See how the body’s eyes rest on externals and cannot go beyond. Watch how they stop at nothingness, unable to go beyond the form to meaning. Nothing so blinding as perception of form. For sight of form means understanding has been obscured. T-22. III.6
The Holy Spirit is the Christ Mind which is aware of the knowledge that lies beyond perception. T-5.I.5
The Dark by MaryBeth Scalice
Exhausted. I cannot keep my eyes open,
patting my cheeks to stay awake,
aware that the gentle hum of the heater
will send me under, my chin slipping,
the neck lets go and coming up, what fear(!)
the need to take care that I do not end up
smoosh on a pole. Opening the windows,
freezing my _a____ off. Where did we get
that expression? An image of butt bones bared,
as potholes joggle me back to attention;
the thought amuses as I fight against sleep.
I think, isn’t this the epitome of spiritual striving,
trying to stay awake,
trying to hold the Consciousness
when the body thuds with thickness
and the mind wants only to dip into coma.
Turning into the last mile,
I celebrate the victory of having come this far,
so close but so far. I hate that cliché…
slapping my head, blinking wildly, pinching
and petitioning Light workers for assistance.
Sleep is death. Oh where is my bed?
Counting the tenths of miles,
my mind races ahead
already under the sheets. Then,
struck back, thrust AWAKE,
propelled from the battle ground
as I hit the edge, and a curiosity,
bordering on anxiety
startles the ego operating system.
It is pitch, streetlights off,
house lamps extinguished,
the blues of TV’s all dead.
I look for the moon,
whose pale crescent peeps in and out,
in and out, finally into a cloud bed.
Come back!
Approaching I wonder,
has my block gone under(?)
and pass the corner,
going an extra quarter mile,
telling myself I missed the turn
because the lamppost is out,
telling myself I will explore the hood,
the extent of cloud cover, but in truth,
I am reluctant to go home in the dark,
in the humid tar of night,
into the black hole that seems to have
sucked everything into its mud,
its heaviness.
I use my phone to climb the stair
feeling for the fit of lock and key,
aggravated that my flashlight will not open.
Eyes cannot adjust. They strain to see,
all weariness behind me now.
How quickly mind turns
from dullard to dynamo.
Slipping into the door, listening,
the familiar systems all shut down.
The soundless beauty of the brown out
moves me.
I gather a half dozen votives,
placing them on the kitchen counter.
Emotions stir, though I scold myself,
go to bed! I chose instead
the carton of vanilla, already melting,
dipping my spoon,
mmmmmming at the creamy sensation,
I am aware it affirms some alter-identification,
while candles sputter, wicks drowning in wax.
The eyes of Jesus
stare from my refrigerator door.
He sees through the darkness,
Vision clear and sure.
The opportunity arrests my heart.
A perfect quilt of obscure cover
will debilitate my senses!
I blow the candles out,
bodily defenseless, unable to navigate,
to interpret, a blessed shut down
of the norms of perception.
Eyes and ears fumble in futility
straining for information.
I turn from the counter and walk
abandoning my safe haven,
insides fluttering like a centipede;
the micro-cosmic sensation
of heart-feeling flippers
swim in vibrations I cannot name.
A search engine sparks into awareness.
My chest pounds lightly,
what lurks in the path of the sightless,
what waits unseen?
This followed by a bite of feeling…
I am alone.
The world’s disappearance drives me inward,
Walking in blindness reveals a path of knowing.
This is the way I hear the Voice for God.
This is the intuitive that lives by Spirit directive.
Here is the Wisdom of the Christ
Who has not eyes to see,
Who emboldens me to step into the black heat,
feeling for cues within…
I know in ways that cannot be explained by a brain.
I see in ways that perception does not understand.
I hear in silence beyond the din of man-made machines.
My body blurs out of sight. This is bliss.
I have vanished with the world, with the false lights
of our making, with interpretations and judgments
and all the mind baking that comes through the senses.
Still I feel my Self. I am true.
I am illumined and I am awake.
Part of me knows
exactly how to move in the world,
beneath the blast of mortal faculties.
Part of me glows.
The carpet under my bare feet
is squishy, kind.
I climb the steps
and slip under the sheets
visioning a luminous jellyfish.
She romances the waters,
she dances with Light.
Zzzzzzzz’s come quickly.
…to behold the Son is to perceive no more and only know the Father. In this vision of the Son, so brief that not an instant stands between this single sight and timelessness itself, you see the vision of yourself and then you disappear forever into God. WB-198 12