Going Home/being HERE

Todays post is answers to lesson 6 in “The Jewel of the Christ Mind Course”   a one year online Course. The bold blue quotes are from Jesus/Jeshua

The essence of coming to Presence as I see it:
1) STOP and come back to NOW
2)Breathe, and remember Who is breathing
3) Notice without judging, with interested curiosity – embracing it

3 questions for the Christ Child:

Precious child I love, how can I support you?

Allow warmth to come into this cold. Breathe LovesBreath into it

What do you most need from me?

To BE WITH ME and embrace me – and not only to sit with and breathe: To play, to experiment with art – poetry,stories,dance,textiles,music,movement -to experience being one with creation instead of being the part you project all your horrors on to

Is there any change I could make that would allow you to flower even more?

Take a session with Zach Rehder for help with really being with these energies- and learn to accept gifts.

( An editor just offered me his service for free – and I notice that I think that IF I accept it, he will secretly be displeased, and the grievance will turn to hatred, and then he will come and attack me.)

I notice the strong link I have built in my mind between men’s ill-will with me ( which means I must conform 100% to their expectations) and then a sudden brutal and vicious attack. I have worked with this complex consciously since I was 23 in all kind of therapies and trainings and being initiated into many traditions – and 25 years as therapist with my patients and myself. My book When Fear Comes Home to Love is the result of that – and still this strong energetic link is felt in my nervous system between the thought of being FREE and visible to violent attack and there is always insanity connected to this attack.
This must be the experience I most need to be having right now, as more of Christ Mind is birthing into, and through me.

Something in me truly knows this to be true. Which means that all those insane and violent attacks I was forced to participate in as a small child and, and also to be forced into the role of perpetrator to make me guilty and one of “them” – this is where the Christ Mind NOW can be birthed into, and explore the healing that is available HERE TOO. Writing this, a wave of gratitude comes – how glad I am that this HAS happened and that I HAVE these experiences now – so I can allow the Light that I am as Christ to embrace all those energies, suffuse them, transform them.

Here are three images I painted years ago of exactly this: I knew it then too, but have worked to integrate it all the years since then.

bare kom du 11) Red attacks the Blue/Christ –

absorpsjon 22) The Blue embraces it, it starts to dissolve –

stadier i omfavnelse 3 og 43 and 4) The dissolutions continues, and in the fourth stage, the attack-energy has become a Menorah –

I have needed a lot of time to birth this – smiling

“There have been no wrong turns on your journey. You have never failed, and you have never sinned.”

Icecold. Spacing out. Breathing. Strong wishes of retaliating, making the others suffer as they make me. Deep and venomous hatred.

“There have been no wrong turns on your journey. You have never failed, and you have never sinned.”

Deep yawning, the sickness abates. I bless the energy within the sickening forms, invite it Home in my Blue Christness – chest warm, whole lower body ice cold – breathing into it – surrendering to it now –
“I” am not doing this, Christ is doing it through Leelah – I hear screams from massacres and battlegrounds, from concentration camps and machete slaughterings – from everybody that perceives themselves to be righteously mistreated and wants to stop it with any means at all —-

Deep doubts: I have done this for 27 years, and still I feel the fear of being visible –

And the answer:: “and for each time you have been willing, one more piece of it has been integrated”

WOW! what a gift: when I copied this over from a word-doc, that one sentence was left out – so i had to return to the original and really take this in: “and for each time you have been willing, one more piece of it has been integrated”

A tremendous hateful part hisses to me, DO NOT HOPE!!!

There is Love all around that, (just as the pictures show,) and now my belly is warm. – That’s where the “haterer” is – yawning – “I WILL not hope and be shocked again – and again – when I have opened up – it is torture”

Sweetie, I am right here, take all the time you want to get use to this space

“There have been no wrong turns on your journey. You have never failed, and you have never sinned.”

WOW! Looking at the doc I am writing now, I discover that I have repeated that quote from Jeshua three times – and each time I have believed, “that is a great quote, I want that here – – -and not discovered I have already written it down twice before

There has been no separation at all … our resistances, judgments, and especially our guilt, occurred because we thought what was going on was different than what was and eternally is, going on. (Jeshua,Jewel Course.)

Sitting with that, allowing it take root

“You have heard it said this world is a world of shadows. It is not just a metaphor.
It happens to be true. While shadows are illusory, it does not follow that they be left untransformed.
For what you leave untransformed retains the power to bind you in its spell. It will continue to do so, until YOU decide to learn who you are by being the power of Love‟s Presence that heals all things.” . (Jeshua,Jewel Course.)

Wonder Questions:

1. What are three significant experiences you have believed you should not have had?
(Be vigilant against assuming these are just ‘negative’ experiences. When faced with overwhelming joy, “luck”, others’ gratitude, or miracles, don’t we often shake our heads, hold our breath, and try to deflect or minimize it????)

I have sat this the whole week. Many has presented itself, but the answer is always: None. Without everything, I would not have had the experiences and the learnings I have

2. What is it that you have found most difficult to trust?

That even when the experiences feels excruciating, they are NOT “wrong” – I am not wrong – they are pathways into human darkness and ignorance as soon as I don’t judge my small self for having them – for not being “worthy.” – Oh there’s a lot of that going on –

3. Do you trust, really trust , your Creator?

My ca 2o A4 journals filled with my images and processes show me that God is always available in every situation. I DO really trust my Creator –
It is ME I don’t trust – God’s One Son, choosing to judge myself for what happens to me – seeing it as character-faults that takes away my God-given worth, making me wrong,making others wrong – not recognizing they are me in disguise, mirroring back to me what I need to see and lift in to forgiveness and innocence

And right now, after writing this down in one go, seeing that I am trusted to do the best I can to wake up –

I bless myself in my ability to choose love
I bless myself in my true nature
I bless myself in my willingness to hang in here



Father and son

I sensed his energy already before he dumped down in the bus seat beside me. Everything stood still inside me – huge fear- the energy that he brought, and acted out from, was all “Fuckeat” – energy – an archetype of violence, abuse and dominance that is described in my book “When fear Comes Home with Love.”

I froze – and then remembered that I am here to BE Love – therefore, him sitting down was an opportunity for me to BE with the energy and to BE the space of Love where it could be witnessed.

Judgment flared up like a volcano when he slapped his baby son on his lap hard – twice – on its little hands. This baby was obviously used to it – it did not cry, just whimpered, and got a strong expression of worry.

I recognized that feeling inside my mind: “I have done something wrong and am punished – and for me, there is no recognition of why.”

I felt sick now, but still blessed the father silently in his true nature, again and again.

I was shown a bloodline of fathers like him – in this case, Moslem fathers who think their boy-babies have to be taught by pain and fear when their expression is not up to the standard for what is correct male behavior.

I saw his wife sitting there, across the isle – with another little boy beside her. He was looking down as the father hit his baby, and was smiling a stiff smile.

The wife looked like she was 19-20. Her eyes, watching her husband, were devoid of any life and presence – I recognized that energy/memory inside myself too and forgave it. She had taken refuge in that space where “this does not happen. I can do nothing about it that would not make it worse.”

As I felt sicker and sicker, drawn longer into merging with the Fuckeat-archetype, I heard a suggestion inside: “Holy Son of God, give me your blessing.”

Yes – there it was: they were playing out for me something in MY mind that had not yet been fully forgiven- and it was in my mind that I now forgave myself for choosing to see the Son of God in a violent manner. I blessed him again – and again – and there came a soft peace, the father rose from his seat and sat down elsewhere – I saw him relating to two other children.

His wife was looking at him now – they were quietly talking – and she was completely present, unfearful, and love poured out of her eyes to her husband

The Fuckeat structure in my mind had opened itself to yet another layer of healing – and all because I was truly willing to SEE beyond brutality to his true Self.

When they left the bus some minutes later, I saw two other children – at least 8-10 years old – they were all smiling, and I saw his father – pride in them

Sharing this with you had also started yet another release of Fuckeat-energies

Thank God











Fun virtual forgiveness meditation



“You are the work of God, and his work is wholly lovable and wholly loving. This is how a man must think of himself in his heart, because this is what he is.” A Course in  Miracles

I sent a mail to Lisa about my long and hard depression. She answered that I had to stop hiding – among other things 🙂 I have been afraid to serve at the Prayer Team at the Teachers of God-site – afraid of falling into the old role and pattern of believing I am responsible for other persons wellbeing. I have described this “helper”-archetype precisely and with love in my book “When Fear Comes Home to Love” – but it still remained part of what I saw as “me.”

In the one mind is a deep belief that “I” can be attacked – that has been thoroughly been played out for me in this and countless other incarnations in thinkable and unthinkable versions – my holding on to that belief as real has truly manifested. About 20 years ago, where the physical attacks had stopped many years ago, but the psychic attacks at night still were ghastly, I started talking into my little recorder that I had in bed to talk dreams into. I pretended to talk to God and allowed my pretend-God to answered. After some nights with this, listening to all the recordings, I saw that this was not a pretend-God – it was Love, educating me, speaking to me where I thought I was – a tortured victim. I was taught how the demonic was only repressed feelings and needs, deeply judged and demonized – and that they could only be healed with Love.

In the chapter “Fuckeat – hatred of needs and vulnerability” in “When fear Come Home to Love”, I mention one of my most important teachers – the Tibetan saint Milarepa. There are many versions of the story of Milarepa and the demons – I like the one where Milarepa after offering them tea, sings sweetly to the demons, and all disappear but one grisly beast. And when Mila puts his head into its foul mouth to find out what it needs, it vanishes too.

Mila was just not eatable. And I have decided that I am not eatable anymore either.


This morning I saw that I was hiding from my Self as long as I was holding on to the belief that if I don’t please and satisfy the person sending a request for help on the Prayer Team with my answer to them, they may seek me up and kill me. I have been told that countless times from I was a baby, so it is firmly embedded in the structure I call “me.”

Writing this now, I realize with a shudder that the intense threats and vicious violent brutality that I experienced from I was small, was just a part of the very attacker/violator-archetype in my mind – in the One Mind. And that holding on to the thought that this is REAL – that is, created by God – keeps the separation going.

I/One Mind/ am the source of this. I judge it not. I extend forgiveness to myself for dreaming it up. It is a thought in the mind that I keep alive as long as I keep acting out that I am in constant danger of new attacks if I don’t give people what they think they want. I see that as long as I see it as valuable to protect myself – by not being part of the prayer-team – I am telling myself that I CAN be attacked.

And that keeps the fear and victim-story in place.

I am not willing to do that any longer.

I am the source of this story. Holy Spirit, here it is – simple: thoughts from confused mind, believed in. All of the incarnations as a victim I have created – and the insane anger and hatred that I have SO feared and experienced in this and other incarnations – is part of this belief pattern in my mind. Thank God, I have seen this now, and do not any longer need to project it on attackers outside of me.

Lisa – I am in 🙂


Reblogged : The Night I Died

I am reblogging this beautiful article with permission from Tracy Cochran and Parabola Magazine
Again the column of Light is mentioned – and also what the Course teaches: that nothing is as it looks – included violence and “evil.”
How wonderful to read such a description as Stacy’s – and what a beautiful rich language.
Parabola Magazine

HH-Cochran03-3The Night I Died
Tracy Cochran

Head down, hugging a grocery bag, I hurried past gutted buildings and empty lots, back to my ex-boyfriend’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. It seemed like a good idea at some point, having dinner together as friends. But the little Spanish market on the corner of Ninth Avenue and West 35th Street was the only pocket of light and warmth for blocks. Ahead there was nothing but deserted streets and a cold wind blasting in from the dark Hudson River.

I wondered what I was doing in this godforsaken place, when exactly I had become so insubstantial, agreeing to go out to the store alone at ten, agreeing to do all kinds of things I didn’t really want to do. I shivered a little with self-pity.

Manhattan in the 1980s was a gritty place. I used to think of it as having a dark glamour but no more. A few years before, I had come to Manhattan like someone drawing close to a fire. I wanted to be warmed, enlightened. But nothing turned out the way I hoped, not love, not work, not life. I pictured myself a waif huddling along in a bleak neighborhood, bringing her own pasta to dinner. The image was so pathetic that I savored it, a fragment of a modern Dickens tale.

HH-Cochran03-2I was passing an empty parking lot on West 35th Street near Tenth Avenue when three men rushed out at me from the shadows of a gutted tenement across the street. I heard them before I saw them, pounding toward me, whipping past me, stopping and wheeling around, taking up stations around me, as purposeful and practiced as football players,
or predators.

For a few moments, we stood and stared at each other. Incredibly, I was gripped by an impulse to smile and make eye contact, to diffuse the situation by establishing that we were all fellow human beings, even potentially friends. They were not interested in making friends.

They were pumped up, panting, panicking. Two looked like lanky teenagers, wraith-like in dark hooded sweatshirts, eyes glazed with fear. The third was older and much bigger. A faded green sweatshirt stretched taut across his chest. His wrists dangled out of the sleeves, as if he was wearing someone else’s clothes, and maybe he was because the next day there were reports in the papers of escaped convicts in the area. His broad face was grim.

Darting behind me, he jerked his arm tight across my throat. I felt his chest heave and heard the rasping of his breath. Staring up at the side of his face, I saw a long shiny scar. It was strange to be pulled so close to someone intent on harming me, but even stranger was the sudden pang of compassion I felt for him, for the wounding that had made the scar, for the suffering he must feel to be doing this.

It was the strangest thing. Brain studies show that the readiness of the body to move precedes our awareness
of being willing and intending to move, that everything that happens is dependent on thousands—millions—of conditions and turnings of little wheels that take place below our ordinary limited level of consciousness. But the burst of compassion I felt didn’t feel like an unconsciously conditioned response, like the impulse to smile at my muggers—like almost everything I found myself doing. It was as if another, higher consciousness was descending into my consciousness.

HH-Cochran03-4I read a story about how no animals were found among the dead after a tsunami; sensing the infinitesimal vibration of what was coming, they headed for higher ground. Even before I could grasp what was happening, it was as if the animal of my body and my physical brain was heading for higher ground, opening to receive help from above. Even before I glimpsed the light, my heart was opening to a kind of feeling that cannot be created or destroyed by anyone, only received.

“Money!” His voice was a rasp. His massive arm was pressing down on nerves that made it impossible for me to move my arm to reach the money in my front pocket, and I couldn’t talk to tell him this. “Money now!” He pulled his grip tighter. My vision started going black around the edges. I remember thinking the situation was absurd. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t tell him that I needed to be released to reach my money.

But I also glimpsed the larger absurdity of the larger situation: I was
a young woman alone at night on a deserted side street in Hell’s Kitchen, drifting along thinking about what she liked and didn’t like about her life, what she judged to be good and bad, dreaming that she was in control of what happened, all the while oblivious to reality. “When a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully,” wrote Samuel Johnson. Mind suddenly terribly concentrated, I saw I was in real trouble.

My brain started working faster than it had ever worked, calculating the size and strength of my attacker, the agility of two young men guarding me, my own capacities and the probability of this or that happening if I did this
or that. My brain calculated and recalculated every aspect of the situation I was in until it concluded there could be no escape, no movie-like scene of flipping my attacker with deadly martial arts skills, throwing him into his assistants and running away. The reality I confronted was inconceivable, unworkable. My brain crashed, the screen went white. I surrendered.

HH-Cochran03-1It was then that I saw the light, just a glow at first but growing brighter until it became dazzling, welling up in the darkness to fill my whole body and mind. As it grew, this light gained a force and direction—an authority unknown to me. I remember marveling at the building intensity and intention, wondering where it had come from, not just low down in my body but from unseen depths—and then it became a column of brilliant white light that shot out of the top of my head, arcing high into the night sky.

A Tibetan Buddhist I met who read an earlier account of what happened to me that night told me it reminded her of a Vajrayana Buddhist practice called phowa. I also learned that Vajrayana means “diamond” or “thunderbolt” vehicle, which I understood personally because everything about the experience dazzled, was charged with force. Phowa is described as a practice of conscious dying, or transference of consciousness at the time of death, or even a flash of enlightenment without meditation. Tibetan lamas imprisoned by the Chinese were said to be able to leave their bodies this way.

But this—happening to someone who could barely sit still for a twenty minute meditation—didn’t amaze me
as much as what unfolded next. The column of light joined a much greater light that descended to meet it. Behind the abandoned tenements, behind my attackers, behind all the appearances in this world, there was a gorgeous luminosity. It was clear to me that this light was the force that holds up the world, into which all separation dissolves.

I realized that I could see myself and my attacker from behind and above. I watched myself gasping, watched my knees buckling, watched myself sink, watched myself looking up at the light. And then I was embraced by the light.

Science argues that while near-death experiences feel real they are simply fantasies or hallucinations caused by a brain under severe stress, and certainly my brain was under stress that night. A choke hold can kill in twenty to thirty seconds. Someone skilled in martial arts can knock someone out within eight seconds using such a hold, and brain damage can happen after about fifteen seconds because stopping blood flow to and from the brain can lead to brain hemorrhage, and the pressure on the heart can cause it to stop.

But science can’t account for the intimacy—for the extraordinary presence—of the experience. I didn’t just see the light, I was seen by it, and not in part but in whole. I knelt on the sidewalk, looking up at a light that was not separate from wisdom and love, a light that descended to meet me.

Afterwards, I heard the phrases “communion of saints” and “heavenly host” and “vault of heaven” and felt a thrill of recognition—my mind grasped at religious metaphors to describe what I had seen. The light was vast, vaulted, and all around. I sensed the presence of beings, ranks of beings, an ascending multitude, turning, moving, altogether forming a great witnessing conscious­ness, in every detail and part infinitely finer and higher than my own. There are no words for the majesty and radiance of what I glimpsed and how it made me feel, lifted, seen, accepted into a vast whole.

A particular being drew very close, looking down at me from above with love that had a gravity and grace unlike anything I known. It proceeded to search me, brushing aside everything I thought I knew about myself—my name, my education, all my labels—as if it was not just unimportant but unreal. I once came up with an awkward personal metaphor for the urgency of this part of my experience: fire fighters searching a burning building, shining a light through smoke, looking for signs of life while there was still time. Strangely, I sensed that the urgency and concern weren’t for my physical life.

Finally, the searching stopped. The light came to rest at a particular spot in the center of my chest. It poured through me. I was very still, in thrall, humbled, aware that what was dear and good to this light was not any quality that I knew, but something deep and mute in my being. How long was I held in the grave and loving gaze of this higher being, this angel of awareness? Moments probably, but time meant nothing. I had the sensation that my whole life, lived and as yet unlived, was spread out for examination, that my life was being read like a book, weighed like a stone in the palm of a hand.

I saw that everything counted—or, everything real, every tear, all our suffering. That I didn’t “believe” in
any of this—that I was too cool, too skeptical, too educated to be dazzled by experiences that were clearly, had to be, subjective, that I would never resort to hackneyed religious metaphors, and images like weighing and reading—that also didn’t count. My opinions about what I believed or didn’t believe, what I was capable of or not capable of, were just smoke to be brushed away.

I was lifted up into a field of light and love, flooded with a feeling of liberation, of rejoicing. It was like flying, rising above the clouds into bright sunlight, except that it was more radiant. It was exalted, sublime yet welcoming. Everything I knew fell away, yet I felt completely accepted and acceptable, completely known, completely loved, completely free. There were no words, just experience. Yet ever since, I have wondered if this is what salvation is like, to be lifted
up out of the fog of separation, of sin, of forever missing the mark, and delivered into the whole, into the reality behind the appearances of
the world.

It was clear that this radiant light, this loving consciousness, held everything that is. It was the alpha and omega, the particle and wave, the unifying force of the universe, suffusing us, carrying us when we leave this body, accompanying us always and everywhere, appearing in us when we are open to receive.

I knew I wouldn’t stay long in this radiance, in this sublime love and freedom. I was still sinking to my knees on a dirty sidewalk in Hell’s Kitchen, still struggling to breathe. Yet, as strange as it sounds, I wasn’t struggling inside. I was still. It felt as if I was falling to my knees in prayer—surrendering, not to this attack but to something that was infinitely higher. I understood that a life could have a different sense and meaning, that it could be spent seeking, purifying, practicing—I couldn’t find a word that conveyed the glimpse I had better than the words of the prayer, “Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.”

The being who searched me—who saw me inside and outside, past, present, and future, told me without words to relax, the struggle would soon pass, I would not be harmed. I would return.
I would go on. The light withdrew.

My attacker loosened his grip just enough to allow me to reach a ten dollar bill in the front pocket of my jeans. I threw the bill on the ground. My attacker jerked his arm off my throat, scooped up the bill, and ran off with the others. I stood up. I had my life back. I stared up at
the night sky, then down at the ripped grocery bag, wondering why the muggers hadn’t taken the cigarettes
and the six-pack of beer.

“Of all the pitfalls in our paths and the tremendous delays and wanderings off the track I want to say that they are not what they seem to be,” writes the artist Agnes Martin. “I want to say that all that seems like fantastic mistakes are not mistakes, all that seems like error
is not error; and it all has to be done. That which seems like a false step is
the next step.”

I walked back to my ex-boy friend’s apartment, shaking with sobs. I wasn’t harmed. Settled at the long dining room table in his book-lined loft, tears streaming down, I choked out the story, insisting that I wasn’t harmed. Never mind the weeping, I told him. I was fine, really, perfectly calm at center of the storm, you see. My ex-boyfriend looked miserable. The crying went on and on. He pushed a twenty dollar bill across the table towards me, repaying me for the groceries. I brushed it away and he pushed it back. Just take it.

We aren’t in control in the way we think we are, I told him. Things happen, even terrible things, but they are not what they seem to be. And we aren’t alone. There is a light, a luminosity behind the appearances of this world. There is a luminous, loving intelligence above us, watching over us, caring for us. I knew how this sounded. Religious, mystical, unbelievable. Do you believe me, not about the mugging but about the light? He shook his head no, scowling softly, sorry for me. He just could not.

In the weeks and years that followed, I learned this is how it goes with personal revelation. I was an unreliable narrator, no more so than any other ordinary human, but still very limited, subject to dreams, to the wheels and levers of conditioning. But the experience never grew dim. I told it to people I trusted, or the dying. I told it to my father in his last days, and to another dear old friend near his end. I sure hope you’re right, he said.

What we really have to share is not any spiritual treasure we imagine we have stored up, but our poverty, our common human situation, our inability to know.

Many years after that night in Hell’s Kitchen, I still drift through the world lost in thought, captivated by stories and images. But I know a greater reality and a greater awareness exists. I know there is a truth that cannot be thought, only received.

Crushed – not broken

These words came into my mind this morning. Clear, calm voice spoke them.

Yesterday several years of agony due to holding on to a false story crumbled.
Peter and Betty had been visiting – and I had planned to confront Peter with something he did here when he was visiting that I thought was both weird and irreverent.

He did it this time too – and the same night was without one minute’s sleep, just endless automatic spinning of the old attack-story. The sensations of toxicity were so overwhelming that I believed I would not survive one more night with them.

So I mailed Betty about this thing Peter did – and it turned out that what I had spun out was utterly made up in my mind, seen through the filter of the stiffened enemy image my mind has used as a lens of true perception.

When all the beliefs that this story was true and said something dangerous about Peter were gone, I could lay down and just allow the toxicity and strong physical pains and tensions just come up to be seen and forgiven and released. Each time a new layer surfaces, I relaxed around it and intended to release it.

The night before – and months before that – my mind had been feverishly busy in trying to foresee what I thought were Peter’s strange acts, which in my story meant that he was projecting hugely on me. This belief was enough to catch me in the old “foresee disaster so you will not get stuck in it”-pattern.

And it was seen as my old story completely, with no trace of reality in it.

This morning, after many vivid dreams forgotten when I woke up, I felt strange. I had a breakfast and threw up. It felt very liberating to do that: I almost never throw up.

Then I went to a matinée, and saw “Broken.”

So much violence – all coming out of a failing ability to open to one’s grief. And all the characters were described in such a way that their helplessness was evident – the bad guys and girls where just helplessly caught in a blind pattern of acting out violence to attain a semblance of control in their lives.

At the end, control breaks, all the “worst” happens, and the ending is happy.

Yes. Not broken. What broke, was the belief in the value of violent defense-mechanisms.

Just as this night, that old mechanism was brought to the surface and truly seen through and related TO and not FROM

Today feels like a cellular re-structuring.

Thank you opens the door to Love

Michael Brown   writes in the Presence Process how the very process will bring to us wishes for contact from people from long time ago. Yesterday I met my first real friend in this life – Corinne: she phoned me and asked that we met. Her children had asked her to write about her life, and she remembered that she and I used to write stories together. These were stories about ghosts and skeletons! We started with this when we were 3 years old, and went on for a while, until we drifted apart because I moved away.

I still had that book, we met and  she saw it again – and pointed out that we had exactly the same handwriting.

Corinne is the daughter of an Anglican Pastor. Her home was my safe haven -and heaven -when I was small. Her parents were predictable, safe, loving, honest, straight – and her mother baked the bestest bread in the world, and was always available. Once, I was caught in a crazy wind right outside the Pastors house, 3-4 years old and alone.The pastor spotted me from the window, ran out, scooped me up into his arms and ran back into the house with me. It felt exactly as God’s arms. And of course it was.

Now Corinne and I reminisced about how real and alive those stories felt when we made them. And we made them exactly the way I work with stories with patients in my therapist practice today: the story sits in the air and enters us and we both take turns in seeing what happens next.

Corinne told me about her marriage with a wonderful man – happy in his work, with his children, always joyful. She showed me a photo, and thinking about it makes my hair stand up: this is somebody who completely embodies JOY. She tells me that they have been married for 45 years, have 3 children and 5 grandchildren, she likes – and loves – them all. She does not lie: there is a peace emanating from her when she speaks.

In this moment, I think: maybe it IS possible for me to receive love from a man who will NOT turn into a devil when I last expect it. She has done that – and she was my first and best friend – may there be a mirror here?

In the evening I had a Skype session with dear Caren. There was a cramp like pain in the abdomen, and she asked “Could you say thank you to it?”

In the same second I said yes – recognizing that I  do want to befriend what is, not hate it. There was a silent and radiant expansion, like a closed door opening – there was radiant light and joy around me, and I heard a “thank you” from inside – like from a prisoner being let out in the light, realizing that he may have done heinous acts, but they were done from fear and belief in separation, and he sees that in reality, his spirit is free and has always been.

My own belief in the value of self-punishment is once again seen as meaningless and silly –  I also deeply recognize that everything that has happened to this one through incarnations, I have brought upon myself by bringing my beliefs into the ego thought system of sin, guilt and fear. Now I have a deep intention of recognizing the thoughts, and immediately bringing them to the correction of Spirit in my mind, before I attach a belief and an “I” to them.

Today, I received this wondrous video in my mailbox. What a great synchronicity














Time and violence

Kit and I today had one of our jewel-sharings – today about “personal” time. Here is some of what  stood out for us as helpful to recognize.

To believe  the idea:“It is not time for what want” leads to violence.  Kit used an example of feeling she needed HER time when putting her little boy to bed. He asked for water 3 times, and she noticed she was afraid that if she “gave in”, she would be eaten up – “give somebody a little finger, and he takes the whole hand.”

The belief in the need for personal time – MY time – makes the time feel very solid, dense, real, and very separating. “When I am believing this thought, I feel more separate from my children.”

The presence of violence grows.

When I believe there is not enough time, I suffer – I have to fight for this time, and that makes others separate and somebody I have to fight – while  as we allow ourselves to recognize that accepting whatever happens, shows us that THAT is our opportunity to tend to -letting life be, listening to what would benefit us both.

When life is lifeing, and we accept our child’s cry for attention, it is like accepting our inner child’s cry for attention – all that is needed is a genuine interest in meeting the other’s need:

Maybe it isn’t water you need? What are you really trying to tell me? Maybe you just need a hug before you go to sleep?

And if we do that, we may recognize that giving this time to our child is really filling our need – while if we believe the thought that somebody (me) loses, violence arises.

There is a palpable difference in adhering to the child’s needs from the knowing that the situation offers peace for both of us, and our trust in that (which we then bring to the situation) and the situation where we think we have to sacrifice our own needs for the child, which leeds to resentment/violence.

It becomes obvious that it is  not the situation that is the problem – but how we meet them. We can choose: peace – or violence/separation – “my” needs contra “your” needs. I create my own pain, by holding on to the thought that I must have “my” time.

But it is just a thought – believed in.

As soon as I stop believing the thought, something inside relaxes, and the child instantly picks that up and stop being “needy”. Now there is just a meeting, a joining: the one does not lose and the other does not win – here is just another opportunity for being present to what is NOW – trusting that if it is met without resistance/hatred/violence, only good comes out of it.

Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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