Choosing the Miracle
By Pauline Edward
Copyright 2011 Pauline Edward
Published by Desert Lily Publications
Smashwords Edition
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Cover design: Nancy Overbury
Illustrations: Alexander Marchand and
Pauline Edward
Information about Pauline Edward can be obtained through her official website: http://www.PaulineEdward.com. Books are available through online book retailers
* * * * *
Chapter 1. In Search of True Holiness
Chapter 2. Knocking Down Heaven’s Gate
Chapter 3. Beware the Slight Twinge of Annoyance
Chapter 6. The Closing of the Gap
Chapter 7. The Lessons of the Body
Chapter 8. New Purpose for an Ancient Journey
Chapter 9. Beyond the Illusion
Chapter 11. Forgiveness Demystified
Chapter 12. The Classroom of Life
* * * * *
Foreword
Pauline Edward first contacted me in 2010 to see if I’d be interested in reviewing her then soon-to-be published book, Leaving the Desert: Embracing the Simplicity of A Course in Miracles. She had found me through my Course website/blog: www.foraysinforgiveness.com, and felt the spark of recognition of a kindred Course journeyer and fellow student of the brilliant ACIM scholar and teacher, Ken Wapnick. Her intuition, as usual; was spot on. We became fast friends and fellow fans. She has been instrumental in helping me on a worldly level, but also, and most importantly, in providing the kind of gentle listening and support for my forgiveness practice that helps me remember the only real relationship we are truly cultivating here if we have chosen to awaken from a dream of separation: our relationship with the part of our mind that never fell asleep. The part of our mind that knows our only real relationship remains the one in which we continue to thrive united, eternally loving and seamlessly fused in peace with our creator.
Pauline—whose many talents include a fearless ability to embrace technology that I would prefer to ignore—soon had me signed up on Skype. We began regularly conversing, sharing our writing and teaching troubles and triumphs but mainly our mind-healing process; insights gleaned from harnessing the transformative power of forgiveness ACIM-style in the classroom of our daily lives. Learning to honestly observe our attraction to the special interests, preferences, judgments, opinions, and blaming impulses of our mind on ego and choose instead for the inner teacher of oneness. Learning to rely on the memory of our true wholeness in our one mind always available to dissolve our belief in the ego’s shenanigans in return for every sincere call for its gentle vision and winning smile. Although quite different in our approach to the world and the Course at the personality level, I recognize (and rejoice) in Pauline as a fellow journeyer as committed to finding her way home—at times, come hell or high water—as I am, and equally willing to catch wrong-minded thinking, resign again as her own teacher, and ask for a better way.
In her previous book, Leaving the Desert, Pauline recounted her struggle to wrap her head around the confounding (to the ego, the part of our mind that believes we pulled off the “tiny, mad, idea” of separation from our source and now exist as individuals vying for survival in an imaginary universe of fragmented form) metaphysical position presented in A Course in Miracles. The startling and consistent revelation that the world in which we believe we interact as bodies does not in truth exist. The blasphemous—to organized religions revolving around a dualistic God made in the ego’s unstable image—idea that God did not create this world and in fact knows nothing of it. By delving deeply into the text, workbook, and related materials Pauline honestly shared her growing understanding of the Course’s unique, mind-healing, forgiveness practice that teaches us to take responsibility for the seeming external problems in our relationships back to the source in the one mind and ask for a different interpretation from the part of our mind that can truly see, smile, and share its perception of uninterrupted wholeness. Along the way, she began to confront her own fear of relinquishing the special identity we all use to push that authentic, all-inclusive and enduring Love away.
In Choosing the Miracle, Pauline offers an even more intimate glimpse of the forgiveness of what never was and the dawning realization that only God is; she is closer than she thought; truly awake in perfect, eternal Love, simply dreaming of exile. She recounts the many ways the ego tries to join our journey from mindlessness to mindfulness citing concrete, heartfelt examples from her own life. She explains the crucial process of looking at the wrong mind (ego) with our right mind (Holy Spirit/Jesus/that symbol of the part of our mind that remembered to laugh at the guilty thought of fragmenting infinite wholeness) to illuminate the concealed purpose of proving we exist but it’s not our fault. And she reminds us we are never forgiving something real; merely our misperceptions.
Pauline deftly cautions against looking to form for evidence of our progress or lack of it with this Course when in truth, ACIM is always taking us in the other direction (back to the decision-making mind). She shares her increasingly intimate dialogue with Jesus and growing guidance and faith in the true possibility of awakening juxtaposed with a heightened awareness of the ego’s increasingly sneaky ways. She also expresses a growing, experiential certainty that everyone here (including the false self we identify with) suffers from the same delusion of a split mind and therefore deserves a loving, compassionate response informed by the inner teacher of loving compassion.
This book brims with practical advice for the earnest homeward traveler illuminated by real life examples of how to stop ourselves and choose again for inner peace whenever something “out there” seems all too real and our resistance to changing our mind threatens to overwhelm us. It is a beautiful, must-have handbook for any Course student seriously committed to learning to smile at the folly of separate interests and know that—at any and every seeming moment no matter what seems to arise in our dream—we can choose peace.
Susan Dugan
Author of Extraordinary Ordinary Forgiveness
* * * * *
Preface
This book was nearly three quarters of the way finished when I hit a wall. Although it appeared as a very high wall that would take a very long time and a whole lot of effort to be climbed, as it turned out, it simply had to be risen above and left behind. This passing hurdle led to a shift in perception that left me reeling, and by the same token, wondering what to do with, among most aspects of my life, my writing. I simply could not complete, let alone publish this book. Besides which, there was nothing left to be said. I had found peace, and I knew where and how to look for the presence of God. Left to my own devices, I would simply have allowed myself to settle in this most wonderful of states, content with the simple knowledge that God is, right here, right now. I had desire for nothing more than this. I could get a job in a flower shop, and spend the remaining years of my life in peaceful simplicity.
I could have done just that, but I had sufficient wisdom to understand that the purpose of my life would remain unfulfilled should I resign myself thus, and my purpose had always been to work with people, and to write. Still, that did not clarify what I should do with the chapters I had written, material which no longer fit my new perspective. I considered scrapping the entire manuscript and starting something new, perhaps at a later date. For over two months, time I had specifically set aside for the completion of this work, I put it on hold and simply let the dust of my new understanding settle. When the time was right, I would be guided as to what to do.
And I was. Early one autumn morning, I awoke with very clear guidance. Other than normal editing, I was to leave the sections I had written intact. I would then proceed to describe the experiences that had led to the shift in perception, and complete the book as originally outlined, well, more or less. I think my dear guide was being gentle with me, for this revision ended up being a lot of work! But, no matter. This book has a purpose, and I am honoured to have had a role to play in bringing a sliver of light to my brothers and sisters, even though it caused me to experience more than a few moments of great fear and uncertainty.
It is with the deepest gratitude and love that I offer this work to the members of our small Course in Miracles study group. Together, we have grown much over the years. A special thanks to poet Michael J. Miller for proofreading the manuscript. This work has reached completion in large part because of feedback from clients and readers. It is in the sharing of their experiences, questions and doubts, the expression of their desire and thirst for the truth and their longing for peace and wholeness that my own journey has been fuelled.
A very special thank you to Alexander Marchand, author of The Universe Is a Dream, for graciously providing the cool illustrations for this book (except for the invitation from the ego found in Chapter 10, a wanton lapse into creative self-expression on the part of yours truly), and to my dear friend on the journey, Susan Dugan, who, in my moment of darkness, wisely reminded me that the ego lies, and it lies and it lies!
I will remain forever grateful to Mr. Homer Lin, facilitator of the Banqiao ACIM Study Group in Taiwan who followed the inspiration that allowed our paths to cross at a most critical moment of my journey. When allowed, miracles will occur in the form most needed and thus, most appropriate for all of God’s Children. Thank you my dear friend.
* * * * *
Time to rise
By
Michael J. Miller
It seems like all hope is lost;
Died, God dead and nothing remains
but despair;
An empty shell of a life.
Facing the emptiness,
the end,
with the last breath comes a whisper…
a vision… of
another world…
The Father calls, seems distant at first,
but
the feeling begins to grow;
an increasing willingness,
to yield
to the Father’s grace.
Do you know Christ passes no one by?
Do
you know He loves you?
There is the Word of God. He has
spoken.
And all false tongues shall cease to speak:
this is
your awakening.
Renounce your false self and give way to the
Father.
This ego is not You. Yield to Higher Self.
I cease to
speak. I am quiet.
And from this stillness I reach out
beyond
myself to Greater Wisdom.
Not mine, but Thy Will be done.
It
will enchant you,
It will delight you,
It will transform
you,
Bringing the darkness to the light.
It is time to
rise,
rise from your seeming death,
and awaken unto Him!
What will the death of death look like?
Just to be
curious.
Wondering what new colours will arise;
what will come
into view?
Aren’t you just a little curious?
What will I see,
and what will I be,
when all blocks to the awareness of Love’s
Presence
are let go?
When all pain and fear and hell are
gone,
what will I awaken to?
It is a gradual process.
Gently
taken by the hand,
we are led up a staircase leading to
Heaven,
each step bringing us closer,
each small flittering of
our eyelids,
another glimpse of the glory beyond.
Why
dilly-dally with hell
when Heaven’s right around the
corner!
Heaven is now—within your reach now!
Can you still
justify condemning yourself,
or another part of you as a
brother,
when you could be free?
A holy instant away from
bliss, peace.
I am insane to throw away Heaven for hell!
Begin
to awaken.
Be still.
And know that He is God.
There is
nothing to fear…
* * * * *
References
References to A Course in Miracles (ACIM) correspond to the numbering system of the Text (T), Workbook (W), Manual for Teachers (M) and Clarification of Terms (C) used in the Third Edition. For example:
T-27.VIII.6:2–5 corresponds to Text, 27, Section VIII, Paragraph 6, Sentences 2 to 5.
W-pI.132.5:1–3 corresponds to Workbook, Part I, Lesson 132, Paragraph 5, Sentences 1 to 3.
M-16.4:6 corresponds to Manual for Teachers, Question 16, Paragraph 4, Sentence 6.
C-3.4:1 corresponds to Clarification of Terms, Term 3, Paragraph 4, Sentence 1.
* * * * *
Introduction
“We go to Heaven, and the path is straight. Only if we attempt to wander can there be delay, and needless wasted time on thorny byways. God alone is sure, and He will guide our footsteps. He will not desert His Son in need, nor let him stray forever from his home.” (W-pI.200.9:2–5)
As much as I have always enjoyed writing, I must admit that Leaving the Desert was the most difficult book for me to complete. In fact, my resistance to exploring the radical and uncompromising message of A Course in Miracles was so acute that there were numerous times when I honestly thought I would never see it to publication. It simply took too much out of me. Resistance notwithstanding, given my trademark tenacious temperament I persisted and eventually, much to my relief, saw it through to its rightful finish. Though I had become aware of the fact that writing would be an integral part of my learning and healing process, this had to be the most challenging bit of learning and healing I had ever encountered. In a way, it was a spiritual rite of passage of sorts, a required challenge, necessary for preparing the way for the remainder of the journey home.
After having written the chapter on specialness, a favourite of readers, as it turned out, I had the very strong, indisputably clear impulse to stop writing. At the very least, I needed to put some distance between myself and the object of my literary expression. In my haste to wrap it up and get as far away from the subject as possible, several sections were cut from the outline. Enough had been said, I thought, as I completed the final revision. People interested in learning about A Course in Miracles would have to get what they needed by reading the big blue book for themselves.
Relieved of the dark task, I handed the manuscript to my editor, sent out review copies and placed the whole matter in the hands of the Holy Spirit. I boldly declared that I would never again write another book, certainly not a book that stirred the cauldron of deep-seated sin, guilt and fear. When Course student and poet Michael Miller, who was at the time proof-reading the manuscript, suggested that I had set up the book for a follow-up, I replied, “Write your own goddamn book!” Having experienced more than my fair share of pain in the arms, back, neck and shoulders, not to mention the horrors of having delved into the dark corners of my unconscious mind during the eighteen months I spent working on it, I wasn’t interested in writing another word, let alone another book. No more!
When I look back and wonder how it was that I made it through that very intense year (a number 7 Personal Year in the 9-year numerology cycle), I see that things happened simply as they were meant to happen. From where I stood, there really had been no alternatives. I had followed the pathway of my life’s voyage just as it had been mapped out, right on through to its rightful destination. Nevertheless, this last stretch of the journey had left me feeling as though the carpet of my life had been pulled right out from under me and I wasn’t quite sure yet how, or even if I would again land on level ground.
For the first time ever, I had no clear goals ahead of me, no unfulfilled yearnings, no action plan, no to-do list, nor any driving need for accomplishment. Other than attending to the basic necessities of life, of which there seemed to be an incessantly growing number in a world that had sustained a massive technological invasion, I had no significant worldly ambitions. Most long-held desires and beliefs had vanished and I felt as though I was nowhere, in an existential no-man’s land with no specific destination and only fleeting reminders of what lay on the abandoned avenues of the past. I had come too far in my study and understanding of the message of A Course in Miracles to turn back, yet, though my old beliefs clearly had lost their meaning and no longer served a purpose, my tender new learning had yet to set firm roots in what would flourish into the next season of my life. The canvas of my journey had been repainted; I awaited the light that would show me the way.
In the quiet of the weeks that followed the completion of my manuscript, I simply allowed everything I had learned and experienced in the previous months to settle into my being. More and more I sought solitude, silence and quiet. My new motto was: The simpler, the better. A warm feeling of peaceful surrender enveloped me as I realized that the message of A Course in Miracles was in fact very simple and practical, but more than that, it was a teaching I could incorporate into my life no matter the circumstances. It was a spirituality I could work with—a practical, down-to-earth person such as myself—which was a miracle in itself. Little by little, as I observed my responses to everyday situations, my dark companions—the most illustrious among them being fear, guilt, anger, impatience and specialness—began to lose their hold on me. With growing certainty, I knew that I now walked with mighty companions by my side. Faith came into full bloom as the shadows of doubt and uncertainty that had for too long hovered at the edges of my awareness dissipated. Instead, I welcomed each opportunity to look at, and release, the darkness that remained, for each spot of darkness forgiven revealed more of the light beyond.
I toggled between states of deep peace, at times accompanied by tears of profound relief, and the joy of having found such an incredible spiritual path. While out on my daily walks, listening to Ken Wapnick workshops on my MP3 player, I smiled. I even smiled at dogs; poor slobbering fools sauntering along at the end of their leashes. It even briefly crossed my mind that perhaps, when my cat Maggie passed away, I might consider a canine companion. Serious and reserved by nature, I didn’t do smile; at least not at strangers, and especially not at dogs. But there I’d be, walking down the street, listening to my favourite teacher expound on sin, guilt and fear, and I would be smiling, and frequently, even laughing. I’m sure the neighbours must have thought I had lost it, and in a way, I suppose I had. I had lost the need to take this world so seriously. What a tremendous relief to lose such an insufferable burden.
Arf.
The self I had spent over half a century cultivating, nurturing and grooming was growing increasingly insignificant. The voice of the focused, serious, intense, dedicated, persistent self that had stood boldly behind all my past decisions and actions grew fainter. The long, dark, winding leg of the journey—the incessant search for the truth—had ended and was now veering in a new, brighter direction. But I was unsure as to what to do, or how to approach this new direction, and oftentimes, I was not quite sure of who I was or who I was meant to be any more. Now what? I thought. I had all this understanding, all this knowledge, and the willingness to practise this powerful new spirituality whenever an opportunity arose, but, then what?
I needed to understand the nature of the next step on this strange new terrain, but who could answer my questions about feelings I could barely articulate? Through business networking and consultations, I had met thousands of people over the years, yet there was no one to whom I could ask my burning questions. Then what? I needed to know more about this spiritual process, about its consequences. There was, I concluded, only one person in the world who could help me. After exchanging a couple of telephone messages, we finally connected. Patiently and most graciously, Ken Wapnick answered all my questions, including the one that troubled me the most.
“Then what,” I asked, eager to better understand what a life dedicated to the practice of forgiveness in pursuit of the only goal that mattered—awakening from the dream—would mean while everything in the world seemed to have lost all meaning.
“Then it’s no longer you,” he replied with utmost simplicity.
Huh! Then it’s no longer me. It was simple.
That was all I needed to know. I mulled over those words for months, contemplating the thought of being free of the “self” with which I still identified. Mocking jeers from my unwilling companion—the ego—would occasionally surface as spiteful reminders that I was not yet quite ready to give it up—Right, then it’s no longer you! But there was no rush; it could—and would—be a gentle, peaceful process. I would be patient with myself. In time, I would be ready to let this self go simply to be replaced by a far greater Self. In time, it would no longer be me, and the more I thought about it, the more it sounded like a good thing. In truth, since time is also part of the illusion and never really was, the “self” to which I clung never really was either. Which meant that in truth, what remained was the Self which is a reflection of the Oneness of God, the Self which includes all “Selves,” the Self in which you and I are joined as one. Though it seemed like a most unrealistic goal, this became the experience I sought; a new destination was written onto the road map of my life.
Finding Normal
I think I could very easily have allowed myself to sink deeper and engage more completely in my newfound state of spiritual grace, but I knew that I would at some point have to get back to the real world or, perhaps more accurately, the dream world. There were bills to be paid, which the utilities companies certainly would not perceive as illusory, so I needed to return my attention to my consulting practice. All those months spent writing had depleted what little funds I had and I could no longer afford to sit in blissful contemplation. I busied myself with the publication of Leaving the Desert and returned to my normal life, at least, what was normal for me: an astrologer politely networking with real estate agents, business coaches and investment advisors, secretly aware that all of it is little more than the result of a tiny, mad idea. Be normal, Ken Wapnick reminds repeatedly. So, in an attempt to be normal, I renewed my Chamber of Commerce membership, signed up for networking luncheons and cocktails and started a session of group coaching for writers.
Still, even as life returned to a semblance of normalcy, I continued to feel somewhat disconnected. There was no hurry. In fact, I seemed to have adopted a rather detached attitude about pretty much everything I did, which was not normal for the driven, hard-working individual that once inhabited this body. Other than paying the bills, there was little motivation for doing anything that belonged to this world. While the world seemed to be speeding up around me, I shifted the pace of my activities down to a very slow second gear, just fast enough to keep up with matters at hand. I simplified as many aspects of my business and daily activities as possible and took things one day at a time. Still, the more I focused on the mundane affairs of life, the more I wanted to pull away. I began to imagine one day abandoning my astrology practice, even if it meant getting a part-time job somewhere, a favourite place in my imaginings being a flower shop. “I want to go live in a tree,” I would say. When a flower shop opened up in walking distance from my home, I took this as a sign; if I needed to, I could always apply for a job. It was a relief to know I had a viable option.
It wasn’t that I no longer wanted to work with clients; it was more that I no longer knew how to work with the tools of my trade. Or, perhaps it was that I did not know quite how to work with people who believed that their lives were caused by external forces such as planetary transits and numbers. From my new perspective, I understood that the circumstances of our lives are a reflection of our decision for separation. They are not caused by anything outside our minds. In fact, the entire cosmos and any symbolism we might derive from it is a projection of that one thought of separation; all of our experiences are the result of our ongoing decision to maintain this belief.
There were times when I felt unable to help my clients because I could not support their beliefs that their pain and unhappiness came from some outside source such as a cruel and insensitive spouse, a miserable, unsatisfactory job, or a broken-down body. I sensed their pain, their fears and their sorrows, saw the darkness of their confusion and recognized that their grief came from a deeply buried belief in separation. Many of these people believed that if you were a good person, then good things should happen to you. If many people became good persons, then the world would become the good place it was meant to be. How could I tell them that in the darkest recesses of their minds, they actually believed they were the home of evil, darkness and sin and the world was an outward picture of that belief and therefore could never be a place of peace?
For several months, I felt pulled between the dual poles of my existence: my work with the Course, on which I could not count to pay the bills, and my work as an astrologer, which paid the bills, but where, with my clients, I could no longer be entirely forthcoming. My situation was a reflection of the inherent duality of one who, on the one hand, identified with the separated self in a body in the world and, on the other hand, had started to remember that there is another part of the mind that knows that only a state of perfect oneness and wholeness can possibly be true.
The Course tells us that there is no hierarchy of illusions, that there is no order of difficulty in miracles, and that we should make it all the same. I knew very well that if I quit my practice and went to work in a flower shop, I would encounter just as many difficulties, though perhaps in different forms. So I practised looking at my brothers without judgment and learned to handle their questions with kindness, compassion and understanding, and in particular, respect for where they were on their individual journeys. I became adept at deflecting questions that concerned the cause of situations and circumstances and focused on listening to where they were at so as to be as helpful as possible. Sometimes, all they needed was the reassurance that help could always be found when one was ready to receive it. My increased openness and compassion was rewarded with deeper insights and greater helpfulness, and I found more meaning in my work.
Interestingly, and perhaps not surprisingly, my practice began to shift as readers of Making Peace with God and Leaving the Desert requested consultations from the perspective of the Course. This gave me the opportunity to inject a much-needed breath of fresh air into my approach, making consultation work more rewarding. I suppose I should not have been surprised by this, but most were struggling with the practical application of the Course’s teaching in their lives. Particularly confusing for all Course students I encountered was the idea that the world is an illusion, something with which I too struggled. Who were these seemingly separated selves having experiences that were, to them, so very real?
Nudged Back into Writing
Not long after my declaration of independence from writing, having replaced writing time with household tasks such as laundry, cleaning the house, mowing the lawn or running errands—all of which I found to be pleasantly monastic in their goalless simplicity—it occurred to me that I felt lost without a book-in-the-making. Barely a couple of weeks had passed after having handed the manuscript of Leaving the Desert to my editor when I awoke with the very clear thought that I was to write another book. No way! Not another one. Can’t do it. No way! But the guidance was strong and clear. In this new book, I would pick up the themes that had been dropped from the outline of Leaving the Desert and further explore the practical side of how to live with A Course in Miracles.
Despite my sincere oath to never again write on the terrifying trio of sin, guilt and fear, I felt excited about this new book project. It appeared that it was nearly impossible to shake the life-long writing bug; it was a chronic condition. I sat at the computer, set up the book files, started an outline and then put my laptop back on the dining room table, one of my favourite writing spots. Though Choosing the Miracle had been conceived, I did not start work on it right away, as I was still unconvinced that more needed to be said. It would gestate for a while, and that was okay. It just felt good to know that there was a project on the back burner for whenever the urge to write arose. There was something in the world for me to do. As an avid doer, this meant that life was really returning to normal.
Though not actively working on the book, I sketched out personal reflections and experiences in a journal and took note of questions asked by clients and Course students. Interestingly, quite often these questions were related to the very topics I had dropped from Leaving the Desert or subjects I had sketched out in my journal. Nearly every time, these queries came when I had been questioning the need to write another book. As the weeks turned into months, I continued to toggle between my desire to write, and the sense that nothing more needed to be written. Again, here was a reflection of the dualistic nature of my split mind: to write, or not to write; to be heard, or to be silent. The inner battle of truth versus illusion sought expression in the world outside, making itself heard.
Just before the start of the new year, I had a visit from channeller Lisa LaJoie. Since that first reading recounted in the Introduction of Leaving the Desert, we had become good friends. Once again, though I had not actively sought out a channelled reading, it appeared that this was one of the ways in which I would receive the guidance I needed from my teacher, Jesus. In this reading it was pointed out that on my journey I was called to share my experiences. “Your nature is built to share, even if you are a hermit.”
An interesting image Lisa received was that of Buddha and Jesus sitting in a tree with roots above the ground. “You are a tree, with its branches and roots above the ground, free to move ahead,” she told me. “Choice exists only in separation. You are going to live without choice; on the tree, there is no more choice. Choose not to choose; seek only knowingness. In knowingness, you act differently, though you can have your own thoughts.” This imagery was all the more interesting given my curious recurring quip about wanting to live in a tree!
Despite my preference for maintaining a low profile, I was told to be fearless in sharing my experience of, as well as my love for Jesus, as I proceed on my journey. “Share thoughts of knowing who we are in truth. You are going somewhere new. Stop standing down. Living the Course exists for you, J exists,” Lisa added with emphasis. “Humanity is confused; be unafraid to express your life. You are not an observer anymore. You have a place to stand. It starts inside. The Course got you to the point where you could ask questions and choose. In your book, ask questions. Share more in the questions.” Again, this was a request which I found interesting since I had already begun to take notes in the form of questions to be explored. “Share his love in the community; comfort and strength come by accepting him.” I would have the comfort and the strength I needed, Jesus reassured me, since I had accepted to take this journey with him.
“Stop talking about going home. Know that you are home. This is the miracle.” Although I liked the sound of those words, I believed I had a very long way to go before I was anywhere near home, and so I was not about to stop my quest any time soon. Besides, knowing that I was home was much easier said than done, at least from my limited ego-invested perspective.
Though I had always been somewhat skeptical of channelled material, I had little doubt that Lisa was channelling Jesus. The experience of the love we shared together in his presence was clearly not of this world. However, during this reading, I wondered if some of his message might have gotten garbled in the transmission. Lisa was not a Course student and so, when she said that life was about “Finding the grace in our choice to come here” and that my life was about “healing of the grief over being born human; the miracle of the soul coming into the body; the acceptance of having both worlds inside, the soul and the body,” I chalked it up to her inexperience with the metaphysics of the Course. The body is part of the world, and is therefore part of the illusion. I certainly could not celebrate the miracle of the soul coming into the body!
Another part of that session left me feeling somewhat uncomfortable. “There is more to the Course to be revealed, about the journey, about coming here. I’ll be back when it’s time. Do people understand that God is here? That I am here? In this density? The way you think about the Course brings separation. There is more to that book. It’s about choice. Then, there is living in knowing.”
It was true that I held the Course in very high regard; and yes, perhaps I had made it a bit special, okay, very special. But that there was more to the Course? That God or Jesus were here, in the illusion? These points did not make sense to me. Much had been said about living in the world, in a body, while all I wanted was to awaken from the dream, leave the body and leave the world. Where I would go after departing the body and the world remained a mystery. Though I didn’t fully understand the message, I left it at that, trusting that, in time, understanding would come.
If Lisa’s reading wasn’t enough of a nudge toward writing, there were encouraging emails from readers. One woman even expressed sadness at the thought of reaching the end of Leaving the Desert, reading very slowly, not eager to be without anything to read. Most stated that they looked forward to my next book. Readers indicated that the personal style of the writing was not only appreciated, but also very helpful. Despite that we all came from vastly different backgrounds from around the globe, they related to my experiences, shared in the sorrows, the pains and the joys, the search for wholeness, and sensed the hope.
So, once again, I began to give serious thought to writing, pondering this introductory section in particular, wondering what was the best way to write it, which point of view to take, whether or not I should continue to write in the first person, or if I should adopt a more impersonal, third person point of view. Increasingly, I had begun to feel little need to make my presence felt in my writing. The author of my books, the figure in my dream, was losing its foothold in my mind as the dreamer of the dream was learning to look from an entirely different vantage point, choosing a way of looking that was more whole, more peaceful, a development with which I was very pleased.
I searched my bookshelves for ideas on writing style and point of view, noting that Thomas Merton had continued to write in the first person long after the publication of The Seven Storey Mountain. This debate, which went on for several weeks was, once again, a reflection of the battle of my split mind: to write in the first person or the third person; to be visible, or to make myself invisible. Finally, I decided to write in the same voice and style as my previous books. This is what I knew; this is what my readers wanted; this is what I had been guided to do; and in the end, this was the simplest solution.
Stop standing down … Be fearless in sharing your experience.
Once that hurdle was overcome, another took its place. Never at a loss to find objects of projection, the inner battle found a new outlet. In recent months, I had noticed that there was an increasing number of Course in Miracles books on the market, and good books too. Did the world need to be burdened with yet another one? Then I thought of the hundreds of hours of Ken Wapnick workshops I had listened to over and over again, and Gary Renard’s book, The Disappearance of the Universe, which I had read eight times, and how at each listening, or each reading, my learning and understanding had grown, if only by one small step. Sometimes, it was those tiny bits of learning that were the most significant, as when I read Alexander Marchand’s wonderful book, The Universe Is a Dream. Who would have thought it possible to gain significant insights about A Course in Miracles from a graphic-novel—a comic book!
I understood that varying our learning aids could be very helpful. In fact, while being taught the same thing in the same way repeatedly could be helpful for establishing a foundation of learning, this approach would eventually be used by the wrong-minded ego to devise clever objections and resistances to learning, a hard lesson I would learn first-hand. Being taught the same thing in a radical new way might be helpful in throwing the ego off guard. So, I concluded, perhaps there was room in the library of the world for another Course book after all.
Yet another battle laid to rest, I placed the matter in the hands of the Holy Spirit, trusting that inspiration would come when it was time. But days passed and again, my split mind spoke out in its defence pointing out that perhaps I was not really spiritual enough to pursue this path, much less write another book on the most significant spirituality of the century. Had Gary Renard not characterized Leaving the Desert as being “one of the most practical spiritual books ever written”? Who was I kidding! Maybe I was too practical!
But Jesus repeatedly tells us that the Course is very practical. It would have to be so, otherwise, how could we possibly study and practise a teaching that says that there is no world and what we see is an outside picture of an inward condition that we don’t even know exists? And so it was that while getting back to normal, I realized that I am indeed a practical person and, not surprisingly, my writing is likely to reflect that fact. Again, in keeping with my newfound creed of simplicity, this is the approach I decided to adopt. I put the matter back into the hands of the Holy Spirit; at some point I would know what, when, and how to write the book, if that is what I was meant to do.
Early one spring morning, as my awareness was winding its way out from dreams of sleep to the waking dream, I heard a chime, a cheery, musical wave and then these words, in my own voice: God, here I am! In that instant, everything became crystal clear in my mind. I reminded myself of the workbook lesson I had read the day before, I trust my brothers who are one with me, got up, made my coffee, grabbed a muffin and sat down to write. Writing would continue to be a significant part of my healing process, as it required that I look deep in my mind, and the simpler and more logical my thinking process, the deeper would be my understanding. Writing kept the teaching of the Course very close, so that whatever happened in my life, I knew where to look. Since we are all of one mind, I would write with my brothers and sisters on the journey, in my customary, personal and practical style, an approach that I hoped would be most helpful for all. And so it was that I began the next leg of my journey together with you, my reader, deepening our understanding and lessening the fear that is but a small veil over the truth that lies within each of us.
“My brother, you are part of God and part of me. When you have at last looked at the ego’s foundation without shrinking you will also have looked upon ours. I come to you from our Father to offer you everything again. Do not refuse it in order to keep a dark cornerstone hidden, for its protection will not save you. I give you the lamp and I will go with you. You will not take this journey alone. I will lead you to your true Father, Who hath need of you, as I have. Will you not answer the call of love with joy?” (T-11.in.IV.4)
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Chapter 1. In Search of True Holiness
“All that is needful is to train our minds to overlook all little senseless aims, and to remember that our goal is God.” (W-pII.258.1:1)
Only the Holy
When I was growing up, I believed that holiness was reserved for a very few select, saintly souls. From a Catholic perspective, holiness belonged to God’s special chosen ones, most of whom were made to endure tremendous suffering and sacrifice, with a perverse emphasis placed on the suffering. In fact, suffering seemed to be a key component of holiness and, by my limited understanding of all things theological and a natural aversion to suffering, holiness was certainly not a state that I believed was, nor ever would be, within the range of my sinful, unblessed reach. Clearly, with a temperament that was more hedonistic than holy, I knew very well that I could never be sufficiently motivated to endure the suffering required of the saintly and therefore had literally no hope, nor reasonable expectation of ever attaining any significant degree of holiness.
Yet, not one to back down from an impossible challenge, I clung to a curious attraction for what was for me a lofty, though seemingly unattainable, state. Over the years, I did come to learn that throughout history there have been some truly inspired Catholics, as well as many beautiful souls from other religions and spiritual paths whose holiness was not entirely founded on suffering. This further piqued my curiosity and, despite what I had been taught, also kept me from completely accepting that holiness was reserved for a select, suffering, or non-suffering, few. If God were fair, then holiness must be for all; as our Creator and Father, He would love all His children equally, and all His children must be equally holy.
A couple of years into my work with A Course in Miracles, I was compelled to read once again some of the books that had moved my spirit during my youthful quest for the truth, works whose messages were, at the time, very far above my spiritual pay grade, yet, which shed a tiny spark of light in the shadows of my slumbering soul. In the tales of these saints and mystics—St. John of the Cross, St. Teresa of Avila, Thomas à Kempis, Ramana Maharshi—I recognized that, though the forms of our journeys may differ vastly, the yearning for an experience of closeness to God is a reflection of the memory we all share, the deeply buried remembrance of our true state of oneness in the Kingdom of Heaven. It is a calling that transcends history, education, culture or religious tradition, a yearning that is beyond words or language. It is this tiny spark of remembrance that causes us to question the reality of separation from our Father and that ignites our curiosity about the truth of who we really are, as God created us.
Venkataraman was not yet sixteen when he heard the call. Raised in the comfort of a middle-class family, he enjoyed all manner of sports and outdoor activities and also did well in school. One day he met an elderly relative who had recently returned from a trip to Arunachala, what he thought of as a mythical sacred place. In Ramana Maharshi and the Path of Self-Knowledge, Arthur Osborne tells the story of the young sage's call to awakening. “[T]he sudden realization that the holy hill was a real, tangible place on earth that men could visit overwhelmed Venkataraman with awe so that he could only stammer out: What! From Arunachala? Where is that?” Not long after that fateful encounter with his relative, the young Venkataraman came across a copy of the Periapuranam, the life stories of the sixty-three Tamil Saints. The beauty, the faith and the divine fervour expressed by these holy persons so inspired him with awe and wonder that his outlook on life and the Divine was forever changed. “Something greater than all dreamlands, greater than all ambition, was here proclaimed real and possible, and the revelation thrilled him with blissful gratitude.” He experienced “a wave of bewildering joy at perceiving that the Divine can be made manifest on earth.”
Everything that had ever meant anything to the young schoolboy faded as he slipped into increasingly frequent states of a peaceful awareness that transcended mind and body. It was then only a matter of weeks before he attained a state of complete awakening, an experience which he described thus: “as I stood there waves of emotion overwhelmed me. The soul had given up its hold on the body when it renounced the ‘I-am-the-body’ idea and it was seeking some fresh anchorage; hence the frequent visits to the temple and the outpouring of the soul in tears.” What was most interesting was that he had never before shown any particular interest in anything spiritual or religious. This was simply Venkataraman’s time to awaken, a young man who came to be known as Sri Ramana Maharshi, a holy man who came to show us the way.
Though perhaps lacking in theological sophistication, or perhaps because of that fact, I was very moved by the words of Brother Lawrence, a man who knew that there is only one thought worth keeping. The true power of his holiness resided in the simplicity of his faith and his complete and uncompromising devotion to being in the presence of God. Though this is a work I discovered only in recent years—one of those books that just happens to pop into one’s life at the appropriate time—it served to strengthen my resolve to seek within and find a faith that was absolute and unshakable. Unlike Brother Lawrence, I still believed in the necessity of books and methods of going to God, a belief that was soon about to change.
Having found in many books different methods of going to God, and divers practices of the spiritual life, I thought this would serve rather to puzzle me than facilitate what I sought after, which was nothing but how to become wholly God’s. This made me resolve to give the all for the all; so after having given myself wholly to God … I renounced, for the love of Him, everything that was not He; and I began to live as if there was none but He and I in the world. (The Practice of the Presence of God and the Spiritual Maxims, Brother Lawrence.)
While reading works such as these in my late teens had merely shed a faint glimmer of light in a distant part of my mind, as I read them again after having been immersed in the Course decades later, the light grew to fill my entire awareness with a beauty so wholly engaging that it literally drove me to tears. The faint remembrance was becoming a recognition of a truth so overwhelming that I could no longer ignore its call. It seemed that the journey of my life had not only come full circle, it had found its true meaning and purpose.
To remain on track, all I needed was to ask myself one question: What was my first thought when I awoke this morning? Was it of God? Was it a thought of gratitude for the many opportunities the day would bring to help take me one step closer to the presence of God? Was it a thought of profound relief from the simple knowledge that the children of God need not worry or stress or be anxious about anything that belongs to a made-up world? A world that is little more than a temporary interlude between the time of our return home and a moment of curiosity about a thought of separation that could not ever be real?
The Truth Is Simple, But …
“Oneness is simply the idea God is. And in His Being, He encompasses all things. No mind holds anything but Him. We say “God is,” and then we cease to speak, for in that knowledge words are meaningless.” (W-pI.169.5:1–4)
A Course in Miracles states the truth thus: God is. Period. A truly holy person would have no need to pursue the matter any further. What else is there to ponder? What thoughts do you hold in your mind today? How to acquire more money? Fame? Power? Influence? How to change the world? How to obtain what you want from a special love partner? How to make your body appear more attractive? How to convince someone to love you? How to prove yourself right in the face of an authoritative parent?
If only God and His creation is true, then anything in which God appears to be absent cannot be true and therefore must be a lie, an illusion, a dream, a substitute for the truth. Yet, this is not what we really think, since we believe that God is somewhere up in Heaven, and we are here, in bodies, authors of books and readers of books, in a world that makes more of a case for its reality in form than as illusion. If we truly believed that only God is true, we would know that He must be everywhere and in everything, in which case, we would not need A Course in Miracles or any other spirituality for that matter. In fact, we would no longer be having an experience of separation from the truth in the form of a self in a body with a so-called distinct and unique life, for experience would tell us that we are one with God. So, how is it possible to reconcile the truth with our very real evidence to the contrary?
“If you want to be like me I will help you, knowing that we are alike. If you want to be different, I will wait until you change your mind. I can teach you, but only you can choose to listen to my teaching.” (T-8.IV.6:3–5)
Either Jesus is expressing the truth and everything in and of this world is a lie, or he is lying. Either he is right and we are wrong; or he is wrong and we are right. More importantly, who among us wants to admit that they are wrong, especially about every single thing they have ever held and continue to hold to be true? Unless we are willing to at least consider the possibility that Jesus is right, and we are wrong, we are not likely to get very far on this journey. We are asked to question everything we believe and, ultimately, must be prepared to choose one belief over another, illusion, or truth. Either God is true and what we see as the world is illusory, or the world is true and God is myth. It must be one or the other, but not both; and at all times, what we believe remains our choice.
Luckily, we are not expected to fully understand the implications of this extraordinary teaching, nor even to fully accept it, at least not in the early stages of our work with the Course. In fact, at first it is not unusual to feel outraged and confused at its confounding statement of the truth. We are asked only to be willing to give it some thought and above all, give it a chance to begin the healing of our minds. In so doing, we are told that we are likely to experience greater peace and joy, less stress, fewer complications and a deeper experience of love—not bad rewards for simply accepting what seems, at least at first, to be an impossible premise. A little willingness, not even faith, is asked of us. We do not have to believe it completely. Faith comes with experience. Being very practical, the Course is designed to lead its students to a first-hand experience of the truth. All that is needed is that we be willing to give it a try.
The Wholeness of God
Despite the many wonderful prayers found throughout the text, and in particular, in Part II of the Workbook, the Course hardly talks about the nature of God, even pointing out that it is impossible for minds that seemingly exist in a state of duality to even begin to understand a God of perfect oneness. Instead, we are given glimpses of what an experience of God might resemble: joy, the absence of fear, certainty, peace of a lasting kind, eternal life, all-encompassing love and unchanging wholeness. God’s Love knows no bounds. God’s Love is whole, and so what God creates must also be whole.
But to us, whose experience is limited and bound by our identification as separate selves in distinct bodies, perfect oneness is not a concept that can be easily understood. In fact, perfect oneness is not meant to be understood, because the separated mind can only understand separation; it is meant to be felt. This is why Jesus asks us to seek only the experience and to not let theology delay us. To experience separation, in other words, to limit our perception to a unique self that is separate from God, our Creator, a self that has a body, a name and a function in the world, is to give up our true holiness—wholeness. Wholeness cannot know separateness, boundaries or differences; separateness cannot know wholeness. To embrace the Love of God is to relinquish our hold on our belief in a separated self; tall order indeed for the staunch, self-directed, wilful individualists that we are!
Holiness is the acceptance of our innate wholeness as God created us, a state that is complete, indestructible, all-encompassing and eternal. It is attained by relinquishing the wilfulness that is separate from the Will of the Father; it is the only true freedom. To experience true holiness means to say no to judgment because judgment implies differences; true holiness sees that my brother’s interests are not separate from my own; true holiness is free of all fear, for what is whole cannot be harmed in any way. True holiness is not fooled by the distractions of the world. The holy are free of the stain of specialness, for to cling to specialness is to foster differences and hierarchies and thus, separation. Guided by the Wisdom of the Father, they hold no grievances, they are patient and understanding, their actions are kind and selfless, and their love reflects the Love of God in its all-inclusiveness. To the truly holy, only one goal is worthy of the Child of God: the experience of the perfect oneness of God and His creations. Nothing else matters; nothing else needs to be done. They gladly come unto their God with wholly empty hands.
Hope for the Non-Holy
Then there is the rest of us, the seemingly non-holy, whose first thoughts of the day were most likely concerned with more mundane issues such as getting that first cup of coffee, sorting out which day of the week it was, waking the kids, checking text messages, matching socks to trousers or getting to work on time. Our first thought was probably not of God. Though well-intentioned and no doubt sincere in our desire to live a “spiritual life,” these thoughts indicate that our priorities lie elsewhere.
For the sake of honesty, simplicity and expediency, given that our first thought of the day was probably about something other than of God, let’s just say that we stand among the “non-holy” or, more optimistically, the “not yet holy.” We may have woken up feeling refreshed and content, perhaps the sun was shining and we looked forward to greeting another day. Or, perhaps we woke up feeling miserable and depressed because something terrible happened at work the day before and we dreaded the consequences to come in the day ahead; or maybe we simply didn’t want to get up and slog through yet another dull day in an increasingly sombre life. The following day we may wake up and find that the tide has changed and the sun has stopped shining, and we feel gloomy, or, the storm has passed and we are once again hopeful. And so on throughout our lives. There are good days and there are bad days.