In Full Bloom 6r236a

Copyright © 2015 Theo Gene Thibodeaux Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-1622-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-1621-3 (hc) ISBN: 978-1-4808-1623-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015904440

Archway Publishing rev. date: 3/20/2015

Contents

Introduction

1 The Beginning

2 The Epiphany

3 Spiritual Boot Camp

4 Alone, But Not Lonely

5 The House of the Lord

6 Manifestation

7 Life Under the Dome

8 The Process

Conclusion

To my friend Lessie for inspiring me to write this book

Introduction

The world is viewed as a very chaotic place to live, which is evidenced by the current events reported each day. More importantly, the chaos is experienced on an individual level as we try to balance and contend with the many challenges presented daily. I have been subjected to these challenges and the resulting discombobulating effects of trying to solve a stream of problems that never end. As soon as one is solved, a hundred more arise. Throughout my life, I have sought ways to quiet myself so that I can connect with the higher self that exists within me. In this book, I share the experiences that led me to experience life in full bloom.

1

The Beginning

H ow did I wind up here, in a place I reviled as the seat of ignorance and where the opiate of the people was served? I vowed to never to return to this place that stifles growth and encourages its to endure suffering on earth so they may receive a future reward promised by their savior, whom they call the Christ. The place is a Catholic church in Houston, Texas, in a section of the city that is a combination of a black ghetto and a Hispanic barrio. The church is a short distance from my place of birth and my current residence. The culprit in this case is my dad, who experienced medical complications while attending Mass. I was assigned Saturday night and Sunday morning duties to attend to the needs of my parents, who were both sick at the time. Reporting for duty one Saturday night, I stopped by my mother’s room to wish her a good night. In our brief conversation, she told me about Dad getting sick in church. Without any hesitation, I volunteered to attend Mass with him as his nurse. The next morning, my dad and I attended the eight thirty service. I wore street pajamas, which were fashionable at the time. I decided it was appropriate dress because of my role as his nurse. He, in contrast, was his regular, dapper self, dressed in his Sunday finest. My dad, a Louisiana refugee who moved to Houston, parlayed his fourth-grade education and the skills learned on the farm into being a successful businessman, owning a service station and a liquor store. He afforded his son a Catholic education that extended into seven years of study in a Catholic seminary in preparation for the priesthood. That same son—who now sat next to him—was focused on making money, entertaining women, and studying New Age philosophy and spirituality.

I had great respect and iration for Dad, but I thought the religion we were born into, the Catholic Church, not only had a checkered past when it came to human rights and equality but also had a hard time translating the form and fluff of its rituals into a practical application for spiritual growth in daily life. As I looked around the church and observed the worshipers, I felt justified in my cynicism concerning the church and its followers. What I observed was a robotic response to the prayers in the ritual. Granted, I did not have a worship-o-meter in my possession, but I felt confident in my discernment of people to conclude that nothing had changed. I was observing religion by the numbers. Show up for service—by all means show up!—for who wants to go to hell for not giving one hour a week to the Lord? Stand up, sit down, and kneel at the appropriate times, feign attention during the sermon, receive Communion, get the final blessing, and then get the hell on. Conjecture it may be, but I am willing to bet that thoughts of the Lord during the service take a backseat to the proliferation of thoughts about what to prepare for the Sunday dinner, football, the good-looking men and women in the church, bills, problems, and myriad other things that pop up in the thought process. Wow, I was in church, a place I had not visited for more than thirty years, with the exception of one marriage and funerals. If it were not for my mom’s request to assist Dad, church would be the last place I’d choose to be. It was not long before I saw the light—glory hallelujah. Why not pray? Pray about what? Pray for whom? The illumination led me to say a prayer that would have a twofold result: I prayed for my customers, many of them were alcoholics, that they may live long lives with God-blessed livers. My prayers did not last long, because they were interrupted by a call to Communion. And in a strange way, my unsolicited prayers were answered because a stream of big-butted, beautiful women ed by my pew. I thought, Holy moly, this is the reason for church. I heard myself exclaiming, “I like church—can’t wait to come back.” I thought about how Dad would visit me at the liquor store, settle down to read the newspaper, and on average—every six months for well over thirty years— would lure me in with praise about my success in business, how I was loved by the people, and how I lived a good life. Then came the punch line, which felt like a punch to the gut. But you just don’t go to church. As of that day, Dad

didn’t have to worry about lecturing me about church attendance; in my mind, he was my newly found church buddy. Women, God’s gift to mankind, are such a garden of contrasts, differences, and sameness manifested in a rainbow of intellectual potentiality, which is expressed at one end of the spectrum as brilliance, sophistication, keen awareness, and sensitivity. At the other end of the spectrum, you get just plain old dumb. Physically, there seems to be an infinite variety of choices before me for the choosing. All I had to do is get in where I fit in. I love women; it matters not where they are in the rainbow. I take pride in my ability to access, appreciate, and manipulate a relationship so that there is a mutually satisfying outcome. After my visit to church on the previous Sunday, I found my mind deep in my daydream factory, churning out scenario after scenario of my conquests of the beautiful women seen there. I was in Disneyland —boy, oh boy, what a wonderful day!—until I had a conversation with the dream breaker. My dad informed me that he no longer wanted to attend the eight thirty service, which was called “the youth Mass.” He would rather go to the seven o’clock Mass called “the old folks’ Mass.” Thanks a lot, Dad. What another fine mess you have gotten me into, is what I thought, but I would never share that with him openly. On Sunday morning, it was time for the seven o’clock service. No alarm was needed because my bedroom was adjacent to the bathroom. Dad had arisen early to perform his cleansing ritual, which supplies enough sound to rattle the cages of the dead. I’d seen his ritual in action; meticulousness care ensured that the body was properly anointed and ready for presentation to the public. No radio or any other form of entertainment was necessary because he supplied his own entertainment in the form of whistling and singing. By whistling, I am referring to the lost art of melodic whistling. If you were familiar with the song being whistled, you could follow note for note, from start to finish, in a complete and captivating performance. He was also blessed with a beautiful voice, which he used to sing Christmas songs, all year, and songs of his favorite artists, such as Brook Benton, Perry Como, Elvis Presley, and many other popular artists of his time. I was prepared for the occasion. I wore a freshly pressed suit, shined shoes, and even a tie. My church buddy had informed me the night before that we were to

arrive thirty minutes before services so that he could prepare himself with quiet prayer and contemplation. We entered into what seemed a dimly lit cavern. There were a few people stirring, preparing for the service that was to begin in thirty minutes. Dad’s spot in church was six pews deep from the front row. He assumed his posture of worship, which was kneeling. I chose to sit. I noticed a penetrating quiet that was so soothing that it sparked a serenity I seldom felt. But as the church began to fill with worshipers, my attention was drawn to the women present. What a contrast to my first experience in church. I got a chance to see why this Mass was called the “old folks’ Mass.” I was one of the youngest people there. The church was mostly filled with people from the old country, Louisiana, who were used to getting up early to perform duties on the farm. The timing of this service fit right in with their schedules. My secondary reason for attendance—beautiful, shapely women—had been sidetracked. However, I always glean something of value in each circumstance, so I searched the crowd during Communion and found a few good lookers who had maintained their figures and had enough command of cosmetics to enhance what youthful flavor they had left. Weeks went by with our faithful attendance at the seven o’clock service. We followed the same routine, but there was one major change: Church, the building, the house of worship, the place I had rejected in the past, became a port of refuge and comfort. The quiet and air of serenity that existed there began to creep into my soul. With this new focus, I began to pay attention to Dad as he knelt beside me. He had no religious pretense, his being radiated humility, reverence, and joy as he prayed and contemplated. The combination of the serene atmosphere and Dad’s wordless communication by example brought me to my knees. I thought about his success in business and family—and his ability to live with basic human goodness. This led me to pray the prayers I’d learned as a kid, the Our Father and the Hail Mary. I thought, If it works for him, surely it will work for me. As the years went by, my prayer buddy and I continued to attend church together. We enjoyed each other’s company in and out of church, which

established a deeper bond of love between us. At last, he had lived long enough to see his investment of blood, sweat, and tears pay off. He had found his sheep. Mission accomplished, dad had played his role and was instrumental in my return to the church. The mystery involved in this process is that he played his role without playing it. He did not once ask or insist that I accompany him to church. Mom’s message of concern was given independent of any kind of collaboration between she and dad. My quick response to offer assistance was embedded in my belief system—honor thy father and mother—and because of the living example they had demonstrated in their care for their parents. After many years of sharing a pew and discussions of the gospel of the day after the service, while having a cup of coffee, Dad brought up the subject of divorce. At least, that’s how I perceived it. He stated that I was on my own. He would no longer be attending weekly services with me. Mom wanted him to take her to the five o’ clock service on Saturdays, and she had commandeered his church time. I was taken aback upon hearing the news, and then I thought about the depth of mutual love that had developed between us. When I thought about the appreciation and joy of sharing each other’s company that had been fostered and enhanced by our love for Christ and his Church, I knew that I would always have him with me—church attendance or not. I had no problem flying solo. The years of attendance and the positive benefits that resulted from me doing so had put me in a position where there was no doubt about continuing my attendance on my own. I practiced a hybrid form of Christianity. I incorporated a form of meditation called transcendental meditation that I was initiated into while staying in Sothern California after my stint in the Vietnam War. My dear brother likes to keep me mindful that I am a man of extremes. I cannot help but agree with him. After returning to church, I showed the same degree of intense belief and dedication to the Catholic faith that had been absolute denunciation. As I traversed this faith journey, I posed a question to myself concerning the ultimate goal I was seeking in the practice of the Catholic faith. The obvious answer was heaven, but that answer was too trite for the purposes I had in mind. My goal was to find and execute the formula for achieving this heavenly reward

while the breath of life was in my lungs.

2

The Epiphany

A tten tion! As soon as the drill sergeant barked out the command, we would immediately stop what we were doing and assume the position of attention. With our minds keenly focused, we would listen for the ensuing instructions for what to do next. Attention was to be my gateway to heaven on earth. I had set a lofty goal before myself—some would say impossible—but I had learned the most powerful tool for accomplishing anything was a laser-like focus on the task at hand. My goal was to experience heaven on earth. The source for accomplishing that was God, but I had to figure out how to know Him—not know about Him but to have a direct experience of his presence. Awareness of the benefits and gifts received through regular attendance had me question how I could reciprocate. The answer was to give the gift of attention. My preparation for the next service began as soon as the current service ended. My church supplied its parishioners with a prayer book that contained the standard prayers used in the service and three readings from the gospel that were read at a lectern and later discussed in the sermon. “The Mass is over. Go in peace,” the deacon would declare, then there is a procession to the rear of the church by the priest and his assistants. The church was clear of parishioners in about ten minutes, which gave me the opportunity to sit quietly and meditate. I began my study of the three readings that were to be read and discussed the next week. The process of studying and contemplating the readings continued throughout the week. Contemplation consisted of a systematic analysis of the words and concepts presented to come to a true understanding of the words behind the

words—the mystery presented—so I could incorporate the lesson and apply it to my daily experience. Trained in public speaking while in the seminary, I was accustomed to approaching a gospel text, studying its contents, and delivering a speech. To the best of my ability, I tried to present the truth that the author was trying to convey. I would prepare a sermon based on the next three gospel readings. The sermon was for my own edification. I wrote in longhand—for my eyes only. With the stated goal in mind (heaven on earth), I applied my gift of attention to prayer. I grew up in a conventional Catholic household. I was introduced to the use of the rosary beads on which prayers were repeated, the Lord’s Prayer, Hail Mary, and the Glory Be. Up to that point in my life, the rosary was said—not prayed. With a newfound level of attention to what I was doing, I approached the recitation of the prayers in the rosary by breaking down its components so that the living messages contained in the words would bring about a new life in me. In my diligence, I responded to the call in the Bible to pray unceasingly by doing just that. I used the Our Father as a prayer that I repeated unceasingly throughout the day. I repeated it from the time I first got out of bed until I returned to it. I would wait on customers and repeat the prayer while they made up their minds about what to purchase. I’d make the sale, and then I’d continue to pray. With continuous practice of this technique, the prayer took on a life of its own. It disappeared into my subconscious, and it resurfaced periodically to confirm to my conscious mind that the prayer was still activated. From my experiences in the business world, I was keenly aware that we are living in a results-driven society. I paused and took stock of what my efforts to become holy had yielded me in practical . The air of peace and serenity first experienced in my return to church as I sat next to my dad began to extend into my daily encounters. My garbage mouth that had been filled with profanity and curses was eventually completely eliminated. I replaced it with spontaneous uplifting compliments and words of encouragement to those I encountered. I repeated a mantra from the days of my youth. I said, “Boy, you are special. You got it made.” My self-confidence exploded. Based on my encounter with the selfless nature of Christ, I came to know God through the study of His Word.

Hold the harp and violin music—what I stated is true about the positive changes. I needed all the help I could get because I was an alcoholic living with a woman who I was convinced was either a space alien or had been hatched from an egg that had been nestled in the bowels of hell. Contrary to what I had been told to believe, I found out on my own that God and alcohol do mix. Because I chose to peruse God, know His kingdom, and continue to drink, I felt that the drinking had no bearing on accomplishing my goal. I continued my practice and advance spiritually. In spite of what many may think, it was not an impediment to growth. I received what was needed at the time it was needed because of an age-old principle that God will meet you where you are. Since I was now independent, my service of choice was the eight thirty service. I chose that service for two reasons: women and the chance to sleep later. My brother was also my business partner. I told Robert about the positive experiences I was having because of my church attendance. I invited him to attend the services with me, and to my surprise, he accepted the invitation. He was at the next service. We met in the parking lot after the service to share some cognac and discuss our church experiences. His assessment was that attendance was a good thing. As a businessman, he noted the potential customers around us and decided we should capitalize on it. We had already won one of life’s grandest prizes by being born into a loving, nurturing, and comionate family that provided the means for us to receive our daily bread. We worked in the family businesses, and we never had to work for anyone else. The turnaround and reception of benefits for returning to church were swift and exciting to watch. It played out in my brother’s life too. His heart was positioned to enjoy the fruits provided through participating in church. In contrast, I approached the process of returning to church with a hardened heart and cynicism. This was a result of leaving the seminary and fighting in Vietnam. In the jungle, I rejected God for allowing such atrocities. The irony is that the nightmares about combat that had plagued me for more than thirty years did not dissipate until I returned to church. We placed an ad on the back of the church bulletin to let the parishioners know

what could be found at Thib’s Package Store: liquor, music, handmade hats, copies, faxes, a notary, te cakes, pork crackling, lotto, and incense. Our parking lot conversation had come to fruition. One Sunday after service, I waited for Dad in the parking lot. He had gone to the social center for coffee, and I spotted the assistant pastor who had celebrated the Mass. I approached him, introduced myself as Mr. Thibodeaux’s son, and confided in him that I was a former seminarian who had returned to church after a thirty-five-year hiatus. Father Cerbin’s reaction surprised me. He said, “Now that you are here, discover what this place has to offer.” He explained that I should use the church setting to promote my relationship with Christ without getting caught up in the politics and self-promotion that go on in the church. He said, “It’s about the joy that a relationship with Christ can bring—not where you fit in the social pecking order of the institution.” His view on giving 10 percent of moneys earned to the church was that Abraham was a rich man who decided to give his 10 percent to King Melchizedek. The king had been instrumental in defeating Abraham’s enemy, thus keeping his holdings intact. From that you cannot infer that all men thereafter were obliged to do the same each Sunday when they attended service. He suggested a commonsense approach. Parishioners should give to the church to the physical campus and the social programs and offer to help the less fortunate, but only what was not a financial burden. Father Cerbin plainly stated that God didn’t need any money. Father Cerbin’s thoughts on sermons were interesting. He said that when the sermon was delivered during a service, the hearer of the Word was given many options for how to respond. If you are rested and alert, by all means, listen to the sermon that the priest has spent his precious time preparing for your edification. However, if you are fatigued or stressed, feel free to take a short snooze to refresh yourself for the rest of the service. If you find the sermon boring, rest your brain so that you won’t be subjected to more of the same. Father Cerbin was more than my pastor; he was a friend who visited me every Monday morning for about two hours. He did this for years. To this day, my brother does not know what a major impact he had on my

spiritual development. Robert sat at his desk at work and said, “I’m going to read the Bible from the first page to the last.” I overheard him from the kitchen. I immediately thought, You can’t outdo me. I’ll do the same starting tonight. That night, it was hello Genesis, Revelations. I’m on my way, and I am not scared. Everything was moving along beautifully. My life was in order, business was good, and the alien was out of my life. To the best of my ability, I tried to love my neighbor. My brother was attending the eight thirty service with me on a regular basis, but then the earth started to shake underneath my feet—and I found myself in a place I had not seen before. After communion one Sunday, I was kneeling in prayer when I experienced an overwhelming feeling of well-being, peace, and joy. The contrast to what I had known life to be was so dramatic that I had no point of reference to compare it to. I felt like laughing and crying at the same time. If not for my conservative nature, which did not lend itself to Holy Roller outbursts, I would have stood and shouted, “The world is not what you perceive it to be. All the effort of praise, worship, and adoration that you do here is worth it because heaven on earth does exist. I’m experiencing it now.” The power of the experience was so captivating that I remained riveted in the pew after the service. I was in a trance for quite a while. The intensity dissipated as my analytical mind took over, trying to conceptualize what had happened. Epiphany as defined by Webster is an experience of sudden and striking realization. It went on to explain that the realization is not something that just happens. It is the result of significant work of the discoverer. One’s labor bears fruit because of a long period of effort. Now that I had worked diligently, applied the principles of attention, perseverance, bulldog tenacity, and a strong will to pierce the veil of the perceived world and discover and live the world of mystery, I thought my mission was accomplished. I thought I had achieved my goal. As it turned out, the epiphany was just a tease. It was a prelude or a glimpse of things to come. When the experience in church eventually became a memory, the residual effect was a strengthened hope and faith that my efforts were not in vain. I knew there was such a thing as heaven on earth, and that with increased effort and use of the

tools available to me, I would recapture the experience. One day, I would have it as a permanent living experience. I increased my daily personal Bible study, and I realized that I would have to abandon my approach of staying in the Old Testament until I completed it. Instead, I jumped to the New Testament. In the New Testament, I found the keys to the kingdom of heaven on earth were hiding in plain sight. The kingdom is at hand right now. I found spiritual awakening through rebirth, exploration, and utilization of childlike nature to see things in their simplicity. I discovered the importance of paying attention, focusing my energies on the narrow path that leads to fulfillment, and not being captivated by the riches or illusions of the material world. In my pursuit of the kingdom, I took on the persona of Indiana Jones. From the beginning of this adventure, I was confronted by a mental kaleidoscope of visions and revelations that challenged my worldview and my sanity. Things I previously thought to be true turned out to be otherwise. Things I held in disbelief were proven true. I needed help traversing the minefield of spiritual challenges. My prayers were directed specifically to Christ. When I cried out for help and assistance in my discernment of the truth, God offered answers that were laced with simplicity and clarity. I sailed the sea of spiritual uncertainty. “Knock, knock. Please let me into your house,” I pleaded with the Lord. “That is where I want to live—the place depicted in Psalm 23.” After close scrutiny and study of the words and concepts presented in the Psalm 23, I looked beyond the lofty picture presented and approached it as an actual place that I could access if I prayerfully requested to be invited in. I invested years of prayer and study to achieve this goal, and I didn’t get in. I was not discouraged because I truly believed that if you seek, you will find. I persevered. The praying man—a name I called myself—was in with one of the Holy Rollers in church. She sent a friend to the store to offer me a box of praying paraphernalia. It included a crucifix, a picture of the Last Supper, pictures of Christ and His mother, prayer beads, and a large stack of Catholic prayer books. I set up a prayer corner in my house, displayed the materials, and started a prayer routine. I started at four in the morning and continued until nine when I would

stop to prepare for work. After many years of prayer, Bible study, a complete reading of the Catholic Catechism, studying the lives of the Catholic saints, especially mystics, TERESA OF ÁVILA, Saint John of the Cross, Brother Lawrence, and extended periods of solitude spent in meditation and contemplation, I experienced another epiphany. On a Monday morning, I was reading the Bible at my desk in my store when I abruptly stopped. An overpowering sensation came over me. A surge of energy started at my feet and shot up to my head. When it reached my head, I was propelled out of the chair into the air. When I landed, I experienced a profound peace and love. I did not have the words to try to convey the experience alone in the store. I rushed to the nearest cash and said to myself, “I want this.” I heard a voice say, “Give it away.” At the time, my interpretation of these words was to let people know about this new dimension of life that they had available if they would invest the time to explore. I was still in the glow. My next customer was a fellow parishioner. I told him about my experience. He was a pharmacist, and he suggested that I get in touch with my doctor. I know the value of an epiphany or spiritual revelation is not the experience itself. It reveals what can be retained in the form of newfound knowledge that can be practically experienced and applied to daily life. For the first time, I had heard the voice of God. The experience at work caused my consciousness to expand to a new level of awareness. I could clearly discern God’s voice and His council. Another lasting change was that a new energy was stirred inside me. It affected my entire being—mind, body, and soul. This energy that was always with me, through all experiences, and it never dissipated.

3

Spiritual Boot Camp

B oot camp is a governmental operation where the tools of manipulation, coercion, and intimidation are used to convert civilians from all walks of life to surrender their identities as individuals, and perceive themselves as part of a whole, that has a common goal to achieve a military objective for the protection and safety of the country. I didn’t like boot camp. I didn’t like running, jumping, camping, boring classes, out of control drill sergeants, new aches and pains that developed on top of the old aches and pains, weak beer, and the lack of women. The list goes on. However, when I was assigned duty in the jungles of Vietnam as a foot soldier, I appreciated the training because it prepared me for the rigors of war. Thirty years later, I found myself back in boot camp. It was spiritual boot camp, and my instructor was Jesus Christ. I heard his voice when he said, “Give it away,” but that was it for a long time. I felt that I was on my own. I continued my daily practices with the addition of saying the rosary three times before work. After many months of spiritual practice, I heard from God again. I was sitting in my easy chair one evening, and I received instructions about prayer. I was told not to say the rosary the next morning. I immediately began to cry. I was doing a lot of crying during that period. I protested. I had come to know Him through the rosary and the other rituals. How could He suggest that I not say the rosary? I got up and retired for the night in a very perplexed mood. In the morning, I performed my prayer rituals, took my seat at the dining room table, and recited the rosary. I didn’t hesitate. I picked up the rosary and recited the Our Father. I was on the second Hail Mary when the rosary flew out of my hands and landed across the room. Okay. I got it. Don’t say the rosary? No

problem. I won’t touch it. I got your point. Thank you. After setting up for the day at work, I relaxed at my desk. I thought, I wonder if this ban on saying the rosary applies to the reading of the Bible. It wasn’t long before I received the answer. I opened the Bible and attempted to read. The words on the page began to swim around, making it impossible to read. The illumination of the truth and the way to make it a reality in my life was sparked by the command to stop praying. With more time available to contemplate and sleep in the morning, my mind was placed in a more receptive position to receive instructions and revelations. I broke free from my selfimposed limitations. Until that experience, I perceived God as the other—a being separate from me. Once I heard His voice, I was compelled to wake up to the reality that the voice came from within. A comingling of the spirit spoke of unity rather than separation. I took time to analyze my prayer practices. Although I was well intentioned in my efforts, I still fell short of the intended goal of being honest and sincere. In my effort to get as many prayers completed in the allotted time, I concentrated on quantity. In the process, I sacrificed quality. I was taught that the most powerful prayer is listening. With the elimination of conventional prayer, my spiritual boot camp began in earnest. As I meditated in my easy chair one morning, God asked, “What are you doing?” I replied, “Meditating.” He said, “No, no, no, no. You are wasting your time. I have something for you. Say the word Shanak.” I repeated the word out loud, but apparently I said it incorrectly because I received a surge of energy that shook my entire body. I tried again and again, but each time, my body shook. When I finally got it right, I exclaimed, “Okay, okay. I got it!” Further instructions were given to repeat the sound throughout the day until it

blended in with my thought process and became a natural occurrence. I followed the procedure throughout the day, and I was not aware of any change brought about through its use until I returned home. That night, I sat down to rest and realized I was already in a state of rest. The stress and fatigue I usually brought home with me had been eliminated. It was as if I had not worked. That day, my eyes were opened to the truth. I am the pure energy of God. The energy that needs no other for its existence is not subject to change. It is the eternal blossom. James Brown sang, “I feel good—like you know I should now.” These lyrics depict my feelings after my awareness caught up with who I am. I’m not a dancer, but the energy I was experiencing moved me to dance and shout. I wanted everyone to know just how awesome life could be. I was told to hold up and not to get too excited because there was still much work to be done. In the ensuing weeks, I was given many more words to say. God used the same technique as when I received the first word. Eventually, there was such a proliferation of words that I stopped counting and focused my energies on reciting them. As it turns out, reciting the Our Father was a precursor to reciting the new words. The words disappeared into my subconscious, resurfacing occasionally with an energy that stimulated me to briefly utter them. When I thought of speaking in tongues, I thought, Hocus-pocus. I don’t believe in that. It became the sacred prayer that resounds continuously. It acted as a spiritual umbilical cord that linked me with the pure energy of God. My cousin said, “Talk about it, talk about it, talk about it.” He always encouraged the person he was in conversation with to continue the point he or she was trying to make. He would have been proud of me because I turned into a talking machine. I was feeling euphoric from the energy and knowledge I was receiving. I wanted the whole world to experience what I was experiencing. I talked about it, talked about it, and talked about it some more. At work, I would wait for someone to mention one of the key words I was looking for: God, religion, church, blessings, sin, salvation, and purpose. I would seize the opportunity to spring into action and deliver my sanctified rap.

I was talented at spreading the Good News because I had an overwhelming delivery. My presence snatched the attention of the listener from the doldrums of life and enlivened hope in them. I painted a picture of joy, peace, and completeness that was available for all mankind. I went from talking about it to praying about it because many people wanted to pray about it after hearing about it. I obliged by praying a general prayer or praying for a specific need. I also held their hands and silently transmitted energy. I was in prayer with someone throughout the day. This raised the ire of my brother. At first, he gave me the disapproving eye. Eventually, he confronted me and offered—facetiously—to build a church next to the liquor store so I could preach on my own time. He also informed me that if I were not working for myself, I would be fired. I agreed with him. I was not giving the same dedication to the business that I had in the past. It was unfair to both of us, but the fiery ion of communion with God would not let me shut up. I ran into my brother’s coconspirator, God, and he said, “Your brother is right. Shut up.” I was informed that when I was told to “give it away,” I was supposed to give away and abandon all of my possessions—not physical possessions but my belief system and all thoughts that led me to self-identification. My true identity needed to come to the front. I accomplished this in my spiritual boot camp. Jesus was also my yoga master. It was my habit to get up early, sit in my easy chair, and wait for instructions. I was instructed to spread a blanket on the floor, lie on my stomach, raise my head as high as possible, and remain in that position for an extended period of time. I would make involuntary sounds, moan, groan, and speak in tongues. I also laughed, cried, and uttered unfamiliar words. I would place my hands above my head, lock my fingers together, and roll my body from left to right. I would turn over onto my back, lift my legs a few inches above the floor, and remain in that position until fatigue forced me to rest. I repeated the process each morning for many months. Dancing became part of my routine. I would stand, let my body totally relax, and wait for the energy flow to direct my body to reflect in dance what I was experiencing inside. Fasting became part of my spiritual exercise. On Fridays and Saturdays, I abstained from food—with the exception of juices—until after I returned home

from work at night. March on Christian soldier, but watch out for the firing squad. My excitement level was at a feverish pitch. I was continuously saying, “I love you, Lord. Praise the Lord. Thank you, Lord.” I made daily covenants with the Lord and sang His praises with hymns I had learned in church. I was introduced to the real deal on the night before Easter. After a day of fasting, I sat on my couch to rest and meditate before preparing a meal to break my fast. A voice said, “I anoint you with the flame of the Holy Spirit above your head. Take this light—and be a light to your church.” I didn’t spend much time contemplating the words because my mind was preoccupied with putting some food in my stomach. I went to the kitchen and began to prepare my meal. As I stood over my food, I felt a radical discomfort in my stomach. It traveled to my upper body and eventually manifested itself as an involuntary scream that filled the house. Toward the end of the scream, the pitch changed from a loud bellow to a shrill screeching sound. After the ordeal ended, I thought, I don’t want any more of that. However, after a minute, the whole process was repeated. After the second scream, I left the food on the counter, staggered to bed—fully clothed—and fell into a deep sleep with all the lights on. I woke up in the morning energized and refreshed. I was ready to prepare for the Easter morning services. After the service and a visit with my parents, I picked up some food, returned home, and finally had a chance to break my fast. As I was enjoying my food, I hoped the screaming was a one-time event. Before my meal was over, I was screaming with more intensity than the night before. The only good thing that happened in the repeat performance was that the fatigue factor was less severe. This continued for about a year. After that, it started happening less frequently, and then it quit altogether. What was it all about? I don’t know. I can’t say for sure. I speculated, analyzed, and used any knowledge I had about similar happenings. I compared it to the primal scream technique from in the seventies. I looked at it as a purging or cleansing process. I don’t know. I can’t say. I know God introduced and implemented it—and that was good enough for me.

When we flip on a light switch, the light comes on. We do this every day, but few of us have used our intellects to investigate and discover how this happens. The same happens on the intuitive sides of our brains. We wake up in the morning and declare, “God got me up.” We experience long stretches of good things happening in our lives and say, “If it’s good, it must be God.” To advance above the realm of trite acknowledgments of God’s goodness and mercy and come to know God as the uncreated source of all manifestations requires an earnest aggressive surrender and humility to be who you really are rather than who you think you are. This is where God comes in to attain more realization and expansion of your consciousness. Deciphering the truth of reality requires a collaborative effort. You pursue God, and God feeds a deeper understanding of Himself. He wills you to understand, and it is imprinted on the conscious mind without using the analytical process. This is what I experienced with the scream. The scream caused me to beam. After the ordeal, a perpetual smile was implanted on my lips. It reflected my experience of the radiance of God’s presence. We say that God is love. Is it an attribute that we use to conceptualize who God is? Is this a reality that we can have direct with something as intimate as our breath, our heartbeats, or something we can perceive with our senses? I found the answer through my spiritual exercises. I was screaming, dreaming, rolling, extolling, crying, and laughing. It brought me into the direct experience of God’s love. Let me use Frankenstein to illustrate the point. Frankie is on an operating table, and his parts have been assembled. When it’s time for the big test, the lever is pulled. There is a vibrating sound and a display of the electrical wave that is used to stimulate new life into his body. It is the same way with God’s love. Once your consciousness makes direct with God’s love, it is experienced with the same intensity as the illustration above. I gratefully accepted this new surge of energy. I was always willing to accept whatever was given to accelerate a closer union. I was thankful that what went on between us was private. The screaming, crying, and uttering were done in the privacy of my home, but this was subject to change because I turned into a jerk. The surge of new energy caused my body to jerk involuntarily. It was too much

for my central nervous system to withstand without periodically jerking or shaking. I would jerk at work, at church, everywhere. Needless to say, my family and people close to me were concerned about my health. I tried to explain that their concerns were misplaced because the source of the jerking was the pure energy supplied by the Lord, but they weren’t having such an outlandish explanation. They insisted that I see a doctor. When it was time for my semiyearly checkup, I told my doctor about my problem. She informed me that my numbers were good. I had not experienced any bodily trauma since my last visit. As far as she could detect, there were no indicators that would lead her to believe that the jerking movements had anything to do with my physical condition. She frankly stated that her field of expertise did not lend itself to give a medical explanation for spiritual phenomena. I presented my findings to the jury, but they were still not satisfied because the jerking continued. A spiritual problem needs a spiritual solution. I sought the advice of the woman who had given me the religious items to assist me in my prayer life, and she referred me to a priest who was a spiritual discerner. The assistant pastor at Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church was gracious enough to grant me more than an hour of his time. I told him about my spiritual development. His small office was full of books about Catholic saints. We sat across from each other, and I began to share my experiences. I felt relaxed while speaking with him. His peaceful aura set me at ease as I told my story. I was a little perplexed by his choice to keep his eyes closed throughout the session. My main reason for seeking his counsel was to get an explanation for the jerking. However, when I approached him with the topic, he quickly dismissed it. He said the jerking was no big deal. He thought I should not concern myself with it. Instead, I should do everything in my power to be a light to my church. I couldn’t get satisfaction. Would I remain a jerk? I consulted my doctor, and she said, “I don’t know why you are a jerk, jerk.” Her answer was unsatisfactory. I approached the shaman priest, but he said, “Don’t worry about it, jerk.” Again, I got no satisfaction.

The reason for my visit to these people was to allay the fears of those close to me. I was feeling so good that I didn’t mind the occasional jerk as a tradeoff for the positive changes that brought about such profound serenity. The good news is that I was able to keep the serenity and dispose of the jerk. One night, I got into bed and slept for about ten minutes before the Lord awakened me. By that time, I was used to being awakened by Him when He had something for me to do or something He wanted me to receive. This was a lightduty night because all I had to do was lie there. I felt a warm sensation that started at the nape of my neck and traveled to the base of my spine. The sensation continued all night. To best describe the sensation I experienced that night, I would have to compare it to having sex. As the energy flowed through my body, I kept thinking, Man, this is the best sex I have ever had. I know, I know, I know. I have been saying that since I was able to flap my lips together and utter the words. Once I became engaged in spiritual boot camp, I encountered three words used by the Lord that helped reshape my worldview. He said, “Is that so?” I always said, “I don’t know.” In most cases, He graciously told me what truth was being taught. He presented a situation meant to stimulate my growth. A case in point is what transpired when I was awake for a full night experiencing His radiant heat of love. After it was over, my analytical self came to the conclusion that the Lord was rewarding me because I had been such a good boy. Wrong again, Mr. Know-It-All. How was I supposed to know that the heat I experienced was actually a spiritual blade that was used to open my central nervous system so I could receive an influx of energy from the Lord without jerking? From that day forward, the jerking stopped. In a few instances, my attention was commandeered by a swift jerk to ensure that what was presented was understood. One night after returning from work, I sat in my easy chair, tuned into HBO, poured a glass of cognac, and relaxed. I sipped my drink and enjoyed the show. The Lord asked, “What are you doing?” I replied, “Enjoying a drink of cognac.”

He said, “Can you feel the effects of the cognac?” “No, Lord. You have given me so much energy that I can no longer feel the effects of the alcohol.” “Well, I suggest you save your money.” From that point on, my alcohol consumption was limited to a glass of wine a day for health, beer with a meal, and participation in an occasional toast at a social gathering. It was never again used to alter my state of consciousness. Women? I love women. To this day, I will stop what I’m doing at work to ire a fine form that crosses my line of vision. I was so taken with my spiritual exercises that relationships fell off of my radar. One day, I snapped and approached the Lord. I said, “Lord, I never signed up to be a monk. I want a woman.” Be careful what you ask for. After my request, I started to talk to a host of women. They initially seemed promising, but I was constantly faced with the same dilemma. When I tried to explain my new awakening to them, they all said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

4

Alone, But Not Lonely

G iven the directive to be a light to my church, I went on a mission to teach— some would say preach—about how I had come to know God directly. I needed to share my story and recount the beautiful gifts that resulted from my efforts so they would be stimulated to do the same. In my naiveté, I thought the church and the surrounding campus would be fertile ground for spreading the Word of God. After the service and the procession of the priest and his servers to the rear of the church, I would turn to the people nearest to me, thank them for celebrating with me, and wait to see if anyone wanted to share what his or her relationship with the Lord was like. Some were receptive. The responses were enthusiastic, engaged, and familiar. Some asked what the hell I was talking about. To get a definitive picture of what my church thought of my message, all you had to do was look at the pew I sat in. Besides me, it was empty. The row behind me was empty. The next row had one person; we didn’t talk much, but I knew she liked me. In other words, they voted with their bodies and stayed away. Not to be discouraged or deterred by some people’s responses to my message, I moved my operation to the social center. Coffee and donuts were served after the service, and the church sat at tables with their cliques and gossiped. I played table roulette. I chose a different table each week, sat quietly among the , and waited for someone to engage me. Once given the floor, I would share that we were only minutes away from the service of the day. Our beings were saturated with the rituals from the praise worship and thanksgiving, and I would challenge them not to leave their enthusiasm in church. I urged them to seek a way to have the Holy Spirit make the church experience penetrate their hearts and affect their conversations. I asked them to think of godly things as they sat with their friends. Does a lead balloon ring a bell? That describes the

reception I received each week as I moved from table to table. Eventually, I thought I had taken on the persona of Moses. I would move through the crowds of people after the service, and they would part for me like the waters of the Red Sea. Except for a few people who were close to me, I became persona non grata. Catholic theologian Thomas Merton said, “No man is an island.” He explained the idea of mankind’s interconnectedness and need for interaction to foster growth in the spiritual realm. I thoroughly agree with this concept. My ability to be what I was learning enabled me to translate my blossoming simply by my presence. However, I still needed to find another human being with similar experiences so we could compare and complement each other’s growth. I approached my pastor with my story. He gave me a few minutes in the courtyard on a few occasions, and after hearing what I had to say, he would respond with a perplexed look in his eyes. He would say, “You are filled with the Holy Spirit. That’s good. That’s good. Keep up the good work.” He would quickly exit from my presence. I approached another priest, but he thought he was listening to a comedian. He laughed the whole time I was talking. He finally said that I was riding a roller coaster alone—except for the devil in the last car. I was testing the waters when I approached the priests. I wanted to see what they knew about God—beyond the scripted version of theological answers they were trained to deliver. I already had an ace in the hole. Father Cerbin was a mentor and a friend. He was a sophisticated man who carried his sophistication with dignity and shunned pomposity. He was a season ticket holder to the Houston Opera and the Houston Symphony. He was a voracious reader of classical literature, a historian of the Catholic faith, and an exorcist who drove out demons. We would meet every Monday morning in my office at the package store to enjoy each other’s company when I wasn’t waiting on customers. Our conversations were about thing we had both experienced: life in the seminary, literature, Catholic Church issues, people of the parish, world events, etc. In time, we settled into two camps; his conversations revolved around a scandal that was unfolding concerning the pastor, and I wanted to talk about the

psychedelic happenings that were transpiring between the Lord and me.

At one of our Monday morning sessions, Father Cerbin and I discussed the resistance I was encountering from Catholic priests when I tried to communicate my experiences of encountering the living spirit of Christ. I explained that the priests who stood on the pulpit on Sundays and explained that if we wanted to advance in our experiences with Christ, it was necessary to establish a personal relationship with Him. Yet when I approached them with my findings, having established the relationship they encouraged, I was met with evasiveness and befuddlement. Father Cerbin sat back in his chair, smiled, and explained that the answer to my dilemma revolved around the trapdoor. He asked, “Who do you think priests are? They are men who are trained to study and know the theological perspective of the churches they represent. They are obligated to stick to the dogma and promote the company line to ensure that there is no variance or misinterpretation of the truth so that the church’s worldview could be maintained and properly promulgated.” He explained how priests—and most people—do not have direct with what goes on underneath the trapdoor, which is the door into the subconscious. He explained how we are all affected by the happenings beyond the door, but very few get to walk around and have a firsthand view of the inner workings of the subconscious. As I presented my mystical experiences, the substance of what I was trying to say fell on deaf—or fearful—ears because what I was trying to convey was not aligned with their experiences. Two other priests showed interest in my experiences. One priest told me to be aware of the enger in the last seat, and he eventually took me seriously because of my persistence in stating my case. After a while, he told me that the Holy Spirit had blessed me in a special way. He told me that I should be a blessing to others by showing them that what I was experiencing was meant for all men. The second priest was a newly ordained priest who I met at my aunt’s funeral. After hearing my story, he was moved to tell me that he sought to have the same experience. When he asked for my blessing, I graciously complied.

At one of our Monday morning meetings, I told Father Cerbin that I was in heaven. He leaned forward, cupped his ears, and asked me to repeat what I had said. I said, “I’m in heaven now.” He said, “Please explain.” I told him that his trapdoor theory was interesting, but it fell short of depicting my experience. I explained that there was as much garbage—if not more—on the subconscious level of existence. Through the spiritual practices ordained by the Lord, I found the place where He resided. That place was beyond thought itself. There was no activity, just stillness. That place was unbounded and uncreated, a black infinity of eternal and everlasting love. I recited an original poem:

I live in the womb of the Lord, which is black abyss of love, I have become a thoughtless traveler, seeking nothing yet receiving everything, living in the mist that produces a bliss so beautiful that words are in want of its description. No good no bad, no happy no sad, timelessness content unto itself. Nowhere to go because I am everywhere, limitless, unbounded, everlasting, which is derived from He being in me and I in Him. Holy, holy, holy, because the Lord is holy, I am made whole.

After my presentation of what I considered the most intimate and precious revelations of who I was and my relationship with God, my chest was filled with satisfaction and pride. I had taken a complicated thought and delivered it in a clear, concise manner. Father Cerbin took a long look at me after I was done with my explanation. He said, “Brother Gene, you remind me of a can of coke. You open the can, put your hand over the opening, shake it up, and splash it all over the place.” A few weeks earlier, I escorted him to his car after one of his visits. He said, “You have to be careful about not getting too excited about your spiritual

experiences. Otherwise, you will be like a balloon filled with helium. Eventually, you will float away into the heavens above because you are untethered.” His words came crushing down like a ton of bricks. I was naïve to believe he knew as much or more about spiritual matters than I did. The reality of the situation was that the people didn’t know what the hell I was talking about. I knew what I knew. I had validity and clarity. One man could not shake my confidence—even if I valued his opinion. I explained how the ideas I presented were based on the Bible. “Was it not Jesus who said that your house or thoughts should be securely resting on bedrock? The source of the creation of thought was confirmed in Saint Paul’s statement that he was the same all the time—no matter the circumstances—because he had attained a state of consciousness that emanated from the bedrock that Christ spoke of. This allowed him to know an unchanging peace in the middle of the storm.” I was prepared for the assault upon my ideas because I had been warned when reading 1 Corinthians. I was aware of the comingling of my spirit with God’s spirit. I prepared myself for assaults from those who were not aware of the workings of the Holy Spirit, and I was not concerned. I would simply relax and share the mind of Christ. He wasn’t buying my argument. I thought, I’ll never listen to his advice again. After that meeting, my thoughts were centered on Father Cerbin. I’m done with him. What good does it do to bare my soul’s deepest secrets to a man who apparently doesn’t comprehend what I am saying? Does he reject them because they don’t fit into his religious view of what it means to grow in Christ? I didn’t know if there were other reasons because our conversation changed to polite chitchat after he compared me to a can of coke. The Lord ed my internal dialogue and posed a question. He said, “Are you giving up on the priest? Isn’t he the same one who used patience and love to help you to see me more clearly? You have been doing most of the talking. Now it is time to listen to him. Keep in mind that even in his rejection of what was said, he was still a help to you because you reacted like a ton of bricks. You still have much work to do.”

At our next meeting, I listened to his story with sympathetic ears. I was impressed by how deeply he was disturbed by the improprieties of the pastor. I continued to be his friend and confidant for the next two years when he was called to pastor a church in Louisiana. I will always be grateful for his love. A fellow in the neighborhood was known as “The Preacher.” I had my own pet name for him: Frankenstein. The name was a private joke meant for my entertainment only. I would think about it as I sold him cheap beer. The name was introduced to my brain because of his protruding forehead, sunken eyes, square jaw, and high cheekbones. I didn’t like him. He was on my “get rid of the customer as quickly as possible” list. He told jokes at the counter—I’m sure only appreciated by him. His boisterous laughter turned my stomach. After I turned into a Holy Roller, I had a hard time holding back my rap. I talked to him about a Bible age that I was having difficulty interpreting. To my amazement, he recited the whole age in question and gave a mini sermon about what it meant. As he expounded on the age, I tried to project a nonchalant attitude, but my heart was screaming, “Preacher man? Preacher man. I have found a new friend.” My prejudice and preconceived notions of who the preacher was had previously denied me access to a man who was a storehouse of theological and biblical knowledge. He had a heart full of love and acceptance. Our friendship lasted for years. We fed off of each other’s strengths and propelled ourselves deeper into God’s love. He attended a few of my sessions with Father Cerbin. He heard me being called “Brother Gene,” and the moniker stuck. To me, he remained The Preacher. His given name was Cornelius; he attended the seminary to become a preacher in one of the largest nondenominational Christian organizations in the United States. He showed promise in the early years of his ministerial work, and he was asked to be a pastor of a church. His success in overseeing his first flock propelled him into national attention, and he was asked to speak at the annual conference, which was attended by thousands. The preacher advanced quickly through the system. He succeeded in different churches and debated and defended his faith with scriptural insights. His talents put him on the fast track to becoming the youngest member of his church to be ordained a bishop. He became a missionary and represented his church in

Europe and South America. On numerous occasions, he was selected as the keynote speaker at the annual convention. When our paths crossed, he was at the end of his career. He had a home church that he attended, and he was invited to be a guest speaker at churches throughout the city. We would meet daily at the store for spiritual discussions since he only lived a block away. As my communication with God intensified in the form of insights, visions, and energy, I had more things to share. The preacher was my outlet. In his honesty, he let me know that he had similar experiences. He had intellectual knowledge about a great deal of what I shared with him—but no direct experience. The preacher’s wide-eyed, enthusiastic acceptance of what I had to say helped me greatly. I had finally found someone open enough to appreciate the intense love I had for the Lord. As we shared our experiences daily, we both experienced the transformative powers of the love of God that took root in our entire beings. What was most impressive about the preacher was his ability to listen to me describing a recent experience, stop for a moment to meditate briefly, and then recite a biblical age confirming what I had said. The Preacher had to leave Houston because of failing health. Cornelius moved to Southern California to live with his family. Before he departed, we had a final meeting where we both acknowledged that we had been blessed to have each other as friends and fellow lovers of the Lord. We learned many lessons because of our friendship; one of the most important was that if the truth about the ultimate reality is sought, the Lord supplies assistance to transcend religious barriers and rigid belief systems. The true spirit of ecumenism is established and produces open, inspiring communication. That being said, I had trouble communicating with someone of my own Catholic faith. My sister trained as a pharmacist and expanded her career opportunities by becoming a theologian. Delores used her theological training to become a teacher and spiritual director at Saint Francis of Assisi Catholic Church in Houston. Monsignor Wells had been her college professor in pharmacy before becoming the pastor. Her presence was felt in every aspect of the church functions that could be handled by a layperson. We were both guests in my mother’s house, the original homestead, and we saw

each other on a daily basis. On Sundays, we would sit across from each other in the den. My mother sat to our left as a referee. The topic was always the theology of the Catholic Church. We were both know-it-alls who debated for hours about church doctrine. We were both righteous, knowing that our position was the proper interpretation of the teachings. The opponent’s position was wrong—and had a heretical smell to it. We engaged in this folly for quite a few Sundays in a row. My mom finally stopped us in our tracks when she said, “Shut up. You are both silly, and you didn’t know what you are talking about.” Love prevailed, and we changed our mode of communication. We replaced the debate forum with an honest, respectful atmosphere of sharing the fruits and benefits we experienced by living the Christian faith as a Catholic. We had always been close and done many things for each other as adults, but our bond could be traced to our childhood when she paid attention to me when others would not. Once we were done trying to impress each other with our knowledge, we moved to a special place of sharing thoughts, experiences, and books. I could use the term “avid reader” to describe her, but that term would not capture who she was. Before leaving for work in the morning, I would by her room and wish her a good day. She was always reading the beginning of a book—more often than not a thick book—and by the time I returned that night, the reading was complete. Our daily conversations exposed a side of Delores I was unaware of. Although steeped in the orthodox teachings of the church, she showed an openness and flexibility by introducing meditation and honest roundtable discussions at her adult meetings to facilitate a deeper understanding and retention of the subject matter discussed. We exchanged many books, read them, and discussed the jewels of wisdom we found in them. The greatest gift she had to offer was sitting patiently and listening to the spiritual awakening I was experiencing. She asked me about them and offered experiences of her own that either corroborated or contradicted them. I related three stories to her that really excited and captivated her. The first happened at the store. It was midday when a gentleman walked in. My brother walked out to run an errand. The man browsed the displays and looked for

something to purchase. He picked out a bottle, approached the counter, and placed it in front of me. We exchanged greetings. He started talking about the Lord and recited Bible verse after Bible verse. He gave a brief synopsis of each one with a rapid-fire delivery. My awareness was able to keep up with him. I dissected and evaluated each word and could find no fault in his quote or his analysis. Rather than being impressed by his display, my reaction was just the opposite. I thought his delivery was too sharp—almost mechanical in nature. My instincts triggered a warning that the person in front of me was to be scrutinized very carefully. He stopped talking, took a few steps to his left, and said that he knew who I was. He knew that I explored and was receiving power from involvement with higher planes of consciousness. He wanted to establish a friendship with me. I said, “I am a little boy in the corner, watching what is transpiring. You are actually talking to God.” Upon hearing the words, he lowered his eyes. They remained downcast, his voice was silent, his body didn’t move. I rejected his invitation of friendship and informed him that he was to leave the store and never return. After he departed, I asked myself what happened. After a brief period, I was told that the visitor was a living example of spiritual warfare. I had to be mindful that some people have an agenda for stifling the spiritual growth of others. I was told that I did well in my response to the visitor—and that I should use this experience as a reminder to stay vigilant and discerning about the thoughts about myself I shared with others, especially strangers. The second story happened in church. The Lord had instructed me to remain in church after the service was complete. I sat quietly in the pew and listened to the conversations around me. When the church emptied, I closed my eyes and meditated. I overheard conversations about hamburgers, football, movies, and what Betty and John had been up to—but nothing about the Lord. I continued my practice of sitting in the pew after the service for months. After the church was completely empty of congregants, the stillness, mystery, and sanctity of the atmosphere in the church had an osmotic effect on me. Sitting in this quiet environment cultivated an elevated awareness that opened my spiritual

eyes to the revelation that the highest form of communication with the Lord was not to hear from Him but to be with Him. One Sunday after I sat with my eyes closed, someone approached from my left side and sat next to me. I opened my eyes and saw that it was one of the choir . She was often called upon to sing solos because of her exceptional voice. She was the wife of a recently deceased member of the church who had been an employee at my dad’s service station as a kid. She asked, “What are you doing sitting here with your eyes closed?” “I am meditating and communicating with the Lord.” “I would like to learn how to do that. Would you teach me?” I was pressed for time because of a commitment to get lunch for my mom, but I shared some brief words with her. I wanted to inspire her to seek the Lord through independent study. “Seek, and you will find. Knock, and it shall be opened up to you.” These were not just righteous phrases used with my Sunday visitor from the choir, but the reality was seared into her psyche because of her need to know the Lord’s love. Her persistence brought her to my side three Sundays in a row. On the third Sunday, I let her know that my helter-skelter ramblings about my spiritual experiences were not an effective way for her to grow in her understanding of the Lord’s ways. A more organized approach would be necessary for us to maximize the use of our time after the service. That next Sunday—before I could introduce the lesson plan I had devised—she confided that the reason she sought me out to assist her in her spiritual needs was because of something I had done four years ago. In my enthusiasm to spread the Word of God, I had stopped at her pew and given a brief Holy Ghost talk. Although I scared her, my brief talk caused a stirring in her heart. That was why she sought me out in her time of need. I proposed studying the Our Father—a sentence at a time—in order to introduce a systematic approach to arrive at a more comprehensive understanding of who Christ is through the exploration of His words. She agreed, and we began our study the following Sunday.

I approached the endeavor with sincerity and determination to succeed in having my friend open her heart to the Lord so she could partake in the absolute joy of knowing the Lord, which is her birthright and that of all men. My commitment to this project was intense. I would spend a week studying one sentence at a time and analyzing each word in light of what was said in the Bible. I used my intuitive knowledge. After this process, I would write out two lesson plans—one for myself and one for her—so we could stay focused on the lesson at hand. Arrangements had already been made with my mom to bring lunch an hour later. Each Sunday session lasted an hour. When I get involved with people who are learning how to live the spirit of Christ, I always present the idea of living the ultimate reality. I knew it would lead a person to a place where trials, tribulations, and problems could be rectified once and for all. Having direct with the spirit of love that resides in the hearts of all produces a soothing salve of righteousness that promotes a life lived in freedom. When we studied the part of the Our Father that deals with forgiveness, she confessed that forgiveness was a major obstacle in her life. It caused her to experience fits of depression and anxiety. She had trouble forgiving her deceased husband for mental abuse and marital infidelity. Rather than pressing on with study of the rest of the Our Father, we concentrated on the part about forgiveness for the next six months. At what was to become our last meeting, she thanked me for my help. She was no longer depressed and was experiencing a peace of mind that was unlike anything she had seen before. I thanked her because she had afforded me the opportunity to practice what I preached. The following week, she died in a house fire. In my spiritual quest, I have confronted many challenges that made me question my view of reality. In order to stay prepared, I repeated a mantra that helped me adjust to what was presented. Adversity is my ally because it exposes my strengths. My mantra was put to the test in the third story, which concerned my ability to offer prophetic renderings. On Thursdays, I drove to the wholesale house to pick up weekly supplies.

One time, the Lord said, “Talk to me.” My response was terse and flippant. I quickly muttered a few words in tongue and informed him that I was going to get supplies. That evening, I stood at the cash in the store. I needed to get the supplies out of my trunk. The Lord had more elaborate instructions. I was to go outside, walk along the left wall of the building, and stand in front of the fence. I would receive further instructions there. As I stood at the fence, the Lord said, “Speak to me.” I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. I panicked and tried to speak again, but I still couldn’t talk. It was a new experience for me. The Lord’s commandments always resulted in positive outcomes. However, in this case, the experience left me dumbfounded and fearful. In my mind, I cried out, “What have you done to me? Help. I need help.” I was convinced that I would never talk again. He calmly assured me that my speech would return by simply saying one word: Vax. I turned around and retraced my steps along the wall. I headed toward the front of the building and yelled, “Vax.” In front of the building, a customer asked if I was calling for my dog. I assured him that that I was and didn’t need any help. I stood motionless in front of the building, trying to understand what I had experienced. I scratched my head. The Lord said, “I want you to be my prophet.” Prophet? Prophecy? I’m no prophet, and I don’t know what it means to be one. I had overheard conversations where people claimed to have received specific messages from God for another person. I thought the concept was ludicrous— just another way for people to promote their egos. If that was what a prophet was, I wanted nothing to do with it.

Minutes later, I was doing exactly what I had just criticized. A woman exited the store after making a purchase. She approached me at the trunk of my car as I was unloading supplies and asked about my well-being. Before I could respond, I found myself retreating to an inner space of absolute quiet. I emerged with a warning for her. I told her I knew she was attending a special three-day conference at her church. I knew she was caught up in the excitement of the experience, but I directed her to remain vigilant and cautious of some of the visitors. Some of them had ulterior motives for participating in the conference. These motives could lead to a rift between the church leaders and the . With a puzzled look, she thanked me and departed. I did not see her for two months. When she came back to the store, she thanked me for my advice. My words had come true, and the guilty parties were detected and rejected before they could pollute the process. Three days after I gave the prophecy to the woman, I was waiting on customers when a beautiful woman in a white dress walked in. For reasons unknown to me, I called her a Holy Roller. She proceeded to the back of the store, made her selection, and returned to the counter. She looked directly into my eyes and stated that she was no Holy Roller. She was a prophetess who had been sent by the Lord to receive a prophecy from me. I quickly finished the transaction and escorted her outside so we could converse in private. Once outside, she demanded to know what I had been directed to tell her. I was confused. I had no idea what she was talking about. I held her hands, looked directly into her eyes, uttered some words in tongue, and waited. My lips were silenced by the penetrating power of her eyes. We looked deeply into each other’s eyes—and then into each other’s minds. The prophecy I had for her was transmitted, and to my surprise, she had a prophecy for me. We let go of each other’s hands and were silent until she said she had to attend a funeral and would return later. At that moment, I knew I would never see her again. I loved to hear Delores’s stories about the transformative power she wielded as the spiritual director of her parish. We spent many hours absorbed in tales of our spiritual successes and growth toward a fuller participation in the love that God had to offer. Our physical participation was cut short by her death a few years

ago, but we continue to communicate through dreams. After years of study, we concluded that all praise is due to the God of Abraham who is celebrated and revered by Christians, Muslims, and those of the Jewish faiths. Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, and every approach under the sun should be treasured because of God’s all-inclusive love. Everyone is invited to the party —no matter what method is used. Trust is capital. It is precious and rare. Robert and my mom are the only two people on earth who have gained my complete trust. This statement is not made out of sentimentality. It is based on the truth of a long, proven track record. They have offered advice and direction that has resulted in my physical and spiritual advancement. Robert has been my friend and advisor since childhood. He was a no-nonsense person from the start. He emulated my dad’s physical characteristics, and as he matured, he reflected his business persona, which is part of the success we enjoy to this day. His interests are business and nature. He is the only person I know who can speak for an extended period of time about the stock market and business matters and make it sound sexy. He possesses a keen sense of who he is, and he is on constant vigil to see that his life flows in the way he wants it to. He has no time for chitchat or conversations that deviate from what he is trying to accomplish at any particular moment. This stance is reflected in our relationship. He jokes that he has nothing to say because he doesn’t know anything—and I know even less. I was reluctant to share my spiritual experiences with my brother, but I eventually told him about the epiphanies that had transformed my life. My revelations were met with silence and indifference. Judging from his reaction, it felt like I had confessed to a nervous breakdown rather than a spiritual awakening. Three weeks later, he approached me about my experience with epiphanies. He had seen a program on a nationally televised Catholic program where an individual had given testimony about an epiphany and the changes it brought to his life. Robert had a clearer idea of what I was talking about. He offered a few congratulatory statements and wished me well in my spiritual endeavors.

On rare occasions, we discussed biblical ages, sermons, and other spiritual matters. What a man sees and believes in is thoroughly his business. I respectfully refrain from imposing my belief system on my brother. As an observer of his faith in action, I was impressed by the way he strived to do God’s will. A plush blanket of grass, trees, and shrubs pointed toward heaven. Flowers and plants exhibited a rainbow of dazzling colors. Dark mulch supplied a backdrop and contrast that enhanced the captivating beauty in nature. That was my brother’s playground. God is responsible for nature’s awesome display of beauty, but he allows those who are sensitive to these facts to become partners in sustaining His creation. Not simply as a yardman but as a God man who realizes that God’s DNA. He has the same DNA that nature has. In my mom’s garden, she is the crown jewel. Her golden radiance and supreme calm are only found in those who have lived to be a hundred. She has always lived in a deep faith and trusted in God’s love. My brother has dedicated his life to seeing that the golden radiance and supreme calm stays with our mom all the days of her life. He covers every facet of her business, allowing her to peacefully enjoy each and every day with no worries. Epiphanies, visions, spiritual insights, and increased awareness of God’s influence in the play of life have little or no value when perceived in a vacuum. That state is fertile ground for self-promotion and self-deception. The legitimacy of the effectiveness and truth of what I have found in my spiritual exploration can best be realized through interaction with another human being. Robert has been willing and capable of doing so. I am fortunate that someone who truly loves me offers these challenges and reality checks. Robert is my mom’s ant, gardener, physician, caregiver, and an unrelenting proponent for her safety and tranquility. My mom and I became friends in the later years of her life. We have intimate and honest discussions about everything under the sun. We find mutual delight when the subject matter is centered on the Lord and the bountiful gifts He has bestowed upon our family. My mom and I live in a wood-framed house with an attached garage, a yard, and a tall wooden fence around the property. It is secure and private. I think of it as a

temple, a church, and a holy space. We thrive in the peace and tranquility provided by the Prince of Peace. He makes his presence known deep within our hearts, and an atmosphere of serenity and profound peace permeates our home. To foster this atmosphere, visitors are restricted to close family and a few friends who check hidden agendas and negative baggage at the door. They come to share their joy—not steal it. My mom is a cradle Catholic who recites the rosary daily and is privileged to receive communion weekly. A very gracious Eucharistic minister from Our Mother of Mercy Catholic Church brings it to her each week. Unlike my dad, my mom never approached me about returning to the church during the days of my hedonistic splendor. However, they both employed a subtle and powerful approach to facilitate my return through daily prayers for my safe return. They knew the system acted as the spiritual glue that sustained their relationship and unified the family. My return brought such joy to her heart. She was open to whatever direction the Lord would lead me. Her openness and receptivity to new and unconventional approaches to serving the Lord expanded exponentially with my growth. My mom’s life is based on faith but and the results of her faith. God sustains and elevates her consciousness. He asks her to be an active participant in His creative process, which brings about profound peace and joy. Being a cradle Catholic, mom’s exposure to the Holy Bible was limited to the three readings taken from the Old and New Testament’s that were read at Mass each Sunday. Knowing the importance and the benefits of a systematic and thorough study of the words in the Bible—and the secrets and power that are contained in the words—I proposed the idea of reading a chapter a night from the Bible before our nightly prayer sessions. There was no hesitation in mom’s response. She enthusiastically accepted the proposition. Thus began our exploration of the Creator and His interaction with what He created. We found Bible study to be entertaining and enlightening. Once the chapter for the night was completed, we prayed out loud together. A brief period of silence and meditation followed before we offered each other an interpretation of what had been read.

Bible study enriched us in many ways. The most profound impact on me was the wisdom and clear understanding of God’s Word as demonstrated by my mom. My mother’s first son—mama’s boy, her Halloween baby—is the cornerstone of a relationship that has blossomed into a friendship. This friendship is extraordinary. We have gone beyond perceiving each other through the lens of personality and personal history. We have achieved a loftier form of communication where we relate to each other’s essence; the core of our being promotes the sharing of truth. This form of communication was cultivated in the atmosphere of nightly prayer and Bible study. We shared similar levels of spiritual awakening. I received the Lord through exercises and revelations, and she received the Lord through near-death experiences and many illnesses. Our discussions went beyond the confines of rigid religious or theological views. We freely expressed our interpretations of the reflection of God’s love and direction that were practically displayed in our daily experiences. We breathed in deeply and exhaled the living word of Christ. Sandra, Diane, and Gerri—my three surviving sisters—have listen attentively and respectfully to the descriptions of my spiritual development. They have responded to what I have transmitted in their own ways, according to their individual worldviews. Sandra has been a nun for fifty years. She started her journey at the tender age of seventeen with a missionary order from Spain that operated a home for the aged in Kansas City Missouri. Sandra accepted the challenge of learning to speak fluent Spanish, changing sheets, and tending to the care of the aged clients. She adapted to the lifestyle of living as a nun. Today she is the leader of the convent. She recently retired from the position of CEO of a twin tower building housing assisted and unassisted homes for the aged. She is a lobbyist for the Catholic Church and negotiates with Congress over human rights issues for Americans. Our relationship is loving and open. After one of her extended visits, I rattled off a litany of newfound revelations. She said, “What in the hell are you talking about?” Diane is a mother of four. She learned that the organizational skills she learned in the Thibodeaux family system also work for the city. She helps people secure housing.

Diane has taken her cradle Catholic faith to a higher level of maturity. She is involved in a group called the Sisters of the Spirit. This organization is dedicated to the enrichment of the spiritual lives of its . The positive effects of her involvement in this group are demonstrated in her approach to her job. She doesn’t look upon her employment as a means to survive; she has incorporated what she has learned and applied it to prayer. She has made her job her ministry —offering a loving assistance above and beyond what is required in her job description. I love her family, but I would be remiss if I did not mention her twin daughters. Robin and Valarie are two angels of light who have helped me on so many levels. Diane has been receptive to hearing what I have to say about living in the Holy Spirit. However, we always manage to get to the point where she says, “Okay, that’s enough. I don’t care to hear any more.” Gerri, my youngest sister, has always had a special place in my heart. She has demonstrated concern for me throughout our lives, and she has a fun, loving nature. Gerri is a loan officer for a local bank. She leaves her serious side at work and uses her God-given talents to open her house and her heart to her friends, her children’s friends, and sometime even strangers. I am very thankful to her for opening her heart to me on numerous occasions. She has been a guinea pig for me as I demonstrated my latest spiritual revelation. These people have helped me in my quest to climb out of the box of who I think I am. I’ve come to experience who I truly am. I am aware of the underlying source of consciousness of God.

5

The House of the Lord

O nce I committed to knowing the Lord and what He meant by announcing that His kingdom was at hand, I put all of my resources and energy into gaining access to this kingdom. I wanted to experience it now. I was not satisfied waiting as so many preachers and interpreters of the Word are. I am a seeker of the truth. I was seeking an answer to what it meant to be in possession of the absolute truth. I wondered what this would mean in my daily experiences. I have always welcomed and explored religious and scientific approaches offered by myriad sources—regardless of their approach, belief system, culture, or acceptance by mainstream religious groups. I decided to stay within the system I was born into. The Christian system believes that salvation and absolute truth can only be found in acceptance of Jesus Christ as the Son of God who died for our sins, rose from the dead, and reigns in our hearts. The Holy Spirit acts as an advocate and a guide in life’s journey. I chose the route of orthodoxy. I’ve explored and conformed to the rules, theological interpretations, and precepts promoted by the Catholic Church. I am aware that my choice presents a minefield of intellectual, theological, and factual challenges. In Catholic school, we were subjected to a form of discipline that bordered on sadistic and inhumane treatment. The institution was established for the education and preparation of its students for challenges in the world, but the environment promoted self-hatred and other hatred. Instead of simply promoting the Catholic Church and the bounty of spiritual tools, the nuns explicitly proclaimed the only way to achieve salvation was hip in the one and only true church. One example of self-hatred was demonstrated when a nun took it upon herself to educate young ladies on proper attire for church service. She said that people with black skin should never wear red in church. She also went on a tirade about

the horrors of such actions. The Catholic Church has a history of “killing in the name of the Lord.” The slaughter of Muslims in the Crusades lined the pockets of European sponsors with booty. She killed her own during the Inquisition in the name of preserving the integrity and sanctity of her dogma. A clergy sex scandal involved vulnerable children who were abused by the very ones who were charged to ensure their safety. I know about this firsthand. I was fondled by a Catholic priest in an auditorium while during a movie in high school at Saint Augustine Seminary in Bay Saint Louis, Mississippi. I didn’t discuss the incident with my classmates until years later. They informed me that I was one of many. These personal and historic s are just the tip of the iceberg. Who knows what secrets and manipulation of facts have occurred over the centuries? So be it—so it is. Yes, this is the church I chose to know God. I was aware of its imperfections, yet within this system, I used the tools of individual prayer, group prayer, perpetual adoration, the holy sacrifice of the Mass, litanies, Bible study, fellowship, and sacraments to attain knowledge of God’s perfection. In this system, I became aware of the seed of “need for more” that had been planted in my spiritual DNA. It affected my life in such a way that the complacency was deactivated, enabling me to seek the right course of action to promote my material progress. On the spiritual plane, a constant mantra reminded me that there is always more to be seen and implemented in my everyday experience. I have learned to put my query into a sealed bottle and cast it into the cosmic ocean in my mind. I surrender my wants and desires for an answer to the source of all answers. I know it will deliver what I need to advance to the next level of spiritual development—at the proper time and place for maximum results. I received the answer to my “need for more” at a Sunday morning service. As I listened to the first reading of the gospel, which was a psalm entitled “The House of the Lord,” a picture consumed me. I knew that I would dedicate my entire being to achieving residence in the Lord’s house. I was not content to hear or read the words about the Lord’s house. My intuition filled me with confidence. If I knocked and was persistent, my prayers would be answered. I

would gain entry and become a permanent resident. At the time, I had no idea how much knocking I would have to do. Persistence and perseverance would be needed to accomplish my goal. I prayed and knocked, knocked and prayed, to no avail. I was not discouraged because I had been given the gifts of patience and trust. They kept me on my chosen course so my desired results would be fulfilled. During that period, I received nocturnal visions that occurred frequently. I would retire for the night, relax for a short period, and sleep deeply. I had no dreams or stirring—just a black void. After what seemed like hours of this profound sleep, I would awaken slowly and peacefully. When I achieved full consciousness, I would rest with my eyes closed and wait to see what the Lord had in store for me that night. My nocturnal travels took me to places throughout the world—and throughout the universe. I became a silent witness of the magnificence and magnitude of the Lord’s creation. I moved from place to place in an instant. I was not subject to the restrictions of time and space. I encountered people of all colors and nationalities. Some were peaceful, and most were consumed by external conflicts in their societies and conflicts within themselves. The night visions had a central theme: deeds that had been done in the dark, deception, abandonment, demonic possession, and criminal malfeasance. In each scene, I was called upon to be an observer. I assessed what was transpiring and interacted with the characters involved. I did it all with supreme confidence and assuredness because I acted with God’s awareness. The visions awakened me to the fact that God’s awareness and my awareness were one and the same. I no longer looked at God as separate from me. I began to live the words that Catholics pray over the bodies of recently deceased : “Eternal rest, grant onto them, O Lord, and let your perpetual light shine upon them.” The reality of eternal rest and perpetual light that can be experienced as an everyday event was exposed to me in a vision. It was reminiscent of a scene from one of Edgar Allen Poe’s novels. I witnessed the front of the house of the Lord, which was shrouded in a thick mist. A lone streetlamp shed light on a large double door that led to an entryway.

I approached and knocked on the door. When the door swung open, I noticed a small vestibule, but it did not hold my attention because my eyes were drawn to the first room. Racks that were filled with books stretched skyward into infinity. Acknowledging the presence of the spirit of the Lord, I said, “What is this?” The Lord said, “This is my room of knowledge. It is now yours.” I was briefly introduced to the second room. It resembled a den. Men and women, young and old, stood silently in white robes. I said, “Lord, what is this?” He responded, “My purification room.” I remained there for five years—until I was introduced to the third and final room in the house of the Lord. I slept comfortably on an air mattress in the living room of my mother’s house, and the Lord awakened me. He instructed me to get up, sit on the couch, close my eyes, and wait for something he had for me. As usual, I complied with his wishes. I sat on the couch, closed my eyes, and waited. After five minutes or so, I became impatient. I opened my eyes, picked up a book written by a pope, and began to read. The book flew out of my hand and landed on the far end of the couch. Okay. I got it. I closed my eyes and waited. After another five minutes, I said, “I don’t see anything. There is nothing here.” The Lord responded, “You see very well. This is the third room. This is where I live. There is nothing.” My response was flippant as usual. I said, “Well, that’s good. Thanks for the introduction. However, I’m tired. I need more sleep.” I got up from the couch, returned to the air mattress, and put head on the pillow. I sat up and said, “Lord, how can I get back to the third room?” He said, “You never left the room. This is where you will live forever.”

6

Manifestation

T he vision I described of coming to rest in the field of the uncreated, eternal, and unchanging in the third room of the house of the Lord is real and everlasting for me. For others, it is an illusion or an imaginative display. The answer to the reality of the experience can be found in what effects being in union with the uncreated have on my manifest life. The onslaught of thoughts when I woke was overwhelming. For the most part, the content was so negative that my body reacted to them in a stressful way. I was beginning the day with a deficit that would influence my behavior for the rest of the day. Contrast this experience with what I know now when I awake. I only have a few thoughts when I begin to stir. When I open my eyes, there are no thoughts. My mind is grounded in the infinite field, which is the seat of the creative process. Thoughts emanate out of silence, and there is no good or bad or happy or sad. There is just the state of being. My day begins with the knowledge that it will be a perfect day. Everything that happens is meant to be. I go about my business and accept what is presented. At work, I was subjected to the “flavors of the day.” No matter how upbeat and positive my day started, my emotional response to what people said or did would produce a texture or flavor that ranged from elation to depression, depending on the intensity of the exchange. How I felt was controlled by my emotional response to external forces and interactions with people. Internally, the constant presentation of thoughts produced a continuous change in the perception of my environment and myself. I was aware of the influence of emotions and their effects, but I did not know how to stop it.

Home is a place of comfort, rest, and security. The home I am referring to is the field of the uncreated. I am consciously aware that it is unchanging and eternal and beyond time. It is not subject to time’s influences. It is grounded in absolute peace and love that produces joy beyond understanding. Home is a place where I always am. No matter where I am or what circumstances I encounter, home is my constant in a changing world. This became my answer to the ebb and flow of the emotional roller coaster. I am able to react with emotion to a particular event. However, the flavor or strain of the emotion does not stick to the fabric of my mind, because I am always at home. I am an adventurous person. I participated in mountain climbing, body surfing, and spelunking as a youth. I did these things for the adrenaline rush and sense of accomplishment they produced. I have operated a successful business with my brother for more than forty-five years. I have ed the efforts of other civic leaders and organizations to foster the growth and vitalization of my community as a prescient judge. I view adventure, accomplishments, and successes While living this life, I have been given the choice of death or death. The first death occurred when I turned my attention to the field of the uncreated source of all that is manifest. In doing so, I was drawn into this field as if by a magnet or a black hole. My ego was initially transformed and eventually obliterated by the power of the energy of the uncreated field. What I thought was precious and my concept of who I was were put to death and replaced by the knowledge that I am the uncreated field. The second death is the life I knew before coming into full bloom. That life made me believe I was a trinket gatherer. The more trinkets I possessed, the greater my prestige.

7

Life Under the Dome

R eflecting on the process that led me to experience life in full bloom, I analyzed what I shared in common with the other billions of people with whom I shared space on this planet. My mind was drawn to the beginning of the bible where it is stated that GOD created a dome separating the sky from the earth under which all human’s, creatures and plants of the earth found their home. Millions of years of evolution have produced the specimens that we are today. Our commonality is that we are all inhabitants of this planet who experience “life under the dome”. Separated, geographically, and by time and culture, we seek to make sense of this world we were born into. The clock starts ticking from the first instant that we are conceived in the womb, and the first thing we realize when the first spark of awareness sets in is that we are not in control of our destiny. Our health and vitality, even the continuation of life is contingent on the habits and thoughts of the host. We have no say about anything, limited to an occasional kick to remind the host that we are still alive and exercising our right to let her know that we are still around. While we are snug in the womb, which we are to be is being directed by the eating, drinking and drug habits of the one who is bearing you. On a subtler level our mother’s psychological makeup, thought patterns and general state of being has a profound effect on us as we mature physically in preparation to make our debut into the world. After having done the necessary time in the womb the moment has arrived for the new born to make it’s first splash into the world and the first encounter with

another human being results in a slap on the butt which asks two questions “ARE YOU ALIVE, ARE YOU AWAKE?” These are questions that we will ask of ourselves as we progress through life and experience the many challenges and uncertainty that we encounter. In this new environment, secure in the comfort and protection of our parents home, we become aware that our ability to have our will fulfilled has expanded ever so slightly in that when we are hungry or uncomfortable the new found tool of crying will alert those responsible for our care that we need attention. Born with a clean slate, devoid of prejudices, compartmentalized thought patterns, or personal history we find that the world is truly our oyster to have, all of the infinite potentiality that the world has to offer is available to us. Surely there must be a catch, and the answer is a resounding “ YES”. The infinite potentiality mentioned above becomes compressed and restricted by the worldview held by those who are in control of you during your formative years. You become a reflection of what they believe concerning everything in the world. You mimic and conform to there position concerning everything because your very existence depends upon it. Conformity to your parents or caregiver’s way of life is maintained and reinforced by discipline using techniques that include every method imaginable depending on their value system and ethics. The friends, relatives and associates of your parents are a secondary source of influence of your perception of what the world is. They offer you a chance to compare what you have been taught and accepted to new insights that they present in their words and behavior. As you mature and employ more of your analytical skills you find that some views will be accepted and incorporated into what you see the world to be. Childhood playmates are also a ripe source of learning as they display their parent’s views. Formal public or private education is the grand experiment where we receive current knowledge of the known universe. Here the first major lesson learned is the attention paid to time, timeliness in all matters is stressed and we are obliged to obey the structure laid out or suffer the consequences of noncompliance with

the time rules. In our formative years at home we are aware of the time structure implemented by our parents, when to rise, when to eat, when to play, when to retire, however in this system there is more flexibility and adjustment to the circumstances at hand. In the school structure no flexibility exist, baring an emergency. “Time waits for no one” is more than just a saying, in this setting; it becomes a dominant fact of life as long as we are on campus. Can’t be slow in your ability to learn because the material to be mastered in different subject matters is given in hour-long segments. Within this time frame we are expected to understand the information presented, store it in our memories and be prepared to demonstrate our retention and understanding during a timed testing period. Even under this restrictive setting for learning, there is a glimmer of hope for expanding our horizons because the field of infinite potentiality is reintroduced through our exposure to a wealth of knowledge about the known universe that is introduced to us. It is here that we have an opportunity to test and compare the knowledge presented by our parents in our formative years. There is no argument that structured time is necessary for the successful execution of the learning process, but with the structure comes stress. Stress that is mutually shared by our parents, and us, can’t be late for school, because everyone knows that there is a price to be paid. Initially the price may be an onition, however consistent infractions could lead to more severe penalties, ultimately to our removal from our home and placed in protective care if our parent’s behavior indicates, neglect of parental duties, in the eyes of those in authority. It quickly becomes obvious to us that compliance to the time rules is to be strictly obeyed if we want to remain in the grace of those who control our lives through their application.

THE MANY FACES OF TIME

What time is it? Make sure you are back on time. We must start the project on time. The store has to open and close on time. We have all experienced an uneasy pause while in conversation. The test you are about to take will be timed. Fred arrived for the rehearsal in the nick of time. There is a time to reap and a time to sow. Make sure you get up on time. Time flies. Time is moving so slow. John had too much time on his hands. I will see to it that you receive the proper amount next time. If you have the time stop by my office I have something for you. He died before his time. When the time comes I will be ready. Hey buddy do you have the time. Time waits for no one. The list is endless because everything we experience is done in time. Time is the common dominator that affects all inhabitants who experience “LIFE UNDER THE DOME” Time is not fixed in one position; life is always in flux producing changes and uncertainty as it progresses. What is held as gospel today is debunked in the future when more conclusive evidence undermines the validity of previously held truths? As we progress from our formative to our mature years our concept of whom we are changes with time. Who we are in our own eyes continues to change as we are affected by the expansion of self-awareness, which is fueled by our interaction with fellow inhabitants of the dome. We dome dwellers exist in time and interact with ourselves and with the other inhabitants which produces experiences that become a part of our memory and ultimately this is our personal history, our identity of whom we are. For most of us the greatest percentage of time is spent working. We work long and demanding hours to maintain the possessions we have accumulated. The work that we do require productive results that contributes to the growth and success of the business.

If you are to be successful in the job that you do attention to detail and a commitment to preform to the best of your ability is required. This more often than not results in your promotion to a higher position, which demands more of your time. Home a place of solace, rejuvenation and peace is the ideal we strive for however the reality in most cases is that home is where more of your time is demanded of you. Your rest is important for your continued success at work but equally important is your responsibility to see that the ones whom you have brought into the world have the necessary attention and care to ensure that their formative years are productive. Thank goodness for T. G. I. F., living for the weekend, but this is only wishful thinking, a fantasy from your single days, when life was more carefree, the reality experienced on weekends has more to do with “honey does” and cab service for family activities. The clock is ticking, it started at our conception in our mother’s womb, and tick tock is the sound we hear as the seconds advance on the finite clock. Time is spent maintaining our personal history; we use all of our resources to maintain order and consistency so that we can experience all of the comfort and security that our chosen lifestyle has to offer. Comfort and security are necessary for us to experience an orderly life yet the heart cries out for more, because in our D. N, A. is the knowledge that the exploration of the field of infinite possibilities is necessary for us to live our full potentiality. We hear the question, are you alive? We hear the call to “wake up”. We are attracted to the call to “wake up” because of a lifetime of associating with and cling to our personal history as the ultimate of what life has to offer has limited satisfaction and a great deal of consternation. Although we utilize our time and energy trying to maintain order and stability in our lives there is the constant bombardment of unforeseen circumstances that challenges our plans and leaves a taste of frustration in our experience. As we live our lives we experience one certainty, and that is uncertainty, we

never know what is around the corner, it could be something that gives to the direction we have chosen, something that confuses or even something that completely obliterates it. Even though life is experienced under these conditions the call to wake up and live life to the full, remains buried in the deeper recesses of the mind because it is easier to remain complacent and live life as we perceive it to be because we have the comfort of staying in the safe zone of that which is known. Sex, exciting, invigorating, satisfying, oh what a relief it is, offering us the opportunity to experience a heightened awareness of the coordination and cooperation of our mind and body to achieve such a thrill ride. It’s been said “ain’t nothing better”. The down side of sex is when your mate sings a familiar song “you have got to get on up to get on down”, than asks the question what’s wrong with you boy? Oh what a disaster that is. Sports, how we love our teams, they not only supply a visual of young men and women who are in the prime of there physical agility, but also an outlet for us to spend time riveted to every action on the field, which allows us to experience an island of distraction that is so consuming that we receive temporary relief from the many challenges that bombard our thought process. Our hometown team or favorite team is our main focus, wanting our team to prevail we invest, not only our attention and time, but also our enthusiasm which is manifested in periodic yelps of encouragement and our physical contortions as we try to assist our team to advance their position on the playing field. We live or die emotionally according to the outcome of the game. Love, something we receive from our birth and through our formative years in the form of , care and nurturing is something that is well ingrained in our psyche, is something we feel a need to reciprocate. Once mature we seek a mate to share our love with. Love is an adventure that can last a day, months or a lifetime. The courtship that is involved in the quest for love is filled with the sweet elixir of fantasy. We fall in love with the image we project of the other person. We stay

in close , through the phone or direct . Honey, baby and sugar and other of endearment are used to address our new- found love. Our perception of the world takes on a more positive outlook, which becomes so noticeable that it causes those whom we know intimately to state, you must be in love. After we have committed ourselves to share intimate space with our mate on a continuous basis our projected image of the other is replaced by the inescapable reality of whom they really are which produces a pendulum swing of emotion that swing back and forth from bliss to depression. We come face to face with each others personal history which reflects the totality of who we are and how we are to proceed in life from moment to moment to live what we each perceive to be a good life, that invariably is at odds with that of our mates. We learn skills of compromise and comion to keep the union enact, but there still exists an unrelenting battle to retain and infuse our will on each decision made whose outcome affects the both of us. The resilience and sustainability of the power of love is put to the test because the actors involved with the process have to through a labyrinth of challenges and obstacles that make their appearances at every turn. Life is always in flux, so the person we share our life with has the opportunity as we, to progress, regress or stagnate. Our personal history dictates what route we will choose. The couple that shares a mutual propensity towards personal growth and the willingness to truly listen and respond to the wants desires and goals of their partner are more likely to experience a balanced and rewarding relationship. There are many factors that will keep a couple in a relationship, children, finances, emotional dependence, and social pressure. Once trapped in a relationship for whatever reason we learn that what we sought to bring us peace and happiness becomes our primary source of torment and dissatisfaction. We become prisoners in our home and worse than that prisoners in our own minds. We not only entertain negative thoughts of the once beloved but are unable to stop the constant flow of thoughts that are full of vitriol. We are

prisoners condemned by ourselves to capital punishment, who are unable, and in most cases unwilling to make the proper choices to set ourselves free. Success, to be the best that you can be at what you doing, that produces positive tangible results. Success is something that is preached to us from youth. We are encouraged to stay in school, to be diligent in our studies, so that we may enhance our opportunities to succeed by attending an institution of higher learning. If our intentions are serious about achieving success we make life choices that will help us accomplish our goal. Relationships with others who do not advance our plans are avoided; we ignore sports and social events that attract our schoolmates because they are perceived as a distraction to our progress. Once the tests are ed, courses complete, scholarly obligation are fulfilled and the diploma received we feel prepared to excel in our chosen field. We feel vindicated in the choices we have made to secure our diploma because it is with this piece of paper that we will receive our title and position which in our minds establishes who we are, this is our identity. This identity becomes our badge of honor, causing our chest to puff up when we announce who we are in a social setting. We display to others riches that have been acquired by being a person in our position, we flash the “bling” and sing a song of our accomplishments that are reflected in what type of car we drive, what kind of house we live in and where we live. Success translates into security, secure in our job status; in maintaining the possessions we have accumulated, in our position within our social circle and most importantly in our own minds that we have arrived, have achieved the goals we have set for ourselves and march into the future knowing we have the wherewithal to accomplish anything we set our minds to. When success is experienced for an extended period of time there is a tendency to forget about a variable in life that is ever present, which is uncertainty. Uncertainty, with it’s element of surprise can turn a top executive into a homeless person, a drug dealing high roller into a person who exchanges his name for a number.

Failure, may have us down for a period, but we should never be counted out because falling short of the goal has the silver lining of potentially strengthening our resolve to not only regain our original position but to go on to accomplish greater heights. With heightened awareness produced by our ordeal we proceed with eyes wide open to accomplish what we need to do to maintain our position, while monitoring those people and situations that are outside of our sphere of influence, so that we will be prepared to make the necessary changes to stay in alignment with the company which has given us our position and identity. In social settings when we are introduced to a stranger, when we have completed the initial chitchat, the inevitable question that is asked of us is, what do you do? A question we are used to and feel comfortable in answering because we are afforded the opportunity to say what our job title, or profession is. We know that when we share this information we establish in the mind of the questioner our position in society, where we are in the pecking order, our worth as a human being, our identity. The combination of our identity and our personal history is what we, and others perceive us to be. Our minds are wired for and seek adventure, so it naturally makes the adjustment from a major city having one television station to the proliferation of the different ways of communication that we have available to us today. In the environment we live in we have the capability to monitor our home and possessions from far, via phones, computers and other surveillance devises available in the marketplace. While we are doing our surveillance, checking on the actions of others who come in close proximity of our treasures, we are being spied upon by cameras in the work place, the streets we travel, and the shops that we frequent. Privacy becomes an issue in this environment, however in most cases we feel comfortable with the tradeoff of invasion of privacy for security. Dreams of being a Hollywood actor are no longer dreams because we can become a star in our own minds by having access to a computer and a YouTube .

We can have other people crawl around in the inner workings of our minds by using the many forms of social media that are available. We are free to express our views, analysis of world events, and our philosophical, theological, and political stances, however be ever mindful that somebody is watching you. We have the ability to stand for good, bad, or to show our ambivalence, anything goes, however there is always a price to be paid for freely expressing ourselves. Prescription drugs, a heaven sent gift that awakens us from depression, restores the necessary chemical balance that keep our bodies functioning properly, gives us relief from pains and strains that develop because of age or trauma to the body, oh what a relief they bring. The downside of using prescription drugs is receiving negative effects from their use by not following the proper dosage or time of intake, which may result in further medical complications or even death. Another challenge of taking these drugs is the possible negative effects that may arise by injecting or using them. Most lists of potential problems read like a horror story. Mankind throughout his history to chemically alter his state of mind has used legal drugs, alcohol and tobacco. For most people who consume alcohol, after they have accomplished the tasks of the day, will visit their local liquor store, purchase their liquor of choice, consume it and within minuets find themselves in an altered state that soothes them, erasing the stress and cares of the day. Then there are some who make alcohol the center of their lives; they are the ones who consume it in the morning, noon and night. No matter what end of the spectrum a person’s experiences in alcohol consumption, the potential for devastating and life changing events are ever present. Tobacco, used by either smoking or chewing it has been a source of achieving a temporary elevated state for centuries.

Although it is still used by many, its popularity is on the decline because of known medical risks that it’s use produces. For the temporary pleasure it yields, the destructive effects it has on the body has many of its s discontinue its use for fear of ruining their health. What was once glamorized in the media as being a sexy thing to do is now in many circles considered to be a foolish thing to do? Illicit drugs are in huge demand by the public and readably available to those who have the money to purchase them. The ways to get high on illicit drugs fall into two categories, synthetic or natural. With these drugs we can go up or down and experience the fantastic voyage that our stimulated brains will yield. Don’t like where you are? All we have to do is ingest or inject a drug and after a few moments our entire perspective changes. Who we will be depends on what we do. Take a downer or two and we can sit in the corner like a clown, oblivious to who is around, content to nod and dream, glad to be away from the pain. Marijuana, a popular weed, once you smoke it, it will get you loaded, it will also make you choke and possibly run to the refrigerator and eat a whole pie. L.S.D., magic mushrooms, peyote, and other psychedelic drugs can get us so spaced out that we can reach for the sky, or explore the depths of hell, all on one trip. Cocaine, speed and other stimulants, has us accomplish tasks at a rapid clip, we move so fast that we never see when we start to slip. What all illicit drugs have in common are found in the words, “what goes up must come down”. The severity of the effects of the withdrawal from the influence of the drugs depends on what type of substance is taken. We dwellers under the dome are surrounded by natural phenomenon, which includes everything we see, touch and interact with, commonly called, nature. How we interact with it depends on our personal history. For instance, when we

walk into a wooded area we can carry a camera and take pictures of the trees and wildlife that we see, or we can simply walk around and enjoy the sounds and smells of it’s inhabitants. Another option is to carry a weapon and shoot everything in sight. If we find a body of water while on our trip, we can sit quietly on its bank and enjoy looking at the water, we can yank fish out of it, or dive in and swim among the fish. For those of us who are more adventurous and have the financial means, the world becomes a wondrous playground. We can jump out of airplanes and fly with the birds as we descend to the floor of the dome, or if we truly have a daredevil nature we can put on a plastic birdman suit leap from the top of a highly elevated peak and use the wind to carry us to the bottom of the valley. We can ride the top of a wave on a surfboard, traveling at a fantastic speed, knowing that the power of the wave that you ride upon has the power to propel you toward the coast or kill you. Mountain climbing, scuba diving, spelunking, racecar driving, being a stuntman or stuntwoman, the list is long for those who desire to challenge the natural elements, seeking an adrenaline rush. Money, we may be born into or reared in a rich, middle income or poor household, no matter where our position on the financial rainbow is, we have one thing in common, “we need more”. We learn quickly as children of the importance of money because we hear parents say things like, turn off the lights, we don’t have money to burn, finish your meal, we don’t have money to waste, no, you can’t have every toy you see d on the television, what are you thinking about? Money doesn’t grow on trees. Most of the time that we are allotted in our adult lives is spent in the pursuit of money. No matter our diligence and tenacity to procure it, there is never enough. Knowledge, we have many sources to turn to, the Christian Bible, the Qur’an, the Torah, the Upanishads, the Zohar, the list seems endless. So many questions and a plethora of writers who say I have the answers. Homer, Plato, Socrates, Tolstoy, Emerson, Camus, Dostoevsky, Shakespeare, Hemmingway, again the list seems endless.

The most important factor in the pursuit of knowledge is the questions asked. Then in order to arrive at a truthful answer to the question, we must have a keen sense of discernment, to separate the facts from the fodder. Religion, so many choices, Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, Taoism, Islam, Jainism, Sikhism, Native Religions. We as inhabitants under the dome have sought answers to know who we are, what is the origin of our existence beyond the coupling of two individuals? Is there a higher power that has a direct effect on the way we live our lives? We have asked ourselves. Throughout the ages we have sought to answer these questions by using our power of observation and evaluation, reaching conclusions that are reflected in the plethora of answers that are found in the various religious institutions that have sprung up throughout history and the ones who withstood the test of time and are with us today. The religions of the world show us how to live our lives by offering sets of rules, dogmas and theological precepts that shows us how to behave in order to achieve what they conceive to be a life of righteousness. Religious institutions offer us hope in what seems to be a hopeless world, evidenced by the daily news cast that paint a picture of a never ending litany of doom and gloom. It gives us the opportunity to a group of like-minded persons in religious rituals and practices who have come to the same or similar conclusions about life’s ultimate purpose. When we are confused, fearful, in mental or physical pain, we turn to our religious practices to offer us solace and reassurance. For all the good and positive benefits that are offered by the different religious institutions, the down side of hip is that there is the potential for us to paint ourselves into a box of conformity that excludes us from the exploration of different ideas and practices that may benefit us in our quest to expand our awareness of the truth. There is no doubt that we as inhabitants under the dome have been placed in a wondrous playground, this truly is a wondrous world. We go about our lives managing our affairs in a world that manages itself. Without our assistance the earth spins on it’s axis as it travels through space, orbits around the sun at a safe

distance and in the process creates what we call seasons. Our bodies are a work of art that sustains itself through the brains coordination and cooperation with its individual components. Because of this we enjoy the miracle that we are, blessed with sight, dexterity, mobility, the ability to rationally analyze each situation presented and preform the action that is most appropriate to achieve our aim. A body that has such a keen knowledge of itself that it overcomes and sustains itself despite our abuse of it. As we observe our world under the dome, the first thing that we see is that everything that is known to us is in order. Governed by the laws of nature, everything that exists knows and fulfills its purpose. A tree goes through its life cycle starting as a seed and grows to maturity supplying oxygen, shade, shelter, building material and a host of other functions, it knows and live its purpose, it lives its trueness. The same can be said of all that we see living and inanimate, they are what they are, there is no doubt about their purpose. A dog, a rock, a field of wheat, everything visible to us, is governed by natural laws that produces, sustains and directs them to be what they are. We dwellers under the dome are too governed by the same laws of nature; however, we have been given the gift of a rational mind that is free to make choices about our own fate in life. This puts us in the position to ask ourselves the question, who am I? What is my purpose? This is a question that challenges us throughout our lives and there is no rest until the question is answered truthfully. Time, something I have addressed earlier in this chapter is one of the major obstacles that challenge our quest for an answer. We feel confident and have a well-defined perception of who we are, but time introduces new experiences that challenge our perception of the world and our self-image. Knowing who we truly are requires our self-reflection, which requires time, which we all know we don’t have enough of. We find ourselves caught up in doing the things we have to do to maintain our position in life, which consumes all of our time.

In the mode of maintaining our life style exclusively. We can avoid the question of our true identity and plow through life content to accept what we see to be real although this reality comes with the high price of pain and frustration. Granted, the question, why should I invest any of my precious time in exploring the world of the unknown when I feel safe and content to endure my present condition? In chapter six of this book, I describe what I have found, which I refer to as living in full bloom, I know from direct experience what it means to live life in peace, free from the restraints of time and the lack of fulfillment that our actions bring, so my answer to you is that your commitment to yourself to attain life’s loftiest goal is worth your time. I appeal to your inquisitive, flexible and adventurous mind to use whatever practices you feel comfortable with to use your time to get beyond time. Practice while you are in school, at work, whatever you are doing so that who you are will experience the loving energy that you are, a loving energy that is eternal, always present in the now, not subject to the changes that actions cause, content unto itself to just be.

8

The Process

I will start this discussion by stating a basic premise, namely, that we inhabitants under the dome seek to be happy, have a strong desire to experience tranquility and a permanent peace. I have given you the reasons why our current approach to achieve this goal through the many actions that we undertake, such as sex, communing with nature, procurement of money, sports, basically all that we do will not result in our living the peace that we seek. The exception to the rule is religion, I have pointed out that it too may be a deterrent to our understanding of who we are when we get caught up with the rituals and dogma and do not use it for the purpose that it exist, namely to free us from the tyranny of life. Religion exists to educate and introduce its constituents to the source of their existence so that they can know its power directly and ultimately be that power. Anything short of this result is a whole lot of shaking going on without the desired results of freedom from the shackles of time and action. Religion is not and ends in itself; it is a means of finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. That pot of gold is you experiencing your full glory. The goal is to know who we really are by coming in direct with the source that can not only give us the answer but also show us the way to be the answer. Every member under the dome is invited to this party; we are all on equal footing no matter your culture, economic status, intellectual acumen, belief or non-belief. We start the exercise from wherever we are. The only important criteria that exist is that we feel comfortable and confident in

the practice that we use, be it orthodox or free spirit, structured or something that we come up with by ourself through our intuitive gifts. The use of some sort of system helps us to stay focused on the prize that we seek, which is to know ourselves as we truly are. I have found it useful to explore in depth the system that I used, and at the same time I explored many other system. The importance of thoroughly knowing your system or practice of choice is to gleam from it the best tools that will help in the pursuit of our goal. Stay away from those dogmas, rules and theological debates, which act only to impede our progress. Once thoroughly grounded and having received positive results that boosters your confidence in its effectiveness, exercise your freedom to explore other systems to compare and in some cases augment what you have found. The only way to know who we really are is to completely eradicate all thought from our minds. At first our minds greets this good news with disbelief about accomplishing such a seemingly insurmountable task. The importance of thoroughly knowing your system or practice of choice is to gleam from it the best tools that will help in the pursuit of our goal. Stay away from those dogmas, rules and theological debates, which act only to impede our progress. Once thoroughly grounded and having received positive results that boosters your confidence in its effectiveness, exercise your freedom to explore other systems to compare and in some cases augment what you have found. The only way to know who we really are is to completely eradicate all thought from our minds. At first our minds greets this good news with disbelief about accomplishing such a seemingly insurmountable task. Challenging, but not insurmountable, this is the reason why we chant, pray,

meditate, contemplate and preform whatever our practice is, to come to a direct experience of what I have earlier referred to as “THIS”. For clarity sake and to have a visual of what I mean by “THIS” I will from this point on refer to it as “LOVING ENERGY” Our practice serves as a means to keep us focused on becoming this loving energy, the paradox is that we are already the loving energy; we don’t have to go anywhere to see and experience it because we are already that. What keeps us from this realization is our personal history, the glitter of the world that dominated our attention and the constant chatter of our thoughts. Our practice may be looked upon as a tool whose function is to knock, knock on the door of our own hearts so that we may experience this loving energy. We already have evidence of its existence from our daily experiences. At any time we may experience inexplicable interludes of resounding peace and tranquility, we make statements that we should have “followed our first mind” concerning a parctular decision, there are hours that may stretch into days when we feel that everything falls into place, our steps have been blessed. Through our persistent knocking we are rewarded by glimpses of the power of the loving energy that assists us in our task to wake up to the realization of who we are by slowly and methodically eradicating superfluous and negative thoughts. Once we experience fewer thoughts we can more easily identify the voice of the loving energy, which gives us instructions and encouragement through revelations. The process is a reward in itself; the infusion of the loving energy is subtle, yet powerful, allowing us to adjust to the beneficial changes that occur, at our own pace of acceptance and understanding. All of the stifling restrictions that are generated by our self-deception and arrogance are melted away to expose our true self. The signs of progress are seen in the fact that we experience less fear, doubt and frustrations in the worry that had plagued us in the past.

As we progress toward living life in full bloom we will find that we are instructed to put less interest in the practice and devote more time to enjoy the effects of the loving energy. Eventually the practice will be eliminated all together because it will have accomplished its purpose and we will exist in the realm where we know that we have become that which we sought, namely, the loving energy. In this realm there are no thoughts, just loving silence, when we think of ourselves we will find nothing, no self-image, because here we are content to just be. We will continue to operate in the world under the dome, however it will never interfere with who we are.

Conclusion

In this writing, I have discussed epiphanies, visions, and miraculous events. I have stated that these events are of no value unless they lead to a permanent elevation of my consciousness so I can put it into practical daily experience. Living in the house of the Lord, I experienced the benefits of the kingdom of God. In the third room in the Lord’s house, there is the experience of nothing. There is no activity—just absolute rest. As I write these words, I am experiencing absolute rest. When I stop writing and close my eyes, my mind is totally devoid of thoughts. When I open them and engage in activity, my consciousness is anchored in absolute quiet and rest. When I speak, write, and perform other activities—no matter what action is performed—it can never overshadow the state of absolute rest that is experienced simultaneously. This state of consciousness is the fulfillment of the words to be in the world but not of it. The only way to have eternal rest is to have direct and perpetual with the source of eternal rest. It is called by many names, but the name I have chosen to describe the source of eternal rest is this. I have chosen that word because it is the most appropriate word to describe the indescribable. This is—and there are no words or attributes that can be used to adequately expose its identity. For clarity, there are infinite ways of experiencing this that give insight into what it means to know this. A mind that is devoid of thought until thought is necessary to complete an action puts me in a position to experience the eternal newness of each second. My life unfolds with a power and clarity that ensures that the action taken will result in a comionate response that will be beneficial to the environment and me. My mind is devoid of thought. I enjoy the silence and the deeper value produced by the silence. This results in the experience of bliss, which is permanent and everlasting.

Because this is complete, desiring nothing, my life is lived without attachment to desires. Thank you for the attention you have given the thoughts presented in this work. Words cannot express the completion I experience as I walk through the streets of the kingdom of God with you.