My Journey To Mother Holy Spirit

My Journey to Mother Holy Spirit

My journey to Mother began one afternoon when I asked Abigalé, my soul, if we could travel. Can you take us somewhere? My eyes were shut against the daylight that filled our room. All at once the darkness behind my eyelids turned black—then blacker still. I was not afraid, but excited. I had seen this strange phenomenon more than once. “The black,” I had learned, is the gate to Mother, the Holy Spirit.

While I lounged in my bed, eyes still closed, Abbey’s high-pitched tone chimed my left ear. I felt a subtle lurch. It seemed as though we were moving.

My Journey to Mother Holy Spirit

Where were we going? I had no idea what to expect. Souls can be rather tight-lipped. Abigalé moved us through the blackness in silence, carefully steering between soft, luminous clouds of silver-blue light. Of course I was anxious to know where she was taking us, but I said nothing.

“Andy, you think far too many questions,” Abbey rang at me as she skirted the wispy edge of a large cloud. A discernible cool mist caressed my right cheek. I checked to see if it was damp. “Try to relax, dear,” she chided, “I’m taking you to meet a special someone.” So I tried to hush my mind. After ten more minutes of cloud dodging Abbey announced, “We are on a journey to Mother.”

“A journey to Mother”? Wait a minute, does she mean—

A second loud tone. “Yes my love! It’s time. Look down there, to your right.”

Without cracking my eyes, I raised my head and “looked.” A wide gap in the clouds revealed a glimmer of purple within the blackness of … this place. The purple glow grew steadily larger until it filled my entire mind-view. We were heading toward a huge, luminous purple cloud.

First Glimpse of Mother

I felt the slight bump as Abigalé parked us beneath the magnificent spectacle. The cloud’s structure resembled an ancient ship’s wheel: misty cloud-spokes connected the outer ring to a purple hub-cloud at its center. Most striking, the whole formation seemed fluid, organic. Alive. Had I seen such a sight on earth I would have guessed that the cloud spanned at least two miles. Inside that purple vastness thousands of lavender, pink, and blue stars sparkled like fine cut diamonds and halogen Christmas lights. From my viewpoint—still lying on my bed with both eyes closed—the vision engulfed my mind.

Indeed, the purple cloud possessed my entire self.

This is the Holy Spirit! I thought rather belatedly. Of course I knew who “Mother” was, but the manifest truth of that moment had flooded me with visual and emotional awe. Tears of joy and gladness sprang from tightly closed eyelids. And I felt indescribably loved. An endless, ancient love; a love so old that I could not remember forgetting it. And I was filled with love for her—


Instantly a wave of glorious warmth sparkled through my body. It felt as though I’d become part of the very image that splayed out before me.

Hello child-of-mine

Mother’s unexpected thought greeting sparked another loving surge. I fought to keep my eyes shut lest this vision be lost. At the same time my left ear toned sharply, pierced the silence of this sacred moment. Abigalé had phoned in on line 2. “Mom wants you to wiggle your fingers and toes for her,” she giggled. As noted elsewhere, my dear soul giggles sometimes. But I was entranced. Unfit for action. A rather curious form of greeting, I thought. Despite all that I bowed to Mother’s odd request. Beneath the blankets I fervently wiggled all of my fingers and toes.

Abbey addressed my thought the moment it took place. “Mother doesn’t have a body,” she explained. “She doesn’t ‘live’ in the same way that you live. Don’t feel odd, Mother asks everyone to do it. She can feel the life inside you because she gave it to you.”

Ah yes. That makes good sense. Wait— “Everyone”? How many other guys had my heavenly mate brought on a journey to Mother?

Brief Words from the Holy Spirit

Abigalé chose not to address that thought. No matter. I felt more content than I’d ever been. At the same time, scores of questions racked my brain, or what remained of it. Again I wondered: who else has made a journey to the Holy Spirit? I’d read a few accounts of Mother’s appearances, but could not recall someone who’d made the drive out to her place.

Neither as few nor as many as you think, child-of-mine. Living-childs do come to me in this way, with the help-mate, for the same reason you knew as an infant

“To become ‘one flesh’?” I’d recently been working on Mark 10 and felt that I had gained some insight into Christ’s deeper meaning. So Mother replied in the same context.

To-be-made-again one-flesh

I got her meaning. “And the others? The rest of us?”

All-childs visit me again, in-their-way. Most do not go back

A few precious minutes later our journey to Mother had come to its end. Abbey slowly moved us backwards in the same direction from which we’d come. You are the most beautiful, I thought-spoke to her, I love you.

She did not return my goodbye. Instead a rush of sparkles coursed through my body. I watched in silence. At last the purple cloud had disappeared from view. There was no need to say goodbye to her. Ever. From that day to this one, whenever I think of Mother, pray, or talk to her—more than a dozen times each day—I wiggle my fingers and toes.

— Andrew Michael

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