A compilation about the essence of spirituality, what it is, what it means, and nature of direct realization or enlightenment. A video montage of personal narratives of spiritual experience.
God creates and man creates, and man creating well is most like God. We give ourselves to creation, finding there the true, most beautifully rendered forms. In this is sacred life, divine reflections finely drawn as well befits a soul remembering home. Not in music or in paint alone, but more in mind and in the spaces of the heart where all live who dream of times more like the thought of Gods.
There is cosmic Truth; kin to the energy that patterns all the suns in Space. It is transcendent Spirit, pure Light beyond thought and word.
There is Monadic truth, the sun-like core of Self, mystically one with spatial suns.
There is intuitional truth, pure Beautiful light, and more of truth than fits most any brain.
There is truth of soul, a fire above the mind, and great, but well below the fires of the great hierarchy of suns.
There is the relative truth that developed mind takes and forms to words. It embraces the practical and the communicative. It is thought-truth in which we may see, from time to time, mirrored sparkles of things cosmic and mysterious.
There are truths on the many strata of the emotional plane, an array of sensing and sensitivities in graded steps from most beautiful downward toward the darkly glamorous and exclusive pseudo truths of the fanatics.
But what is our relation to truth? We are light obstructions becoming clear light transmitters. All the common of intellect, of emotion and body, and all ordinary noise that we do and say—all this competes with the pure pressures from above, with the transcendental. So, in our sleepy misalignment we block our creative gifts, and our fears, greater than our loving desire to give, hold us in prison.
Yet then there comes the upward turned eye, the pure feeling, the creatively tensed thought—these instruments of divinity manifest. And as the eye mirrors suns in the far depths of space, so a certain turn of mind and heart mirrors the mystic, the most Transcendent. Then we render ourselves most clearly, drawing ever closer to the energy that patterns suns, ever closer to transcendent Spirit, to pure Light beyond thought and word.
We would like perpetual renewal of life and vitality. We would like to feel that dawn is coming with a rush of new benevolent energy. We would like to be in spirit like the best morning of our life, to find in the light of new day the best actions and words.
About words, today, I reiterate a bit of transpersonal semantics conducive to renewal: a word is, or might be, sacred. I do not fancy myself religious in any conventional sense, but there is a good idea in the religious of the world, that of “sacred word.” I do not say it is in bibles or churches. But it might be in you. And if we were to meet, I would listen for it. You might not even know you spoke it, but I fancy that I would hear and know.
Thought is poised between dimensions, dropping easily toward earth and more rarely deep into luminous reflections of other worlds. In thought is an opening door, a world of rainbow silences lovely as light, where then, when the veil wears thin, thoughts come with the lighting edge of fire.
Where then, when the veil wears thin, the gleaming surfaces of objects dissolve to exquisite meanings. And in ready moments, mind glides quietly into the blue and into landscape of distant worlds, where with all drawn close to the eyes, the way is clear. And for company in and through all the glowing silences of lost spaces, are true friends, and love in the air all surrounding.
And more sure than fine sun of cloudless day, interior radiance proves spirit well. So clear, pure, tremendous, the ethereal pressures of sacred things to be, mount within us, and mysterious shadows of ancient days crowd round us in night and day. See then the Life laid out, a clear and certain path, even to the most distant stars and times. And Life as something far beyond our reach, proves illusion, for distances dissolve and real life fills the creative fires of each happy day.
Runes, cards, I Ching, sticks, books, leaves, hands, stars, numbers, words, symbols, forms–all the same face, giving nothing or everything. Every pattern, every symbol system, the waves on the sand, the child’s face, every language, the same; the whole universe divined by I-evoking magic. Does it matter where we turn for the answers? I divine there is little virtue in the pattern, in the form itself; most virtue being in the reader or in the reader’s magic relation with “out there.” The sky and the earth are as full of Runes as is any man women or child.
I am a shadow of what will be, a suggestion of things to come–so are we all. And in dawn of future light, the shadow looks even less me than I foresaw. And when we start to be, to become in essence what we are, what sacred wonders then unfold! In these we see that space, that communion with our truer selves–along that way of lights is future world, yet present now were we more timeless in our present.
The mysterious life force circulates within, but is not marked as miraculous; once born to Maya, we forget. So we go to nature, as if to better commune with creative forces. Natural beauty provokes deep memory, for down the ages we saw the same moon and the same clouds, and the wind in the trees whispered the same secrets as now. We come to nature as to a sacred meeting place, finding there an old friend. We look then upon nature, as into the eyes of a long lost love, and remember.
A mystical dream experience
Human imagination paints light, by tradition, as a nimbus glorifying the head of saints and saviors. Yet scriptures and mystics have affirmed the omnipresence of the light of Deity. Where then to justly locate such gold? Let us paint broadly according to omnipresence. Let us assign light lavishly to myriads of heads. Best even to leave out no one, not a single head without its nimbus of gold-colored light. Let our prophecy be this, that we affirm the glories that surround us in people and in things. Assign then a nimbus to all, and even to the long stretch of faces through history and on to far horizons of future worlds.
And if we find those who have forgotten their glory, let them see at least the memory of it reflected in the clairvoyance of optimistic eyes. And for those who seem lost and faded to dark—regard them with realistic gaze, but also through the seed of future light, for it may be that patient angels–who plan for all time and all worlds–will have their way with them at last.
My image in the mirror is illusion, another not-me. Light bounces from body to mirror to eye and mysteriously paints another not-me in the brain. I look down on this image and name it. The name is an unsatisfying apparition, and when I pass the name to you it remains a curious ghost. Yet behind the mirror, behind the image, behind the word, behind these into the vast heart of light, I see the foundation that makes all illusions visible.