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.
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Prayer tips from a modern day Christian mystic.
I must confess to stumbling off the path of late. Mostly this was due to worldly concerns, which include but are not limited to cursing at buggy software, nonstop work, and a small financial surprise when I took Elena, my assistant, to buy a new Apple computer. In order to fix my troubles, though my straights were not dire, I set about reclaiming my Father in heaven.
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These orb photos at Shrine of St. Thérèse, captured unawares, are just as silent and unusual as the little shrine itself. Such is the nature of spirit – God’s greatest gifts are not always so obvious. Set in Juneau, Alaska, cloaked within a rain forest enclave on a tiny island paradise, the shrine’s rustic beach-stone chapel is invisible to the casual passerby. But few people pass by here, beyond the outskirts of town.
Back in 2008, on the last day of the Alaskan tourist season, we were probably the only non-Juneaites within 30 miles. Despite a deeply mystical air that surrounded the lovely garden paradise, visions of orbs (or ghosts) had not come to mind.
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Both the light and the black visited me last night. After working with Christ’s teachings at Thomas 11 for a year or so, visible clouds of light appear quite often when I am praying, resting, or making light inside my body. Cloud events are always joyous, never scary. Last night, however, after a moment of high spirited swirling and face teasing (normal light behavior) an immense, intimidating black thing burst into the group of frolicsome white clouds in my room.
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My rather dark journey into chaos holds an important truth. Those who seek to learn the workings of creation (or be saved from them) need only ask God for help. In my case I also asked to see the kingdom of God. I’m sure that I didn’t say “kingdoms,” but that’s what I got. There exists an endless number of kingdoms. Some are ruled by living beings, God, or both. And there is at least one realm I know of that doesn’t seem to have a ruler.
Chaos. Imagine yourself cast adrift in a realm in which the smallest thought cannot exist. Whom will you call on when you can’t remember your name?
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I held up the stubborn pen and squinted at it: “I know that you’re God’s pen because everything belongs to him,” I said. Late this December evening, neither myself nor my faithful pen seemed to know what to write. My memory of the day held missing time. So I stared into the virgin white page, decided to jot down whatever came to mind, and trust the rest to God’s pen. As I began to write, I had no idea that this would be the most important night of my life.
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