Bridge of Light

Do you remember crossing the Bridge Of Light, when you connected to something beyond yourself? That moment when you read someone’s mind. The nagging premonition. The time you knew who was calling before the telephone rang. Once, you finished another person’s thought. You felt that chill up the spine. The tingling around your head – the path to forever once crossed. You felt the magnetic pull of a person or place. When art elevated you into a secret joy; when time itself slowed to a single grand breath. The sorrowful ring of wrong. The gentle voice that carried a deep peace. The flash of knowing. The dream that was so real. That sense of foreboding (let us leave this place). A love so powerful, you wept. You were beside yourself, detached from the world. That was no coincidence; you followed the voice. Being wrapped in the warm glow of love. The music; the book that found you at the right moment. That timeless calm when you knew a spiritual presence sat at your side, when you decided that there was no need to explain it to anyone. Spirit does not reside in the abstract. The Bridge Of Light is always with us.

A Prayer for the Wounded

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This is a prayer for the wounded, for the lonely, for the abandoned and frail, for the muted hearts that float with the burden of aloneness upon their shoulder. May they open to Light.

This is a prayer for the forsaken, for the abused, for the stranded and bereft, for the quarantined hearts of this world, and the next. May they allow the great note of Love to heal all they have endured.

This is a prayer for the weary, for the uncertain, for the meek and humbled hearts that have understood what beauty a simple kindness can bring. May they raise the world in a demonstration of the knowledge they have toiled so hard to gain.

This is a prayer for the forlorn, for the rejected and mistreated, for the timorous souls who tread quietly among us. May they reveal the pure life of love they have imagined in the darkness, the great jewel of Light’s permanent treasure.

May all suffering hearts be offered the glint of what possibility awaits; that they will become the strong, the wise and the just, the teachers of perennial kindness and its vehement joy.

If Love demands that its true value be learnt by being hidden, by being veiled by life’s trials and separations, may all wounded hearts be guided to a point of humility and calm, to thereby be healed and made whole by Love’s return.

Amen.

A Work of Art

In life, a Soul must choose a disguise: city dweller, farmer, soldier, artist, and so on. The costumes we wear have been lived and exchanged over the course of millennia and are so ingrained that a fleeting identity is usually mistaken for the soul that personifies it. Indeed, thought has power and can create a sense of permanence where only flux exists, and yet this is the way we learn and thereby choose who we are and what we wish to become. Over time, each point of light may discover how to release itself from pain and enter into love, and then, leaving behind the weight of injustice and self-pity, venture into fresher fields and finer awareness.

This thing that we seek to master and mature in ourselves—the clay of conscience—is it not character? And what is the great possibility held in deciding the color and contour of that character? Is it not to develop and refine what we are through the disciplines of sincere living? How many of us recognize that by evolving the personality we begin to control the levels of ourselves, the energies of what we are, and therein is the reason for choosing carefully. Each life may choose to become one with the crowd, with the forest, with our memories, or even with kindness itself. At any time, you and I can withdraw and exist elsewhere, just as an actor might decide to enter or exit a scene.

Just think, when we do something as simple as opening a door for a stranger or offering a gentle word to a friend, we express within that politeness a kindness in body, emotion and thought that lifts the elements of both Souls. By developing our character, we align ourselves with the idea we have adopted as truth, evolving it until we open to the greater Truth. Perhaps then, having come to the end of all philosophy, we will stop measuring life, and in that moment, finally understand.

Let us then grasp the longer view, that we are the eternal artists of ourselves, displaying in the mirror of the world what wisdom we have gathered through the tone and beauty of our actions. Truly, the greatest work of art in this world is that of an unfolding human character: a sculpture of intent and imagination held in an ever-increasing love. This great work of art is perfected in the kiln of worldly experience, in the heartache and joy of life’s expression. This being so, surely all life will eventually choose to live as an expression of what is constant, of what rings true, and use its wisdom as a key to the door of perennial love. Perhaps that is why the masters explain that the password to eternal life is spoken with tenderness.

Behind Every Door

Behind every door awaits the possibility of light. Through every doorway travels the hope of completeness, of calm. Yet, like a day, a door has two sides: a dawn and a dusk, and in making our approach we must be one or the other.

There is the choice, stark and bold: we may choose to be the sun behind the door, the kind light beyond the chamber, or the shadow that wrestles with the earth. In strength, bound by pure purpose, we may remove all other possibility and simply be the love we seek.

The Leap

Imagine this: When in moments of Love when we are able to lift out of ourselves, think of how one day the body will fall away, just as the chrysalis or the seashell releases its hold on the life placed within it. We have become so used to the idea of our human self, so used to its body, appearance, language, and expectation that we have placed our entirety into it. But one day, we will know these things are not truly ours; that they must be returned to the sole sovereignty of Earth.

Could it be that all things in nature have an interior presence, returning to this life and that in order to animate a form and thereby learn of Love? Does not each of us know secretly within that deep Love and its awareness cannot die, but only adapt and turn along a spiral of longing?

What a relief it must be to breathe in the perfumed rays of light after the heaviness of Earth. There! What an extraordinary thought, that we, you and I, infinitesimal persons in the vastness of space, have a life beyond, one that is before and after this worldly place.

Let us take a leap of mind and know that we are but visitors here, like divers who put on a suit to walk upon the bed of the ocean, to rise to the surface when the work is complete and the lesson learned. It is not outside that we will discover from where we have come and where we are going, but from behind closed eyes and within an open heart.

Let us understand then that all we take with us when we leave this place is whatever depth of Love we have claimed as our own. Everything else passes away, and how real can something be if it does not last?

A Vision of Night

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Seldom is true goodness ambiguous, so we might wonder why a Soul chooses to blind itself with emotion and desire, to delve into the darkness of distraction and to walk through life neglectful of the beauty that sustains it. Could it be that once it has realized the freedom of individuality, a young Soul, a child of Light such as yourself set free in the firmament, must first fulfill some irresistible urge to express itself aloud in the darkness and thereby know what it truly is and what power is its own?

Here on this Earth we see how everyone talks and argues their truth, for the world is a Soul’s mirror, where it may create and recreate itself in its own light as often as it wishes, to thereby entertain its vanity or test its understanding of love.

As the Soul advances, it receives many suggestions on how to behave and who to become, and as the embodied light walks forward through the darkness, it must test the contour of its heart with each footfall. It will stumble at first, and long after, but eventually it will right itself and find wisdom in its expression.

In the beginning and at the end of this night, it is the solitary Soul in the loneliness of his own mind who must decide what ideas he will express and what design his heart will demonstrate—not his neighbor, nor his hero, or his culture. Understanding this responsibility precedes any lasting freedom.

Within this night is our grand experiment, where we, you and I, run this way and that, up and down the avenues of the absurd, sleeping, crying, laughing and dreaming. But above the heaviness of night an idea, like the sunlit moon, looks patiently, placidly, even longingly upon us. It’s light contains the key to our own, a way back that is so simple and so pure, for high up within each Soul resides the perfect idea, the Word, perhaps, and we are here to find it and even emulate its flawless expression of love.

As the Soul treks through darkness with no memory of where it came from, and often having no idea where it is going, there remains that particular knowledge, stirring and agitating the young Soul to move forward and create itself anew. Herein rests the true vision of night.

To Wonder Upon Infinity

What is life, this delicate strength that animates us and the world in which we live? Miracles inhabit every corner: we need look no further than how a simple, fleeting thought may blink an eye or tilt the head, or how we may slowly breathe in and examine the sweet smells of summer. On the vast canvas of material being that stretches through all of existence, is not everything in the everyday world extraordinary and wonderful, each piece constantly changing its appearance and position? Clouds become puddles and mountains become stones.

We can see that all material energy is involved in the dance of creation, coming and going, building and falling, as must our small bodies if they are to be a part of the material life: grains in the vast weight of the universe. Surely, an atom in an arm is no less fantastic than an atom at the center of a great star. This being so, it must behave so, moving from one body to another when it is time. To suffer through life into death involves a brief ownership of a thing that must change its form and pass away. However, not everything is material. Deep love cannot dissolve, nor can our awareness slip away without our consent. Both can become more of what they are, and so we must carefully ask ourselves what it is we truly possess.

If we are more than a physical person, someone that is never born and never dies, someone that is on Earth only for a moment, it is right to ask what we were before this life, and where will we go when we leave it. But let us delve even deeper and ask how long have we all waited and prepared for the work that consumes us? And taking the longer view, what choices are really ours? By asking these questions, we may then step out of the circle of our human selves into a childlike awareness of infinity and into the limitless energy that must be God.

To contemplate the wonder of the Infinite and enter into its beauty is an act of love, an expression of devoted surrender to the way things are. We cannot contain infinity with the mind, only merge with it with the heart. As we close our outer eyes and look with inner sight at the heavens above us, let us understand that all moments are equal in the expanse of the Infinite, and that we can only pray in the moment that holds us. In the beautiful calm of Being, only this moment has any value.

All Is Already Known

My guide’s voice dipped into my conscience and told me clear that All is already known.
The moon spins, the stars explode, the blood of the universe pumps, regardless of how I whirl in my anxiety to understand. You understand; that is what I now grasp.
The ocean bed of life exists without my appraisal. All is in order: all planets, particles and pathways are known, of course.
The forests and lakes, the seas and jungles all continue without a man’s understanding. Even my own body works despite my great ignorance: It maneuvers, heals and sleeps. Within it I am alive and well, able to go about the experiences of Earth.
Indeed, All is already known and held together so perfectly, with such precision that there is safety in the acceptance of its certainty.
It is plain for everyone to see that all that does exist is grandly organized and pays no heed to the speculative mind.
The spider spins, the hills roll, my heart beats and I am destined to seek. The daisy will bloom whether I grasp its nature or not and that nature is known to You, a mind.

Climb

Before I came to this muddy Earth, in joy and immensity
I thought myself satisfied.
But I was undone by the thrill of a new vision,
Of a being so bright, so complete in its capacity
So full in its majestic, ardent love, that my idea was set afire;
My heart leapt with pure desire and I became desperate to achieve.
In my open eyed wonder an angel beheld my thirst
And taking my hand in hers, she softly asked,
"Are you ready to suffer the void of loneliness
That you may know the joy of absorption,
To untie the knot of pride, that you may know the freedom of humility?
Are you willing to transform the blunt blade
Of anger into the intense love you now witness?
Are you ready to rework the threads of yourself
Into the very essence of light’s sacred purity?"
I  stared long and deep into her design and finally said,
“Yes, I am.”
Then she pledged to fold her heart into my will
So that I might reweave the tapestry of my Soul.
“Come then,” she said, “Let us go. Listen for me;
I will be with you for all of your days.
Not even for a moment will I leave your side."
Then she delivered me into this human life.
Just as you have been delivered into yours.
Often about my shoulder I feel the flutter of gentle thought
Urging me towards the edge of truth.
Even now I hear her whisper,
“Climb, climb, climb!”

 

Looking Up

The many little eyes of Earth look up and search, and open up to the great lights of outer space, perhaps with joy, but certainly with great resolve. With every fiber of their being, each stem strains to trace the sky for light, and for life. The flower gathers the Sunlight, just as a bee collects the stamen’s pollen, and surely held within this simple, sublime exchange is held the arc of Earth’s desire to express itself in hues of love, ever reaching, ever receiving.

While the theologian and the scientist attempt to paint our little lives into corners of comparison and conformity, let us allow the example of the natural world to offer a hint to what natural possibility is ours, for we too are drawn to light, though of a higher caliber: the light of spiritual dimension; the inner space of light; the light of the soul. One person might call it love, another, beauty, and another might call its essence Divine, but beyond all words and all thought this Light exists at the fount of a kindly Being. It is here among us, just as surely as your eyes blink, but it exists upon a higher plane, above and within, before and after all worldly sense and experience. Thus it requires the subtle self to seek it out.

The world is full of metaphor for the seeking soul, where it may try to equate itself to this theory or that, but eventually it must admit to itself the equivalence that speaks quietly, directly and beautifully in the many folds of life. Just as the flower looks up in earnest to the star, so may the soul align itself to the abundance that awaits, ready to flow and heal and make whole the accepting soul. Is this not the final act of love, to open to Love’s very own Light? Let it be so.

Our Precious Work

Let it be my precious work: to care for every thought, to let each step, each breath, each softly spoken word, become a deed of light; a feat of unadorned desire.

Let it be my sacred work: to strive as of a voice of light, a golden sweep of bright devotion, where every contour of love’s pure, sure capacity opens the treasure of truth's laboring arms.

Let it be my special work: to toil with songs of love, to thereby illuminate each passing point of life’s demand and soften all edges of pain, longing and loss.

According to my Soul’s ambition, let my grandest work be to place the mark of tenderness upon each endeavor of worth.

Help me steady myself amid these trials of matter and find the courage to express the purity I desire in a prayer of simple, honest days.

Help me place my heart in the heavens even as my hands toil and scrape amid the dust and dirt of Earth. Help me to define myself in service, in my work; nay, in Your work, as a joyful, constant conduit of Beauty’s aim.

I shall strive with You at my side: With Light upon my shoulder, I need no other guide. Accompany me as I discover love’s true contour in the devotions of thankfulness. Yes, let my yearning shine, moment by moment, step by step.

Let my loving serve as a gift to Love, that labor may reveal its pure, engulfing capacity. As a glint of light in the prism of simple delight, let it be our work.

A Wondrous Company

I walk this dream in the wondrous company of children and mothers, presidents, professors, gardeners and engineers.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of brothers and artists, students, librarians, grocers and psychics.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of dancers and cooks, lifeguards, violinists, seamstresses and florists.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of nurses and firemen, composers, miners, equestrians and welders.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of soldiers and secretaries, farmers, waitresses, street sweepers and sages.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of doctors and poets, sailors, fisherman, journalists and judges.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of priests and scientists, ballerinas, stewards, merchants and bus drivers.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of fathers and daughters, filmmakers, bakers, tailors and healers.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of cleaners and parking attendants, builders, accountants, hoteliers and salesmen.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of writers and painters, building managers, barristers, actors and chemists.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of electricians and photographers, athletes, surveyors, psychologists and lawyers.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of historians and designers, carpenters, architects, mechanics and plumbers.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of maids and surgeons, models, paramedics, astronomers and school teachers.
I walk this dream in the wondrous company of angels and guides, the Elohim, the Pure Light, the Divine, and you.

In your wondrous company, I dream.

A Lapse Of Time

As each of us move though space, from this stage to that, and from that hope to this, let us ask, who is steering us through the maze of life? Who is watching? Who is seeing? Who is it that seeks and ponders upon the complexities of life? Are we separate from what we see or are we a product of it; a creator playing with ideas, or a plaything of an insensible universe? Whatever we might say, we can understand well enough that time itself is not chaotic or random: it has the discipline of eternity and cannot fail us. What would happen if we were able to step out of the stream of space and with a lapse of time, lift into an eternal place of being? Perhaps then on our return to home, we would recognize the importance of our time on Earth.

Just think: if in Heaven there were no conflict, no adversity, only a life of perfect peace and certainty, would we not stagnate? Is it even possible to contemplate a change in one’s Self while living in the eternal. After all, what would compel us to grow? Down here on Earth—this place of duality, of right and wrong, of darkness and light—here is where we may decide, rushing through tunnels of experience toward wisdom, a wisdom we must earn and then choose to demonstrate. In duality, on the byways of human life we are given grand choices, for here on Earth is the place to change the essence of who we are, not in the Light, for surely we will carry our earthly choices into Permanence, into timelessness itself.

This being so, could it be then that the Infinite has shrunk our experience into little moments, each just small enough for us to grasp and inspect the deeper reality, but at a distance, there to hold in our minds the wonder, the miracle of what we are? And since we gain wisdom from the trials of life, can we not infer that we are from beyond the bounds of time, not here to merely suffer through our obligations, to reap and suffer as we sow? Then are we not all undying, perpetual points of light, destined to search and create forever? Let us then ask, from where have we come and to where are we going in this great mystery of Light? Let us keep pushing at the edge of mystery and demand to know: Where are we? Where have we been? Where are we going? What is our place in the grand scheme of Light, and what of its energies create the road we're on?

Wherever and whatever we are doing in our lives, surely it has always been our precious work, our own heart's special labor to create and perfect ourselves. Is not each of us, you and I, and everyone we will ever know, unique: expressing, planning, anticipating and reacting, each in our own way? You and I are not products of a cosmic machine; we are creators who are able to build upon our ability to dream and desire. Though we travel along the difficult roads of life, we are and always will be.

My Small Understanding

If I could be everywhere and rest within all things in every moment; if the body of the Universe were mine… I would not cause myself pain, but would love and look upon everything in existence with affection.
If I were boundless, I believe I would be gentle.

If I were all-powerful, where all things were possible; if anything I imagined could be made real and given life; if I possessed the absolute will of the Universe… the only difference between thinking a thought and it made real in the world would be my desire to do so. If I held this first and final power to create, I believe I would be calm.

If I were all-knowing, completely aware, all-listening, all-understanding, all-seeing; if I could weave through all that is and look through every eye of life… I would not judge harshly, because I would understand the cause and reason behind all things, and therefore perceive within the wisdom of complete clarity.

If the mind of the Universe were mine, I believe I would be kind. Such is my small understanding of the omnipresence, omnipotence, and omniscience of God.

The Narrowed Way

When gleamed line and luster pulls at the edge of our sense, its feigned glow bathes our belief in security: we look for safety in its idea. Nothing exists without thought, no bridge, no smile, not even a star, and once an event has been born into life, the human mind thinks it a mirror, placing itself within a promise, as easily as a gleeful child sees a toy etched upon the surface of a cloud. But I must lift my projections from the forms before me. My task is to see all things clearly, to see myself and step along the narrowed way. Just as the wind whistling in the ear is dispelled by the slightest turn of the head, so too, does the careful mind remember the soul. Living in truth means living a life on the note of extreme internal honesty. I must keep asking what is real, and if I feel that something is missing, I will go into nothingness, and wait.

A Doorway Awaits

Off in the distance a doorway awaits. Built into the fabric of every soul, it is often indistinct under the dulled light of a busy mind, yet it offers itself as a gateway to a finer dimension, where a forest or an ocean may be leapt across just easily as a searching heart may absorb a thought of light.

All that is required to set the door ajar is a single, definite wish to explore. Indeed, there is no other key than a desire to leap. Its threshold marks the beginning of Infinity and the end of darkness, and more.

But a voice says, “It is only the imagination.” Yes, it begins that way, but we may, if we wish, explore a reality beyond it, a solid reality, a reality for which we have been preparing ourselves all this time; a reality that each of us nurtures in our precious days on Earth.

Belief is the currency of a creator, whereby what is hoped for is conjured in the fire of the will, in the temple of the imagination. In the room beyond the door exists this great treasure. Within it we may resist the pull of memory, of blame, of avoidance and self-pity and recreate ourselves in an image of pure delight, without the weight of Earth and all its troubles.

Once we have stepped across the threshold we may reinvent ourselves in any and all ways we desire, and prepare to lift into a reality that corresponds to that same desire.

Whatever a person believes he becomes. This is the first secret of the inner life, and the marvel of the Soul’s eternal arc. By imagining, a person may fashion himself anew and adjust the foundation of his entire being. The door that links these worlds awaits the single push of a focused heart whereupon we may step from this place to all places and thereby be free.