Standing Stark: The Willingness to Engage
Chapter Thirteen
Unconditional Being
I had to go into the city that day and had left a little after nine in the morning. I’d been driving for about an hour thinking about the business that I was going to attend. I was feeling good about things in general when, out of nowhere, a deep sadness hit me. Anguish washed over me like a wave and brought tears coursing down my cheeks. Continuing to drive, I cried quietly for a few minutes until it finally subsided. But I was still left with the inexplicable sadness. Even so, I had a sense of its origins.
Late in the day, I returned home. Relaxing a bit after the trip, something kept urging me to meditate. My usual meditation time is first thing in the morning, not at night. Nonetheless, I followed the direction and slipped into the state. After clearing myself of the day, I checked in with a good friend, seeking out his energy body. Suddenly, I felt like I was sucked into a wind tunnel and was being taken somewhere. The strength of the pull was profound. I quickly backed out. Then I checked in on his dear wife, and felt her light, albeit very subdued.
And I confirmed for myself what I had indeed known to be true several hours earlier. A sweet man, a cherished friend, had released his body that morning. I spent the rest of the evening reminiscing about Homer and Marge, how our paths had crossed, what they’d come to mean to me. Even though they lived four hours south and we didn’t see each other or talk that often, there was a deep connection that had nothing to do with time. I frequently spoke about them to others. One friend asked me once why I felt so strongly about them.
“They’re the most authentic people I know.” The words automatically slipped out.
“That’s really saying something” He looked surprised.
Reflecting on it that night after my meditation, I thought to myself, I suppose it really is something. And I went on to a memory of walking the labyrinth Homer had made at their home. He’d dowsed my energy body for its size with copper rods before I’d entered and then again when I’d emerged. My field had grown immensely.
I brought up images of being at the retreat where we’d all met, and other times when we’d visited in each other’s homes. I reviewed the time I’d stayed with them a few days and was going through a difficult period. Homer didn’t say much. He just took me out to the back yard and suggested I sit in a structure called a Genesa Crystal made of iron rods placed in geometric patterns that was more than seven feet tall and nearly as wide. He told me it would make me feel better, but not to stay too long. I could see why. The energy it generated was powerful. The crystal gave some to me and I felt stronger.
I thought back to a few months before when Homer had sat at his dining room table dowsing a map of my property for water, using a pendulum and pencil as his tools. He’d been too sick to come do it in person. And I fast forwarded to just a few weeks prior when I could only stand at his bed, hold his hand and touch his head.
The next morning I went to my office where I had a phone, and found a number of messages awaiting me since the previous day. Yes. Homer had transitioned. I immediately called Marge, and shortly thereafter went down to stay with her for a while. When I sensed she would be all right by herself, I returned home knowing she also had a large local support network. Telephoning her a few days later, I found an amazing story waiting for me.
Some of her friends were involved in a prayer circle facilitated by a sensitive named Ellie. A session had been held as usual the day after I’d left. Midway through, one of Marge’s friends asked to put her name in the circle since her husband had just passed. While other participants continued the process of adding those who needed healing, Ellie reported being distracted by a “short, bouncy, enthusiastic man.” He was moving in progression around the table trying to get people’s attention, tapping them on the shoulder. No one noticed him except Ellie, whose eyes were closed.
When she asked the friends at the far end of the table for the name of Marge’s husband, they told her.
“Does he have a busy energy about him?”
“Yes!” Several people piped up.
“Homer is here then. I think he might have something to say.”
Ellie later related that at this point she sensed shock coming from Homer.
“You know I’m here?” he cried.
“Yes, of course,” she answered telepathically. “Is there something you’d like to say?”
“Tell them I’m alive! Tell them I’m alive!” With a burst of potency he got the message through, along with the gratitude that he’d been “heard” because he’d been trying so hard to contact people close to him. They hadn’t received his messages. Then he indicated to Ellie that he would be at his memorial service that would take place in several days.
Homer went on to give some personal messages for Marge and then asked Ellie for permission to come again. Homer began to appear regularly to Ellie, and he often had some new friends with him. They offered wisdom teachings and reassurances to loved ones.
Did I have any doubts that the originator of these messages was indeed Homer? None. How otherwise could particular words and style of speaking that I recognized as Homer’s come through a woman who never knew him during his life on the material plane? There was a particular piece of counsel he sent that I found quite touching and comforting as any of us move toward rebirth. And the Rev. David Wilkinson read it at Homer’s memorial service.
When I arrived at the service and sought Marge out, she said to me, “I told David you’d probably want to say something.”
Of course I do, I thought to myself. But how can I put my sentiments into words? And how would I make it through what I wanted to express?
The service began. I watched Marge and heard her speak about her mate and their life together. I marveled at the strength of this woman. Homer and Marge were so attuned to each other they almost walked in lockstep. It was nearly impossible to even think of one without the other. I’d been deeply concerned about her wellbeing since Homer had transitioned. I witnessed there that she would ultimately be fine and felt immense relief.
Others spoke and then I somehow found myself standing at the podium. I hoped I’d adequately conveyed the rare opportunity I’d had to meet such down-to-earth, grounded people in the midst of esoteric pursuits. I talked about Homer’s kindness, humility and “realness.” I told a few stories, then gave the podium over to David.
David made a small joke about the gathering of the largest “woo-woo” crowd he’d ever seen in that locale. Everyone laughed, which brought some lightness to the event. He talked about his relationship with Homer and echoed what I had said. He jested about how he’d been a young man just starting his ministry when he’d met Homer and Marge. Now he had gray in his beard. Then, he began to read a message that Homer had sent through Ellie.
“…I’m more comfortable here now. It’s not at all like I thought it would be. There are no words I could give you to describe it. It would be like trying to describe God. Words miss the fullness, the completeness of being here, so that any sense of here would be missed. Words are like describing a dot in a painting. Is it part of the painting? Yes, of course, but it is so little you would never know what the picture was from one dot. And this painting would have to be bigger than the whole world!
‘Words are like using one grain of sand to describe your whole life experience on earth. It can’t be done. It must be experienced. Understand?
‘So anything I share is irrelevant for what I knew my friends would want to know. ‘Details, Homer, give us details.’ I can just hear them. What is relevant is that I’m alive. I hoped to be able to come through to give you peace, to let you know I’m okay.
‘…I have to go now. Tell Marge I love her. But she needs to know and accept I’m okay and that I haven’t left her.
‘If you want to see if I can get through to you, think of me. Hey fellas! I’m a good-looking guy over here! I’m still a “shorty” but not so big. And I’m healthy. I’m okay. I’m really okay.”
The pianist began to pound out “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Everyone started to stand, clapping and singing. I was singing and moving my body, too. At the same time, tears were spurting out of my eyes as from the end of a water hose. But it was high emotion, not really grief — because I knew that, indeed, Homer lived.
All of a sudden, there he was! Homer’s face hovered right before mine, grinning at me from ear to ear, making his round face even wider and crinkling his eyes up to mere slits. But I could see the lively sparkle! I could feel his great joy! And I clapped even louder.
Parting Thoughts
Divine guidance is ever present. We need only school ourselves in awareness. While the “burning bush” may present itself, it’s more likely the way will be shown through words someone else may say, out of the blue, that resonate someplace deep inside. Or, a password may be sent through some cue in nature, or even the paranormal realm. Direction may come during meditation or some other reverie. And the real leap often comes through the dark night.
Look for what you are continually being shown. Open your ears. Be still. Listen.
Don’t allow the clutter of your mind to distract you and hide the signals. Don’t dismiss the Divine’s guidance as just “natural phenomena” or tricks of your eyes or ears. Don’t concede to your fears and close the door.
Life is the sacred cycle of Infinity, Life, Death and Rebirth. Some of us have fleeting memories of this perpetuation and keep it as we enter existence on this plane. This experiential knowledge gives deep comfort. While our feet walk this earth, we go through continuing iterations of the same. Some few of us can see what is beyond here. I can’t for a minute believe it’s dragons. For some of us, we have stories and faith that sustain us. We allow the understanding that all is merely a continuation of the sacred cycle of Creation.
Does it alleviate hesitancy, the reluctance to move on to other legs of the journey? That’s a consideration of each individual alone. But if we also truly acknowledge the existence of All That Is, we cannot be apart from What Is. And to enhance each point of departure, we can ask the answers of ourselves.
What do I want to take with me?
What do I want to leave behind?
What appreciation exists for the learning I’ve had?
How will that learning shape my next life?
One time Don Américo talked about actors on a stage. He made a distinction. There are actors for society. There are actors for the Infinite. The stage actor merely practices the craft for the audience. Without an audience, that actor finds no meaning.
An actor for the Infinite acts no matter what. Any audience is inconsequential. While others may play a part and even benefit, the interchange is between the actor and the Cosmos.
And sometimes it is necessary to cocoon, to separate yourself from others, in order not to dilute your power, to gather your energies, to create the momentum that casts you through the next threshold.
I had made Jon’s acquaintance through another friend. Each summer for several years running, Jon had been a fire lookout at Mt. Union, one of the highest points in North Central Arizona. In this isolated place, he had a small cabin in which to sleep and the fire tower from which to gaze upon mountain ranges all the way to the Mogollon Rim on a good day. The view and the ambience of the little abode and forest surrounding it were quite sublime as it was. But Jon was a deeply spiritual man. The pictures of saints and spiritual literature that were abundantly evident in both the cabin and tower, along with his own continual practices, imbued the environment with a palpable feeling of reverence, otherworldliness.
On a number of occasions, he had invited me to come up, any time I wanted, to stay for a few days. Toward the end of the summer I decided to take him up on his offer. My mind was confused about some things in my life and I sensed a deep urgency to go into retreat, to remove myself from my everyday environment to gain some clarity. What better place to do so?
When I called Jon he said, “Sure. Come on up. You’ll have the place to yourself. I’m going down to the city for the weekend.”
I was secretly delighted that I would be in solitude and grateful that I had somehow been provided that window of opportunity.
I arrived in late afternoon after having wondered if my car would actually make it up the primitive road. Jon welcomed me and showed me the ropes, how to conserve the water, how to climb and enter the fire tower. We sat up there for a while talking.
“What are you going to do once the summer is over?” I asked.
“I am so blessed. I don’t know what I could ever do in exchange that would equal how I am divinely provided for. The next path will appear.” He went on to tell me story after story about the unfolding of his good fortune.
At that point, I desperately needed to be told from an outside source what I already knew to be true. That’s what I came to hear again and be reminded through Jon. Sometimes I forgot. I remembered that on my way up the mountain I had paused for a few moments and eaten some blackberries I had with me, then left the rest to the birds I saw in the underbrush. Traveling with the grace Jon described is like the birds unexpectedly delighted with the gift I had given them, not expected but easily discovered.
By the time he got ready to leave, a light rain had begun to fall and clouds were starting to silently move in and envelop the landscape. Before he turned to get in his car and head down the mountain, he gestured widely, taking in the surrounding forest, earth and sky. “Remember. Everything else is nothingness.”
Then Jon was gone. The clouds had by now enfolded all. I could see only several feet beyond where I was standing in any direction. I was completely alone.
I went inside the cabin, having thoughts toward dinner. Choosing one from the many books Jon had, I carried my plate to the small table in front of the west window, which normally held a view level with, or above, far mountaintops. At the moment, I saw nothing but a solid white wall. And by now, the gentle rain had turned into a storm.
I’d picked up a thin volume written by Saint Thérèse de Lisieux, known as “The Little Flower.” She hadn’t lived past her nineteenth birthday. Even so, she had made a tremendous impact that still continued. I have always found it meaningful to read about the lives of the saints in their own hand. Through them, I am shown that they, too, went through struggles, wondered about their humility and worthiness. And many of them still delighted in some worldly things. Saint Thérèse was enchanted with dress, even though she wore a novitiate’s habit!
I was engrossed in the book, but something in my peripheral vision was drawing my attention. I glanced out the window and couldn’t believe what I saw. An immense fiery ball seemed to be hovering just beyond, in the ravine. I went out onto the porch to investigate. There it was — huge and blazing. How could the sun be coming to me in this way through the now torrential rains and impenetrable shrouding of clouds? I stood watching, awestruck, until the last remnants of this light finally disappeared.
Even though the storm was raging, I was compelled to sleep in the tower. I lugged my sleeping bag and a flashlight up the steep metal stairs, along with some water and Saint Thérèse’s book. After arranging my bed for the night, I stilled myself and just watched the scene before me. From an altitude of around 8000 feet and the further height of the fire tower, I had a sense of being on top of the world. The clouds had raised enough that I could see the panorama of lightning dancing across the land. I’d never seen such a demonstration of raw power. Some strikes seemed too close for comfort and the thunderclaps vibrated the tower’s cabin. But I just stood witness and found an uncanny metaphor in the stormy night to some of the inner turmoil that I’d brought with me to that place. Finding myself distracted and unable to read easily by flashlight, I lay listening to the sounds of thunder and raging wind for the longest time, feeling somehow perfectly safe. Peace was penetrating. I finally slept.
I opened my eyes very early the next morning. I heard no sounds of wind or rain. All was silent. I sat up. There were no clouds anywhere. Peace had come to the landscape. I could smell the fresh scent of washed pines coming to me through the small crack I’d left in one of the windows close by. My eyes came to rest on the mountain range toward the east. First light was appearing. I watched as the same fiery ball rose into view, smaller now, but its appearance just as profound to me. The cycle of renewal was complete.
When I turned to get up from my sleeping bag, I caught sight of a small plaque above Jon’s worktable that I hadn’t seen before. It was a picture of Jesus, arms outstretched. Underneath were the words “Lo, I’ll be with you always.”
Ultimately, the path is ours. Others support us along the way — even when it appears that they don’t. But we have the final authority regarding the fall of our footsteps, the doorways we step through and the Dwelling Places we enter that can guide us to the eventual resting place of unconditional being.
What is a life?
It’s the choice in every moment.
Find sweet music where you hold tender emotion — and miss nothing.
All events described in this book are true. Some of the names have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved.
Find links in the Table of Contents below.
Table of Contents
Chapter Three: The Inner Point
Chapter Four: Intentful Existence
Chapter Five: Connecting With the Cosmos
Chapter Seven: The Space of No Need
Chapter Eight: Conflicts on the Path
Chapter Nine: The Edge of Limitation
Chapter Ten: Asking the Answer
Chapter Eleven: Living With Contrast
Chapter Thirteen: Unconditional Being
Standing Stark: The Willingness to Engage
Copyright 2004 by Carla Woody. All rights reserved. No portion of this book, except for brief review, may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be directed to: Kenosis Press, P.O. Box 10441, Prescott, AZ 86304, [email protected].
