Sheer Poetry Of A Course In Miracles
There Must Be
This collection of twenty essays, based on deeply-felt, personal experiences of reading the Lessons and the Text of A Course In Miracles, demonstrates the transformation from the limited, conceptual, egoic self-identity to the limitless Self created by God, seeing with the vision of Christ. This transformation is simply a shift from one state of mind to another, from the self-identity state to the state of mind of the Self. The gap is bridged by the Holy Spirit when you ask for help, realizing you can’t, He can and He will and He does.
Throughout the book, this transformation is expressed in reference to poetry, paintings, passages from the New Testament, movies, essays on psychology, the classic comedians, relationships with family and friends, Lindbergh’s historic flight, and so forth.
If you were completely honest with yourself, you would have to admit that no matter how much you have tried to put together a life, there are times when you say to yourself, “There’s something seriously wrong here, and there must be another way.”
Fortunately for you, for all of us, not only is there another way, but this way has been mapped out in a how-to-manual that appeared on this planet in 1975, A Course In Miracles. This unworldly masterpiece was scribed by Helen Schucman who heard an “internal voice,” Jesus’ voice, say to her on October 21, 1965, “This is a course in miracles, take notes.” For the next seven years, she dutifully transcribed the Text, Workbook, and Manual for Teachers.
Before we can utilize the lessons of the Course, we must first take a look at the lessons you learned along the way by faithfully following the instructions of an unwritten manual, folklore passed down through the generations, teaching you that seeing is believing. You eagerly learned early on to trust as real what you see, hear, taste, smell and touch. Whatever was not sensed was unreal. This way of seeing seems completely natural, and that is why you are in the fix that you are in.
Let’s test out this belief that seeing is believing by being real specific. Let’s take a look at what is around us. I’ll go first.
I am sitting on my couch looking out of my window, gazing at the landscape bathed in the sunlight of a beautiful day in June. I close my eyes and make the decision that when I open them, I will look at what I customarily, habitually, normally look at, only the objects before me.
I see the cylindrical, mesh bird feeder containing black sunflower seeds. A Cardinal alights and pecks at the seeds. I am reminded of an incident when I was 6 or 7, and a friend and I were shooting at birds with BB guns. We wounded a Blue Jay, and we were chasing it through the neighborhood, when an old lady came running out of her house, chastising us for killing birds, and we said it was a Blue Jay, and she immediately let us off the hook because that was OK by her, Blue Jays menaced other birds.
And other associations immediately flooded in. At that time, my mother, father, sister and I lived in a little village, Moorepark, Michigan—my parents owned a general store, and we lived in the back in one room separated from the store by a curtain; no running water, only well water from a pump, an outhouse in the back; we went to a one-room schoolhouse, grades K-8, one teacher, Mrs. Steininger; across the street was a gunsmith, Bergie Hughey, who also ran a one-pump gas station; my friend, Rudy, and I played in the fields and swamps all day, exploring and hunting frogs with bows and arrows.
Whew. Now, I am back from that trip down memory lane, and I am going to try it again. This time, I will close my eyes, and when I open them, I will make the decision to look at what I customarily, normally do not look at, only the space between objects, wanting to see, in effect, only the air.
Now I am looking with soft eyes, in fact, I am not seeing as much as experiencing. Gazing in this manner, I find that my mind is peaceful, still, unoccupied, and tranquil. I am scanning what is before me, but I am not naming objects, and since I am not naming things, I am not flooded with associations. I am simply content; my mind is empty. When I do look at something, like a bird at the feeder, I experience only love. I continue gazing with soft eyes, becoming increasingly mellow, content, tranquil, loving, peaceful, unified and free. A tree branch, laden with green leaves, lifts and falls in the soft breeze, the leaves shimmering, the tops green and the undersides flashing gold. . . .
About the author
Ray Comeau received his formal education at Kalamazoo College (BA), and at the University of Chicago (MA, Ph.D.), but his real education began on August 7, 1997, when he crossed the threshold of Endeavor Academy in Wisconsin, where his mind became transformed through Jesus’ unworldly masterpiece, A Course In Miracles, His New Testament, and the teachings of Master Teacher whose complete awakening occurred on July 4, 1979.
Ray’s intent in each of these essays is to provide the reader with a frame of reference for experiencing the Truth hidden behind concepts. Master Teacher once told him that his assignment was to be a surveyor, to go out into uncharted territory, a place unknown to the false, illusory mind, and “determine and chart the form, extent, and position” of this true territory beyond concepts, thus making it easier for those who follow to read the chart of the modern-day scripture, the out-of-time masterpiece, A Course In Miracles.
Visit Ray's Blog: http://www.throughamirrorbrightly.blogspot.com
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