was hers, and all that was hers she nurtured and cared for with a joy that grew fuller in
each gift of loving abundance.
Farther on, in a glade of crystalline white light, there lived a male spirit named
Abadon. Possessed also of magnificent heart and shining beauty, he lived for the
adventures he dreamed for himself, and took great delight from the dream victories he won
in his magical quests and the escapades that led to these triumphs -- and while in these
magnificent adventures none were ever truly vanquished or hurt, nonetheless he exulted in
the enthusiasm of stretching himself to the utmost and learning, indeed, of the limitless
courage in his heart.
And it came to pass that in a bright, timeless morning in Paradise, when the great
central Sun of All That Is shone its brilliance even unto the farthest spiraling corners
of the heavens, these two spirits became aware of each other, and gazed upon one another's
radiance. In a flash of exploding, brilliant light they saw, and when the brilliance faded
they moved shyly but firmly toward one another and touched hands -- and in the beauty of
that simple joining, their hearts awakened to each other and they knew.
In this place beyond time there existed no past or future, but only the great swirling
vortex of Now. And in that great Now, their knowing gave birth to a merging of hearts, and
that merging created memories and understandings and possibilities dreamed and made
manifest, all in that one great Moment. And Amara's joyful heart and Abadon's loving
courage were called forth and reborn and fulfilled in all that came to pass and be true
between them, and all the Past and all the Future became, and merged withal in one
extraordinary Instant.
And when the Father of Spirits beheld their play, he rejoiced and sent the Mother to go
and be with them, and she went to sit with Amara and Abadon at the edge of the Glade of
Light.
"Tell me what you have learned, Dear Ones," she spoke.
They looked upon her radiance and were for a moment fearful, for they felt only the
light of oneness between them but in truth no greater understanding, no knowledge or
learning, other than that one great Merging. And they knew that to seek these things and
experience them always was, above all but Love itself, the constant and forever changing
law of All That Is.
The Mother knew their understanding and smiled with joy, and they bathed in its warmth
and love. And then, in her deep tones of musical light, she spoke:
"So, my children, already you know the oneness of the knowledge the Father has set
forth in you. I am so pleased that you see the great need of the task I shall set before
you. For so it is that love yet untested, yet untempered, is like Spirit that has yet no
form, no will to direct itself. Do you not wonder, Amara, why you find such joy in the
abundance of love that you give, and you, Abadon, why your magical, perilous quests awaken
in you that same loving enjoyment?"
"And do you not see why you drew so very close in that Love that is beyond any
joining of the moment but is the very seed of that joining as surely as the Life you
manifest is the seed of I, your Mother, and He, your Father?"
"You have made your choice and it shall be honored, for it comes from your merged
Heart. Where Paradox confuses and clouds the reality of all shall your oneness be tempered
and grow. A thousand times a thousand fleeting times to live shall be yours, and great
shall be the tasks, and arduous the paths to find your Selves and the Life that is One in
you.
"There will be times when you shall weep with joy for one brief glimpse of the
true Way before your deaths, and other times when you shall seek to hide yourselves from
the very same Light you so joyously embody now. You will turn from one another many times,
and reach out to each other as many times, and there will be dark days when you do not
even see the Life, the Spirit that joins you and that you so fervently seek. In sadness I
say to you, these times you shall not even recognize one another.
"And when the hour comes that you shall choose to see once more, the opportunity
shall come to shake off the chains of Great Illusion, but beware -- for in the
consciousness you shall inherit, that which enchains shall seem much like freedom, and the
freedom you shall dimly recall from your life here shall seem unto you much like a dreaded
fire.
"But if you can hold to the Spark of what you truly are, the dross shall burn
away, the Light shall come again, and all your burdening fears shall give way to lessons
learned, and depth and beauty unveiled in your hearts.
"My children, we rejoice at your opportunity and marvel at your courage in
choosing.
"It is time."
They rose and stood before her touching hands, Amara and Abadon one last time. And the
Mother gently called the wind from the place of the Father.
And they were souls, and knew solitude.
And they journeyed to the place of their incarnations, and chose their trials and
possibilities.
And they were born into bodies, and knew isolation and belonging, happiness and
grief, and the passage of time, in all of which they would search for Themselves and for
all they had manifested in that Instant that knew no time.
And so began the quest of Amara and Abadon.
Stories # 4
"The
Sacred Feminine and the Celtic Lands"
By Talia Rose
1) The Sacred Feminine and the Celtic
Lands
2) Life and Legend
3) The True Nature of the Christ
4) The Feminine as a Doorway to the Central Sephirot
5) The Earth and Her Holy Children are One
I write of the Mysteries, and more specifically of the mysteries
of that which I call the sacred feminine. The
very nature of mystery is an energy or circumstance that cannot be defined by the
analytical mind. So as I proceed, I ask you
to keep that in mind. I will share what I
know as I might share a dream, or what I like to call the waking dream. It is based upon my own experience, much of
which I have gained through my own sacred pilgrimages in England, Ireland, Scotland, and
Wales, as well as teachings and insights that I have received from others, and my own
actual dreams.
There is an Energy upon this Earth that throughout time has been
variously worshipped, respected, or cast down and genocided. This is the Energy of what I call the sacred
feminine, or the magical feminine. It is that
power of the receptive, that power of the creative, that gift of the magical, which is
raised to its highest. Through this Energy at
the most basic and important level comes Birth. All
peoples have entered through this doorway. Yes,
it’s true; there is not a single person, not a single being upon this earth who does
not have a Mom.
In ancient times, much of the people’s ‘religion’
was based upon this single fact. In many
ancient societies, (i.e. – Sumeria,
ancient India, ancient Ireland), women were revered.
They, (we), after all, were the life-givers. In Ireland, there are intricately
carved statues of women holding open enormous vaginas.
These are called sheela n’a gigs and were hung over the doorways of churches,
of homes, of places of work. These statues
were thought to bring luck and protection, and an ancient Celtic edifice could not be
without one. A woman’s private parts were considered the sacred of sacreds, the
doorway through to life itself.
There is a story about Cucullan, who was a renowned Celtic warrior
back in the old days. He was said to be
fearless and invincible. The only problem was
he was also a ‘beserker’, which means he was given to holy and uncontrollable
rages. When these occurred on the
battlefield, which they often did, it was a great boon to his tribespeople. However, it seems that these rages were
unpredictable; they could happen anywhere at anytime, kind of like epileptic episodes. Sometimes it was said that they occurred in His
own King’s Hall. At these times,
three respected women would be brought into the hall.
They would raise their skirts to reveal their private parts and Cucallan would fall
to the floor weeping and asking forgiveness, for the most sacred of sacreds had been
revealed to him.
According, to legend, dreams, and prophecy, there is another kind
of Birth for which the sacred feminine is the doorway.
It is the birth of humanity into its awakened state.
One of the most famous and beloved goddesses in all of the Celtic
Lands is known as Bridie. When the Church
came to Ireland, she was canonized as Bridgett. No
matter what she is called, the power and beauty of whom she truly is remains. She is pictured dressed all in green, sitting in a
Forest Glade, singing to the trees, the animals, the very winds that blow through the
trees. Her voice is the essence of love; it
is the catalyst for awakening. She is known
as the Mother of All. She is also known as
the poet, the flame, the healer, and the midwife of Christ.
It is said that she currently resides on a small island way in the north of
Scotland – this island is known as Iona. There,
she sits in the hilltops, waiting for the women to arrive.
When at last they come, she will come down to the shores of that place to meet
them. She will wash their feet and braid
their hair. So it is that an age of peace and
joy will come to the Earth.
There is one more aspect of the ancient Celtic Legend that I wish
to address, and this is the legend of Avalon. There
has been much publicity about this particular aspect, owing largely to the wonderful book
by Mariam Zimmer Bradley, “Mists of Avalon”.
However, my sense is that the core of the Truth of what Avalon was and indeed still
is has yet to be acknowledged by truth seekers of the present time. According to what I have been told, the very word
Avalon has several meanings. Avalon is a word
for Rose. It is also a word for Christ. Here is a legend that I discovered when I was
visiting southern England, the Land where it was said that Avalon once actually existed.
There in the south of England, near Glastonbury, is a large green grassy hill known as The
Tor.
It is said that when Jesus the Christ went up on the cross, one of
his last acts was to gift his Uncle Joseph of Arimathea the Chalice from the Last Supper;
(yes, this is the same chalice which in the Arthurian legends is known as The Holy
Chalice). Into this sacred object Jesus
placed an energetic transmission of the Teachings, of the Great Mystery, that he embodied. He said to his uncle, “Joe, take this
chalice, and sail with it across the sea. Give
it to the Priestesses at Avalon, and they will know what to do with it.”
“Okay,” says Joe, being the beautiful, and loyal
disciple of the Mysteries that he was. Luckily,
Joseph was a well-to-do merchant, with a number of finely outfitted ships. So sail across
the sea he did. When he arrived at Avalon, he
presented the Chalice to the Priestesses. “Thank you,” they said. “We’ve been waiting for this.” They took it and buried it beneath the Tor. It is
said that in the place that they buried it 6 streams sprang forth. Three of them were red, and three were white. It was prophesized at that time that in ‘the
latter days’ (i.e. – now) there would be a seventh stream that would you unite
all the six. When this stream appears,
peace and well-being would come to all peoples of the Earth. This would be a fulfillment of ‘The Kingdom
of Summer’, which was the promise that was given to Arthur.
The Question may now arise. What
exactly was/is this promise? There are other
ways to ask this question. I wish to
volunteer a few of them.
l) What was Jesus the Christ’s true
message?
2)
What Truth is at the Core of all Mystery Teachings?
3)
What is the True Destiny of Humanity and this Precious Earth on which we Live?
4) What Does it mean to move from the Fourth
Age to the Fifth (Hopi)?
It is said that at this time “All of Creation watches and
waits for Her Body to Be Made Whole”.
I cannot myself answer any of these questions in mere words. I can come closer in music and song. And perhaps the Heart of Silence is the best
answer of all. I will answer these questions with yet other
questions. For what is it that humanity, that
the Jews, the Tibetans, the ‘witches’ of the middle ages (9 million men, women,
and children who were burnt, tortured, and imprisoned) have suffered? Why has Leonard Peltier, who by all accounts is an
innocent man, been imprisoned for 27 years?
Why has Henry Wallace, an ex black panther been in solitary confinement for thirty
years in Angola State Prison in Louisiana? In
other words, what is the true nature of suffering?
The Cherokee People knew that the white race was coming to this
continent long before we arrived. They were
awaiting a vast purification that had been prophesied by their medicine people. Such a purification, they felt, was essential if
we were to enter the doorway of the next age.
It is the people of true heart I believe, who have from the level
of the Higher, chosen to take this upon themselves, so that at last the cords of illusion, could be broken and all sentient beings
could be set free. It has been said by many, and I believe this to be true, that it is the
sacred feminine that is the doorway to the Spiritual Birthing of Humanity.
I do not pretend to know exactly what this means. In my heart I simply know it to be true.
Allow me to give you yet another image. There is a vast body of knowledge known as the
‘Kabbalah”, which literally means receiving.
This knowledge appears to me to be a map of energy, of the way the Cosmos works. It includes teachings on ‘The Tree of
Life’, on the 22 paths to knowledge, on the sacred nature of numbers (gematria), on
Angels, colors, and sound. I do not
pretend to be a master kabbalist in any sense of the word.
However, from the little I know, I wish to share what I believe to be a key. The Central Sephirot (or world) from the Tree of
Life (there are 11) is called Tiferet. When I
meditate upon it, this is what I see.
1) It is golden.
2)
The ‘window’ through to understanding the true nature of Tiferet is
Beauty.
3)
It is the core of ‘what is’
4)
It has been called by many names, including “T’air De N’og”
(the Land of the Ever Burning Heart in Gaelic), “Paradise” in Arabic,
“Heaven” in Hebrew, and the “Spirit World” in Lakota.
5)
It is not a physical place. Rather it
is an energetic dimension that is almost impossible to understand through our 3
dimensional physical minds. You may say that it can only be accessed through the heart. For instance, how can our rational minds know such
attributes at ‘Faith’, as ‘Eternal Life or Love’ in an ever-changing
world of form? We cannot.
6)
I am sure that is exists, that it lives in every one of us if we could only access
it. For most, that door is locked.
7)
I believe that one of the Keys to unlocking this Doorway is within the magical
nature of the Sacred Feminine, which is to me deeply intuitive, powerfully receptive, and
aligned with the true nature of beauty.
8)
Some people meditate by sitting upright and focusing on light or mantra. I prefer to fall into the arms of the Divine
Mother, who is ever waiting to hold her true children.
Let me end by sharing another story. This is one of my own. About twelve years ago, I was called to visit
Ireland for the first time. I had a wonderful
guide; a lovely Irish man named Daniel who took me in and showed me around. He took me up to the Mount of Tara, which is a
sacred site in the southeast of Ireland, from which you can see 4 (?) counties. It is the place that the Ancient High Kings and
Queens first lit the fire for Beltaine (a Celtic High Holy-day). As I sat up on that hill I fell a rush of energy
come up into my body from the Earth Herself and tears ran down my cheeks. It was so intense.
I had never experienced anything like it before.
It felt like I was crying the tears of the Earth Herself. I bent down to touch the Earth again, to try to
understand what was happening, and I was given a vision.
I was falling, falling through a tunnel of light; On the other side I saw The
People. These people were fair of skin, tall
of build. They rode horses, lived in yurts,
laughed and cried from their hearts. What was
most remarkable about them I knew at a glance. They were free. – unlike our
modern-day brethren. I knew immediately who
they were. They are the “Tu’atha Da
Danaan” (a gaelic term meaning The Children of the Mother). I knew also that they are us, and that the Earth
is crying because she is grieving their loss. She
is waiting for her true children, the magical peoples of the earth to awaken and to
remember who we are.
Talia, who
appeared on “Bridging” Show #
140, is a teacher, healer, musician, and tour leader. She is leading tours to
Ireland (August 19-28), England (October 24-November 3), and Wales (November 3-8) in the
near future and can be reached at taliarose@earthlink.net;
415-457-5683; 707-792-1834. The
tour websites are: www.BodyMindSpiritJourneys.com
for Ireland and www.SolunaTours.com for England.
Stories # 5
"The Blessing
of Children"
By Tony Cuckson
The Blessing of Children
"A child's hand in yours what
tenderness and power arouses.
You are instantly the very touchstone
of wisdom and strength.
~ Marjorie Holmes
She said, "Children are for sharing. Not everyone can have one."
We never did. So it is a delight to share time with these creatures of being.
They are still connected to their original face. They still play in the garden of
eternity.
His name sounds as Finn. He has beautiful blue eyes and the blondest of blond
hair. He shares his name with Fionn Mac Cumhail. This is frequently anglicised
as Finn Mac Cool. Finn Mac Cool is one of the most celebrated heroes in Irish myth.
Little Finn will be tall and beautiful. Now he is small and beautiful. He is
learning to talk. He is learning to put distance between his immediacy. There
will be a time when he thinks about his life rather than allow it to flow. He will
learn to dance rather than be the dance.
Being around children reminds me that they feel their experience moment to moment.
When they look they see what is before them. They do not judge their
experience. They are their experience. This is why they are so delightful even
if sometimes they behave as if this world belonged to them and them alone. They know
this world belongs to them until they are told differently. This is their real
understanding of this world. It is we who have forgotten. They are there to
help us remember.
I am standing at the edge of Lough Allen. I have come to visit Corry Strand.
This is where I meet this giant among toddlers. My partner Barbara has met this
child before. His Mum had come to hear a concert or play at the Glen Centre in
Manorhamilton. While Mum watched the play Barbara minded child. When he became
fractious and upset she walked him down the main street. She held him close in her
arms and sang Gershwin. He settled at the sound of this melody sang softly into his
shell like ear.
He quickly learned my name. He quickly gave me the gift of his trusting
heart. It came as a delightful surprise to find him placing his little hand in
mine. He had decided he and I would take a stroll along the sand. We walked
and came to sit by the remains of a campfire. He told me stories. These were
one-word stories.
These were one word stories facilitated by finger pointing. He reminded me of the
old Zen Master who tells his student "I am only the finger pointing at the
moon." Here is my little Zen master teaching me the simplicity of seeing.
One story is "stone." The other story is "dog." Each is
direct and immediate. There is no sense of fear. There is only the continued
pointing of the finger. He makes the stones come alive. He sees them before
ever they have labels.
Too soon there will come a time when he lives in labels. Too soon he will think he
knows what a "stone" is. Soon he will forget how he once saw the wonder of
that "stone" and that "dog." He will swap wonder for knowledge.
He will swap what is partial for what is holy. He will become a rational person
rather than the mysterious little being he is.
He reminds me of Yoda in Star Wars. The force is with him. He is a wise little
being with a hand that shows art in every gesture. He shows me the gladness of the
ever-present moment. He is selfish as all children are. This is their
world. However, they love to share it with you. This world is their playground
and they want you to play here too.
On this shore of Lough Allen he reminds me of that other shore. This is the one we
seekers long to sail for. It takes us to that timeless shore where we are forever
young. My work is to do what Finn does best. I spend time patiently allowing
myself to enter this mystery of life. He is still held within it. I am the
amateur and he is the pro-fessional of presence.
He is a fount of wisdom. He does not have the words. He only has his
finger. He uses this to conduct dialogues with this mystery of life. He allows
the music of life to play through his little body. I am only a part of the orchestra
and too often I feel apart from the music. He plays all parts expertly and is the
music.
Time will be when he will forget he is the play of God. Time will wrap around him
and he will be taught to "do life." He will be taught that life has to be
earned. He will be advised that it is more important to earn a living rather than be
alive to love. He will be taught his creativity does not fit with economics.
He will become productive and competitive rather than celebratory and abundant. He
will give up his wondrousness for acceptance.
He will forget that he is forever enough. If he is lucky he will meet with other
wise men and women who will tell him to risk all for love. He will forget that love
is all he needs. He will turn from love in action to love of activity. His is
the fall from the grace of being to the non-grace of persona. We are all destined to
fall from this grace. He will be loved but he will feel separate from all that is.
When he is older he will, I hope, take another hand. He will stand on another shore.
He will remember to look at the beauty of what is without labels. He will no longer
see it the way that we lost in social consciousness see it. He will, I hope, one day
see again via his heart. The way he sees now. When this happens he will be a
giant among men. He will be Finn. He will be fair of face and fair of hair.
Thank you Finn for your instruction. I am blessed to have shared your wisdom.
You are already a giant among men. You are a child of the Universe. Never
forget little one. May the force be forever with you and may you stay forever young
in that little heart that you are so ready to share.
Tony
Cuckson is a Life Purpose Facilitator and a writer of "Irish Blessings for the
Soul."
He is author of the e-zine, "Irish Blessings", a weekly input of inspiration to
lift the heart.
www.irishblessingsmatter.com
tony@irishblessingsmatter.com
Stories
# 6
"Rolling Wonder"
By Brian Logsdon
It
was odd, he thought
That
as often as not,
In
conversation, he fiddled and fought,
He
pushed and pulled, he’d twist and cajole,
Suggest
and test, infer and refer,
He’d
name and game and deny the same,
For
what?
Insane!
He deigned,
For
what will remain
When
all is dust, including his brain,
No
good nor bad, no heaven and earth
No
body to poke, no blowing smoke,
No
talk to walk, no walk to talk,
Nothing
to gain?
Is
it there? He looked,
In
many a book,
In
relationship, he’d give; he took;
He
lived and learned, he crashed and burned,
He
lost and found, he met the ground,
He’d
sing and sigh and wonder why his god
Forsook?
And
then, he saw,
In
the midst of it all,
Submerged
within, in wonder and awe,
A
piece of the puzzle, a hint, a clue,
An
‘other’ perspective, a different view,
A
glimmer, a shimmer of love so true –
God’s
call?
This
love, he knew,
Went
through and through,
In
all situations, it’d lead him, too.
It
meant forgiveness; it sent a dove;
It
kneeled and healed in an incredible field
Of
energy and light, of softness and might,
Imbued.
And
so, he loved,
And
everything changed!
Synchronization
was all that remained!
No
judge and no jury, no wind and no fury,
In
peace and light, there was no need to fight,
No
needs, no deeds, no ‘net proceeds’ –
Surrender!
Just
love, he said,
It’s
all in your head!
In
eternity, you’ll never be dead!
No
day, no night, no end in sight,
Count
it all joy! Be girls and boys!
Take
nothing serious; just get delirious!
It’s
inbred!
This
world, he’d preach,
Is
just here to teach,
It’s
all an illusion, no conclusion to reach,
There’s
nothing to do, and nothing so true,
As
what is carried within each of you!
So
love, and love, and once again, love!
He
beseeched.
And
then, he remembered,
This,
too, was numbered,
‘Synchro-destination’
pulled all rugs from under.
Relinquish,
relent, no need to repent –
Forgive
and forget, wherever he went,
No
expectation, no desire, no outcome,
Just
“I Am.”
In
Spirit, he found,
Love
all around,
Absolutely,
in sky and in ground,
In
people, in places, in everyone’s faces,
The
truth of love beyond even good graces,
It
shone, full-blown, allowed death no more traces,
It
abounds!
And
then, no thought,
Not
even ‘Why not?’
One
destination is all of our lot,
Eternal
bliss is impossible to miss!
So
hug and laugh, and dance, and kiss!
The
journey’s over, the time is this
We’ve
got!
"Concerning all acts of initiative and creation,
there is one elementary truth--that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then
Providence moves, too." -- Goethe
Brian Logsdon (brian@sletter-inc.com)
is the Bridging representative in Great Falls, Montana and a lover of the Love.
Stories # 7
"Life Without
Lisa"
By Richard Ballo
Regardless of how rock-ribbed a person’s belief in life after death is, when a
loved one dies, the loss is very real and emotionally devastating. The loss of physical contact, the inability to
have meaningful, fulfilling conversation is often overwhelming. The knowledge that the loved one survived
so-called death and lives on in spirit is affirming, but does not negate the real loss
experienced on the earth plane.
When Lisa Ballo died from cancer at age 38, despite the fact that both she and
husband Rich knew that life goes on and had studied many spiritual/metaphysical and
alternative approaches to life and health, Rich was utterly desolate. His beloved Lisa was no longer sharing his bed,
his dreams and plans. Suddenly it was just
Rich who single-handedly had the daunting responsibility of raising his five-
and-six-year-old sons.
Despite the fact that Rich didn’t think he could go on and often didn’t
want to, he somehow survived the leaden days that followed Lisa’s death. He didn’t think it would be possible for him
to ever piece a meaningful life together again, he doubted he could ever enjoy so much as
shared laughter or any sweet moment of life.
As a professional writer, Rich recorded his personal journal by committing his
thoughts on paper. Little did he know that
his journal would become the basis for a book entitled Life Without Lisa: A Widowed
Father’s Compelling Journey Through the Rough Seas of Grief.
In the book, Rich candidly shares the healing process he went through as well as
some of the visitations he had from his wife after her death. Both Lisa and Rich firmly believed in life after
death and his experiences with Lisa from the spirit world profoundly reinforced his
belief.
“I know that my wife Lisa’s spirit still influences me and is still
around even though she ‘died’ in 1993,”
Rich emphasizes. “Since then,
Lisa has come to me mostly in my dreams. Her appearances helped me accept the fact that
her soul determined that she had to go to the other side. For whatever reasons, this is
the path her soul intended.”
Rich explains that it wasn’t just wishful thinking that brought these
experiences to him. “No matter how hard
I wished her to appear and tried to will a visitation from her, I could not force it to
happen,” he assures. Instead, according
to Rich, she just spontaneously appeared at various times without his bidding.
He reports he was comforted when she appeared to him. They would hug, but all too soon she would tell
him that she had to go. He’d say
okay, even though he didn’t want her to leave, but he knew she had to go. He had a couple of extremely vivid experiences
like that. Those were early on within the
first year after her death.
Once Lisa appeared in his bedroom in Florida.
According to Rich’s account, Lisa came and sat on the bed beside him. She was naked, but the only thing he could really
see were the surgical scars on her abdomen that had resulted from multiple surgeries to
remove various tumors. It was a very vivid
and a somewhat disquieting visitation for Rich.
After Lisa was diagnosed with cancer, she and Rich searched for answers and healing
therapies. “We went to Sedona to experience the energy vortexes. I had my palm read and she had her aura read. The guy told her that her aura was the
strangest one he had ever seen because it was bright white light from the shoulders up. This was eight months before she died. He was probably seeing her close connection to the
spirit world and her imminent return to spirit,” Rich hypothesizes.
Actually, a variety of therapies did extend her life, Rich believes. The two studied and participated in meditation,
Reiki, hemi-synch at the Monroe Institute, acupuncture, sound therapy, light therapy, and
ayurveda with Deepak Chopra at the Lancaster, MA, center he headed up at the time. She took vitamins and practiced Silva Mind Control
methods.
Lisa Ballo was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor on her 35th birthday, yet she lived
to the end of her 38th year just before turning 39. “I
am convinced all these alternative treatments benefited her because her cancer had
metastasized into her reproductive organs
just a couple of weeks after diagnosis— it
was very fast moving. After that, she went
full force into all these different well-being approaches and lived almost another four
years,” Rich explains. A woman
they knew of with the same type cancer who did not pursue alternative therapies died
within six months of diagnosis.
Since her death, Lisa’s presence has become apparent to Rich in a variety of
ways, not just through dreams and visitations.
One day just prior to publishing Life Without Lisa, publisher Karla Wheeler
was on her way to the office when she felt compelled to turn on the radio, something she
rarely did while driving, as she preferred to drive in silence. At that very moment, a
favorite song of Karla’s was playing. It was Anne Murray’s “Can I Have This
Dance for The Rest of My Life?” Karla
was struck by the fact that she must hold the presses; Life Without Lisa
couldn’t go on the press until the book gave readers personal glimpses of Lisa, such
as her favorite songs, ice cream flavors, reading material, taste in clothing, etc.
Later that morning Karla asked Rich if they could insert a few descriptions of
Lisa’s preferences and explained what prompted her to make major changes in the book
at the eleventh hour. Rich explains,“ I almost fell out of my chair. I was almost
breathless as I stammered out that Lisa loved that song so much that we chose it as our
wedding song! Karla was deeply touched by this synchronicity and told me she was convinced
this was not mere coincidence, that she felt Lisa’s spirit guiding every step of the
publishing process. Needless to say, Lisa’s likes and preferences were inserted
throughout the book, which we’ve been told adds to the book’s readership
appeal.”
Another “not a mere coincidence” involved the photograph used on the
cover of the book. Rich and his publisher
decided to select a lighthouse for the cover because it was symbolic of Lisa’s having
been a bright light to so many people.
Rich asked Allan Wood, a photographer who specializes in lighthouses and who was
Lisa’s friend in high school and became his friend as well, if he and Karla could
look at some of his shots and consider publishing one on the book cover. Allan sent about
20 lighthouse photos from which to choose. Rich and Karla picked the one that’s on
the cover because it had so much feeling to it. They
thought it characterized the conflict within Rich that is presented in the book,
representing so many facets of the process he went through.
Flowing water yet rough seas; cloudy skies with a chance of clearing and sunshine;
jagged rocks in foreground yet the comfort of a lighthouse in the background. So
that’s the shot that they used.
Weeks later when Rich visited Allan in his office to give him a copy of the book,
Rich happened to notice an enlarged, framed version of the photo hanging on his wall. Rich
says, “It dawned on me that this particular lighthouse bore a striking resemblance to
the one on Lisa’s headstone, as shown on page 207 of the book. Allan and I wondered
if it could possibly be the same lighthouse.”
Rich visited the headstone company where he bought the gravestone and asked them if
they could find out what lighthouse the etching was based on. A few days later, Karla got a phone call saying
the lighthouse used as the model for the headstone etching was Portland Head Light in Cape
Elizabeth, Maine. That’s the same one
featured on the front cover of Life Without Lisa! “We were amazed by the news
and could only conclude that Lisa had orchestrated the whole thing from the other side
since the lighthouse chosen for the book cover was identical to that of her tombstone! After all, I had never been to that lighthouse and
I didn’t pick out the gravestone; our sons did. I had no idea they were the same
exact lighthouse,” Rich says.
“I am certain Lisa’s spirit was there with the kids when they picked out
the headstone, with Allan when he sent the lighthouse photos, and with Karla and me when
we pondered the photographs. Lisa’s
presence from the other side reaffirmed that our decision on that particular photograph
for the cover was her preference. She was still being a light guiding our way,” Rich
happily concludes.
Excerpt
from the new book, "Life Without Lisa: A Widowed Father's Compelling Journey
Through the Rough Seas of Grief", by Richard Ballo
Stories # 8
"The End of
Times"
By Jean-Claude Gerard Koven
----------------------------------------
In the early part of the millennium, the
people of planet Earth underwent the most monumental shift in their history. Some made it,
many did not. This is the story of their epic struggle to break free of the illusion that
entrapped them for the last 75,000 years.
----------------------------------------
I often imagine
myself hundreds of years in the future, looking back at the present era of humankind's
transition into the next dimension. Here's a sample of what now might look like from then.
. . .
So many
beautifully phrased lines by some of the world's most brilliant writers seemed to presage
the great shift. Charles Dickens in the opening of A
Tale of Two Cities wrote: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of
times.” Thomas Paine's words seem almost clairvoyant: “These are times that try
men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from
the service of their country; but he that stands now, deserves the love and thanks of man
and woman.”
But
perhaps the most poignant and prophetic remarks came from one of the world's greatest
statesmen, who galvanized the free world with his resolve, eloquence, and unflinching
courage. In an address to the House of Commons on June 18, 1940, Winston Churchill said of
the impending battle that would soon engulf his beloved England: “What General
Weygand called the Battle of France is over. I expect that the Battle of Britain is about
to begin. Upon this battle depends the survival of Christian civilization. Upon it depends
our own British life, and the long continuity of our institutions and our Empire. The
whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us. Hitler knows that he
will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all
Europe may be free and the life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands.
But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we
have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister,
and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science. Let us therefore brace
ourselves to our duties and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its
Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, ‘This was their finest
hour.’”
Two score
and six years later, a new battle raged, pitting the forces of light against those who
would hold the populace of the planet in shackles of fear. Unlike Hitler, the redcoats of
King George, or the players in the French Revolution, the cast of the War of Transition
was not easily identified. While the earlier protagonists had boldly stepped forth and
made their intentions known, this time those who sought world control hid in the shadows
and met in secret. These were rich and powerful puppet masters whose pulling of the
strings was shrouded in anonymity. Their goal was so deceptively simple that only a
handful of Lightworkers and Planetary Servers were able to see what was actually taking
place.
From our
perspective several centuries after the great shift, it is easy to see that everything
happened as it was destined. At the time, the entire solar system was passing through a
sliver of space called the Photon Belt, a narrow radial extending outward from the central
sun (a black hole) of the Milky Way galaxy.
The belt was
primarily intended as a trigger for the rise in frequency that would shift the planet and
its inhabitants into the next density – the promised golden age of peace and love.
What wasn't fully appreciated when the plan was first set in motion was the degree of
despair and negativity that gripped humankind. As the Earth's vibrations were raised she
had little choice but to undergo significant tremors in her effort to balance the great
dissonance among the unconscious and fear-ridded dwellers on her surface. The concentrated
band of light/love energy triggered many uncommon weather patterns, volcanic eruptions,
and earthquake activities on the Earth, as well as a heightened sense of panic felt by
many people – though that was not part of the original plan.
This transition
through the Photon Belt was never meant to be a dark secret that blindsided an unwary
populace. Quite the contrary. It had been predicted for millennia by many indigenous
cultures and had been part of humanity's arcane teachings since the beginning of recorded
history. However, those who served the dark side knew of it with a startling precision.
Their primary intent – on which they focused their efforts for the fifty years
leading up to Earth's entry into the Photon Belt – was to distract the populace. If
people's attention was sufficiently diverted, the chances of them perceiving the
possibilities for transition into higher realms of consciousness offered by this brief
passage through a highly charged portion of the galaxy would be close to nil. The dark
side would score a major victory by keeping the majority trapped under their control.
And so,
humanity was fed a steady bread and circus diet of wars and Super Bowls, terrorism and
Oscars, along with a constant parade of red herring issues that polarized the battles
between fundamentalists and free thinkers. So brilliant was the dark side in executing
their plan that their victory seemed virtually secure. While some people chose to embrace
the heightened energy field and accelerate their ascension, the rampant fear and feelings
of separation and alienation of the majority of the populace made them easy prey for the
magi of the dark. They were manipulated and managed with astonishing ease.
But the fat
lady hadn't sung yet, and the handful of Lightworkers and Planetary servers who could see
the game at hand rode, like Paul Revere before them, “through every Middlesex village
and farm for the country folk to be up and arm.” The trickle of awakened beings grew
to a gentle flow and soon became a raging torrent. All across the planet people heeded the
cry, wiped the sleep from their eyes, and took to arms. They fought not with guns and
bombs but with light and love. Consciousness grew like mushrooms after the rain, and
people eagerly took back their personal power from those who had so badly misused it for
their own personal gain.
The tiniest
candle can easily illumine the darkest room. Even those who fell deepest under the spells
of the dark masters came to see the flicker of its flame. It was a trying time for many
– especially those precious souls who found it so difficult to release the literal
interpretations of their earlier beliefs. Fearing the wrath of their imagined gods, they
cowered in the crack between obedience and conscience. Cries of blasphemy, false prophets,
and venomous epithets were hurled in the furious storm of emotion that ensued. But, in the
end, both sides were allowed to reach out to the multitude.
Not all chose
to move into the next density. Many wished to continue the game of being human. But all
those who elected to move into the light received the loving assistance to make it happen.
It was Winston Churchill again, speaking to the same House of Commons just two months
later, in August of 1940, who said the words we still feel in our hearts: “Never was
so much owed by so many to so few.”
________________________________
Jean-Claude Gerard Koven is a writer and speaker based in Rancho Mirage,
CA. He is a featured weekly columnist for the UPI (United Press International) Religion
and Spirituality Forum and the author of Going Deeper: How to Make Sense of Your Life
When Your Life Makes No Sense, selected by both Allbooks Reviews and USABookNews.com
as the best metaphysical book of the year. For more information, please visit: www.goingdeeper.org.
Stories # 9
"Telling It Like It
Is"
By Jean-Claude Gerard Koven
----------------------------------------
We all have
gurus. Even if they don't have Sanskrit names, speak with a subcontinental lilt, or wear
flowing robes, they can turn out to be our greatest teachers – provided we recognize
them when they grace our lives.
----------------------------------------
It is said that when the
student is ready, the master appears. This adage is usually associated with going to India
to sit at the feet of some swami-ji who speaks in parables and gives his students the
occasional whack on the head. Certainly I've met countless disciples who fairly waft
through life inhaling the intoxicating wisdom of their manifested master. And I've always
been left wondering when it would be my turn to find the one great sage who would sweep me
into a state of eternal bliss.
Looking back over my
wanderings through the metaphysical maze, however, I see that innumerable teachers have
skillfully guided my journey. Unfortunately, at the time I was so married to a certain
model of what a master is that I failed to recognize mine along the way. The fact is, even
if the vast majority of us deny it, we all have gurus. Most of them aren't obvious. They
don't have Sanskrit names, speak with a subcontinental lilt, or wear flowing robes. They
appear ordinary in every way, yet they turn out to be great teachers.
“When the student is
ready. . . .” What a grossly misleading phrase, for it implies a time when the
student is not ready. From one standpoint, we are always ready. We are always in
the presence of masters. We are always being taught and tested, always refining old
perspectives and gaining new ones. All we really need to do is wake up to what's really
happening and participate more consciously. During those wondrous moments when I am truly
present, the entire universe is my teacher. Each flower, each bird, each sunset is my
personal guru. Everyone I meet, every TV program or movie I see, every book or article I
read changes me in ways so marvelous and consummate that they can only be divinely guided.
And yet, in my life there is
one person who has truly become my personal guru. What is most amazing is that he regards
me in the same light, which only goes to prove that when two beings tell it like it really
is, it's always a teaching/learning experience. This person's name is Robin Willner –
although few know his real first name, since he has been called Lefty from the time he was
knee-high to a grasshopper. He is ranked as one of the world's top tennis players in his
age bracket—in a year he'll be competing with the octogenarians. Over his career, he
played against (and often beat) some of the greatest names in professional tennis: Pancho
Gonzales, Ken Rosewall, Dennis Ralston, Bobby Riggs, Gardnar Mulloy, Tony Trabert, to name
a few of the stars that blazed the way for today's highly paid professionals.
Twice a week, Lefty and I
meet on the tennis court and hit a few. Our lessons have a curious rhythm to them: we
rally a bit, then we come to the net to talk. Here again is a case of how preconceived
notions can get in the way of what's really being offered in the moment. Contrary to what
you might expect, Lefty almost never talks about the mechanics of the swing. He relegates
hitting the ball to secondary importance, akin to having one's focus on the destination
rather than the journey. He thinks such clichés as “keep your eye on the ball,”
“timing,” and “following through” are as misleading as “when the
student is ready.” In fact, it might surprise you that when we talk, the topic is
rarely about tennis. Usually we talk about the events of the day or challenges we're both
facing. Yet in this universe in which all things are connected by zero degrees of
separation, everything is about tennis. To Lefty—and to me—the game of tennis is
not isolated from the rest of our experience. It is one pixel in the vast hologram of
existence, and as such is a perfect metaphor for everything else in life. Last night was a
perfect example.
Lefty has an extraordinary
ability to hit balls that come at you with blinding speed. And as with a skilled baseball
pitcher, nothing in his body language lets you know whether it's going to be a slow curve
or another blazing fastball. He hits every shot with the same smooth, graceful motion,
honed over the past sixty-five years, that has always drawn the envious admiration of all
who watch him. Everyone wants to be able to emulate Lefty. I'm no different. Except I
don't just want to hit a tennis ball like he does, I want to be able to live every part of
my life as he does. If I can do that, the tennis will come on its own.
Lefty is one of the few
people I know who says what he means and means what he says. When he tells you something,
you can take it to the bank; when he makes an appointment, you can set your watch by his
arrival. He doesn't speak in politically correct terms, he just tells it like it is. Last
night he revealed the secret of his life-long philosophy, which is also what makes his
tennis strokes so maddeningly pure: moving straight through it. Whatever the circumstance
– just move straight through it. Don't be thrown by how hard or soft life's events
come at you – just move straight through them.
When the ball comes at you,
meet it head on. Don't flick the wrist or move the body quickly out of the way. Don't
flinch at the last moment or skip crucial parts of the swing. Don't panic or rush things
because you doubt your ability. Just move straight through it.
I knew that when I finally
learned to move straight though the ball, everything about my life would change. I would
come one step closer to being reliable like Lefty. I would have discarded my need to
tiptoe around the beliefs and sensitivities of others, and surrender my power in the
process. I would have reclaimed my true essence and found my unique voice, untainted by
the need for consensus or approval. I, like Lefty, would have the courage to tell it like
it really is.
Last night Lefty said I
moved straight through about sixty balls. I could feel the difference—without my
hitting them harder, the shots went faster. Without sacrificing grace, I created the time
to make a complete move – both back and through – and the ball knew it.
I'm glad Lefty doesn't wear
flowing robes or speak with a clipped accent. I'm very blessed to count such a remarkable
being among my true friends, and I value each moment we're together as a divine gift. I am
ready, and the master has never been late. Not even once.
__________________________________
Jean-Claude
Gerard Koven is a writer and speaker based in Rancho Mirage, CA. He is a featured weekly
columnist for the UPI (United Press International) Religion and Spirituality Forum and the
author of Going Deeper: How to Make Sense of Your Life When Your Life Makes No Sense,
selected by both Allbooks Reviews and USABookNews.com as the best metaphysical book of the
year. For more information, please visit: www.goingdeeper.org.
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