Thursday, 30 July 2015
Wednesday, 29 July 2015
Tuesday, 28 July 2015
Monday, 27 July 2015
Sunday, 26 July 2015
from The Light Tree Journal... "Ark of the Presence..."
As the ark once truly existed, in figure, in
symbolic form, so is it in truth, in reality now, deep in the inmost room: the
most holy place: the innermost part of laid-low back-to-front persons. It is
buried there in the dark, hidden behind the veil of flesh, and beyond the reach
of anything other. It is all invisible there; where none can touch it; for touch
it and it dies. The pure gold there, all paved inside, is not of its self; it is
but the container of the Life, in earthen vessels; it was not the Life itself.
An ark such as this has nothing at all that
can be ‘carried,’ as of anything added; it needed nothing outside of itself; it
was already full; the container of the Presence has no knowledge it will call
its own. It was and is complete; because it is just: ‘person.’ And being just ‘person:’
personal: personal relationship, it is of course, invisible. We cannot see
people’s insides. Any ark of the Presence is invisible it is inside the dark… as
it once was, in symbolic form, that it might have no light of its own. No
natural light needed where all is his:
no earthly knowledge if all was his. In
the pitch dark there was nothing but God.
On the outside, the ark of the Presence, and
the ark, the inner vessel, is now broken human beings; here a mental case there
the despised; all nothings, just the scum and the off-scouring of the world; but
on the inside holy containers of the heavenly treasure and The Holy Grail of
the ancient quest.
*
Saturday, 25 July 2015
Friday, 24 July 2015
Thursday, 23 July 2015
"Clear as Glass...all See-Through in the Light... "
They are all shining now, the crystal wine
glassed on our Welsh dresser. I suddenly felt this morning that I was to dust
the dresser, beginning with the top shelf; (and not knowing that I would be
ending there!) I washed a dozen, delicate crystal glasses in hot soapy water.
Now they sit back up on the Welsh dresser beaming with shining delight. The
sight of them has made me happy, and as light as air! It is like I have been
washed and polished, too!
Every natural thing I do speaks to me of
its spiritual counterpart and teaches me of my inner life. It is not something
that requires any effort it just happens it just comes to me. I am always being all taught of God, just as
he said, "AND THEY SHALL BE ALL TAUGHT OF GOD." (Isaiah 54: 13 / John 6: 45 / Hebrews 8: 11 / 1 John 2: 20) . . . We all are, if we want to be.
I sit now on our pale blue verandah, on
our pale blue covered sofa, and rest. I am watching a strange green caterpillar
creature on one of the purple candle flowers growing through the balustrade in
front me only half a metre from my face. Its movement so slow it is almost
imperceptible; but overnight it has moved a massive distance of twenty
centimetres from one flower to the next. I cannot figure out which is its head
end and which its tail. But as it now seems to be drinking from one of the
little flowerets; perhaps I have discovered its head end!
Much of my life seems to be upside down or
back to front: my path one of losing knowledge to gain it; and of not knowing
something in order to know it; inner-life being given me as imperceptibly as
breathing.
And in all this, I am constantly being misunderstood
by my friends: what is light to me seems to be only darkness to them, and our
fellowship is mostly in pleasant discussions about the weather, and all sorts
of nice outside things.
Although going unnoticed I am always
moving from one level of understanding to the next; and it is only and always
in decreasing.
Below the verandah is the end of the driveway.
Fine gravel with weeds, it is, with grass growing in patches; all going
un-sprayed: all living things are beautiful to me, even the weeds. I rejoice to
see my inner weeds: for then I can see myself as I really am in him: and that
light changes me more and more: and by degrees I am transformed in my beloved,
from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.
The driveway is dappled now: sunlight
trying to find its way through the trees. It’s always carpeted with a
sprinkling of light amber: the fallen leaves from the huge pohutakawa tree
leaning over it.
Oh, it appears this area of the driveway
is an afternoon’s activity place for our five hens! Here they come, scratching
and pecking in the sunshine, fluffing out their feathers, digging out little
shallow sitting places, under the hedge at the edge of the drive. Here they are
bathing in the dry dust, making themselves clean. I, too, bathe in my own dust;
and it makes me clean: seeing myself as I am, totally nothing, and scum in the
eyes of the world: misunderstood and despised; and yet the more I see I am seen
inside the happier I am...made free there knowing God loves me utterly and totally
forgives me. I look up. The sky above
matches the colour of the verandah, exactly...and down it bends...and gathers
me beneath its soft protective wings...as a mother hen does caring for her
little children. I am loved and comforted and lifted so free I rise again with
my companion the Sky; and I am more in Heaven, for Heaven is more in me and I
laugh and dance on tiptoes inside me.
*
Wednesday, 22 July 2015
Angels on the Ladder of Heaven...
I imagined that when I should turn a page, or
walk the next step in an ordinary day that I would come across something that
would make it less ordinary and me more alive and awake to whatever was in the
air. I didn’t want much; just
a glimpse of what I knew was there that I couldn’t see with my normal eyes. It was
always being offered. I had seen there was always more. I had already found a host
of lighted things. And it wasn't through looking on the outside, but on the inside. I think I was always looking. One thing led to another, and
that would lead me on to find the next thing. And on this beautiful morning as I
was walking along the path past the house I turned the corner and there before
me was a ladder...and it was in my way.
I looked at it. Suddenly I knew a ladder was
in my inner way within me. I stopped and listened. And I saw heaven open and the angels of God which are always with me ascending and descending upon
the ladder of heaven as I increased or decreased in the light: joy
in the light increased by degrees as I decreased: as I decreased in degrees of climbing
down the Ladder of Knowing losing more and more of my own knowledge, and tight-held opinions, as I descended. The less I had of my own, the more I had of his: there being
more space in me the more I descended. The rungs of the Ladder, stepping down, were reducing my barriers to knowing more, increasing lifts to stepping up within the
light. The more I descended, dying to myself, the
more the light could enter my heart to ascend my own particular stairway in the
kingdom of heaven. (Yes! We all had one.)
It was
shown me, also, that the angels moving up and down on my stairway were the thoughts
and intents of my own heart; the angels were the bearers and carriers of the
thoughts and intents of my heart . . . in the light . . . that glorious beam of
light that was always there was relationship with my Father, beholding his face in heaven, through
the Lord Jesus, my beloved, who filled my heart and life to overflowing...it was the way of
Life!
*
A CIRCLE OF SWIFT SONGS... and the Melody of Degrees...
In
writing THE BUTTERFLY STORY I had
glimpsed that one way to enter Life
was by a sort of ‘not-doing:’ in
simple surrender and rest; but that there could be another way, which was by
virtually doing the opposite, and that it could be good, too, I had not been
able to bear; for I had crossed over so completely and any method of acquiring
wisdom and knowledge which was by human effort I had long ago learned to
abandon within me. But, after a long while of inner dying to myself and waiting
I was given in a waking dream the hint of a greater truth which I had not
previously glimpsed. I was about to discover a deeper level to seeing and perceiving
truth; and a greater, or more true dimension of love and peace in which all the
sensibilities and giftings of others were fully provided for and there could be
no cause for offence.
*
TEARS
HAD FORMED A POOL. And
through them it was as though I was looking from above and seeing down through
the clouds. Mountains and beautiful valleys with cascading rivers and areas of dense
forest were below. Then appearing in the far distance, amidst a great wooded
wilderness, I saw a most beautiful lake! And around its edge, were natural
grassy places; flower-filled meadows, the haunt of fallow deer and forest
creatures which came there to drink. But in one place the lake was bordered by
the sheer rock wall of a great high cliff.
It was very still. Not a breath of
wind. The surface of the lake was smooth and clear and shining as glass. It was
all was so quiet there breathed a sense of Eternity. Or as if Time itself stood still, while
angels watched.
Suddenly,
a Stone is dropped, and from a great height. It plunges into the still water; from
its fall, a vortex is caused in the centre of the lake, a hole greater than the
size of the Stone and a huge fountain of water shoots up in the upheaval. The
waves caused around it swell huge, at first, then grow successively smaller and
smaller as the ripples extend on and on; until, imperceptibly, they reach the
very shores of the lake.
So
clearly did I see this all happening that it seemed to take a very long time to
happen? I don’t know; it is hard to explain in words. But it seemed as though I
was seeing everything in slow motion, for every detail is precise in my memory.
It was
only a dream. A fleeting waking vision. But when I awoke I remembered it
vividly. I wondered what it meant. As I pondered, I saw again the fall of the
Stone. It was the Central Thing: the Stone of Stumbling and the Rock of
Offence. Then I recalled the circles of the waves, slowly decreasing to become
ripples, until they were so small I could hardly notice them. As I weighed
these things in my heart, I drew closer, and after a moment I heard the
following words rise from within me. They were not audible words; just a silent
knowing of something I did not know.
A circle of swift songs:
The melody of degrees;
Fairly apportioned the glory
Of the kingdom of heaven
Then,
as I listened, there was an opening in a once shut place, and I could see
something of the meaning of the dream. I suddenly realized it spoke as an
answering picture-story to the pain I was dealing with in my innermost being:
the pain of being rejected for speaking the truth that no one wanted to hear.
Then the picture unravelled . . .
The
ripples, they had had no meeting place! In that pattern of concentric circles,
not one touched; not one wave or ripple, met! There was no link between them. No bridge.
Though they followed one after the other in perfect pattern, they never
touched. They had no direct interaction with one another though they came from
the same source and the same power moved them. ...For a moment I was
devastated. All my longings dashed to pieces! No one would hear me who wasn’t
in the same ripple as me! I was separated from others! Alone! I really was…all
alone! A sense of grief manifested in the centre of my being, and a sob rose up
and came out of me; and for a moment I cried.
And
then Love stooped, and spoke. Love bent down, and looked upon me; and said, ‘I have made it so.’ My response a
baby’s tears; and I just cried some more. But then the glint of a dawning: ‘It was meant
to be that way...?’ and I marvelled.
As usual my natural, first-sight arose next, to steal away my dawn, and cloud
my insight over, as my own thinking always does. ‘Oh, but why did you make it so? Surely, that can’t be! It is, too, cruel!’
Clasped
of such earthly thoughts the pain increased, and to breaking point. Yet, Love’s
grip was stronger. I yielded. Trusting completely to Love’s own goodness I
looked upon this given ‘picture-story,’ the second time; and wondered at the
incomprehensible wisdom so black and dark as night to me. Immediately there
came a greater dawning: ‘And it was made,
for the extension of the glory of the kingdom of heaven; to which is no end,
either way.’ Then I saw it all clear and bright as day.
Every
ripple received what he gave it. And all that he gave it was what it had. The
power in the falling Stone was in each circling ripple the exact amount of
power that he intended it to have. There everyone in that particular ‘ripple’
had all things in common! They had a kind of kindred fellowship one with
another: ‘they talked the same language!’ Rarely did they grossly irritate or offend
one another. They couldn’t. Their light, their knowledge, was equal. So there were no micro-explosions of
revelatory light by paradox by the interaction of opposites, to rattle them and
embarrass them, and unnerve them, with too much light . . . too much glory,
which was beyond them, and which could only make them burst, and spoil, and
make them blind! ...New wine in old wine bottles; it doesn’t work! It harms.
It
seemed this design of un-linked concentric ripples was a picture of how God
chose to distribute his glory once it had entered the world; that it might be
seen, and examined, and delighted in – in each degree that he gave it. I saw
that in each was a potential for
fullness, for all kinds of personal discovery, and peace: each having its own
swift song: its own allotted glory to delight in, which could abundantly
satisfy.
‘And who are you to say which ripple is best?’
My
own heart smote me! To think that I had thought that I should be able to reach
across the ripples, to swamp others with what I had, and put upon them my
passionate desire that they should have what I had, regardless! Oh, I ran to
Love’s ever present arms. There came my blessing: the loving rebuke and chastening
which I ever embraced, and cherished; for
without it I could only be left behind; blind, clouded, lost in a wilderness of
my own imperfect judgment, and my own stubbornly held onto opinions! Opened to
the core, and out from the depths of me, my broken heart spoke and in Love’s
own voice...
‘How do you know which ripple is best for
each person? Do you know my thoughts, or my purpose in each ripple? Who are
you? Don’t you know that I can give my glory, which I wish for all my children
to delight in, within the faintest ripple as much as in the greatest wave of
the upheaval? If I will that those who delight in the merest hint of my glory
are to do so because it pleases me, does it not please you? Who are you? My
glory is so great that the least touch of it upon man’s spirit is without end.
And unto the smallest degree of it shall I cause it to fulfill their joy and my
purpose within them unto whom I give it. If I wish to give to the least as much
as I give unto the greatest, what is that to you? Follow me.'
The
first ripple reached the shore first; but though this first swift circle of a
falling Stone is the most tumultuous and suffers the most upheaval, he gives as
much to this least as to the greatest for it becomes the least, first; and so
on. It was a profound paradox! And I did not think that I understood it. Then
to my mind there came this: ‘There was the one which was the beloved; there was
the three; there was the twelve; there was the seventy; and there was the five
hundred; and there was the multitude; and the whole world.’ But I saw that all
were beloved, whatever I thought; for all were given all they could hold; and
all they could hold was all they desired. Enter peace; and love. And smitten,
knowing I knew nothing, I fell softly. And, mercy, kissed with truth, I landed
in Love’s own embrace.
A circle of swift songs: the melody of
degrees; fairly apportioned the glory of the kingdom of heaven.
*
The Butterfly Story: the Shadow and the Substance...
A NEW BUTTERFLY HAD APPEARED in the midst
of the garden. It had never been seen before; although there was rumour of it
having been known long ago. The sight of its silvery wings shimmering in the
early morning sunlight brought gasps of delight to the children; and they
danced in the middle of the garden like little butterflies themselves, newly
escaped of their cocoon. Tender hearts overflowed with boundless joy.
The butterfly alighted upon the shoulder of
one of the smallest children then flew onto his hand. The young child remained
perfectly still, lying among the wildflowers of the field his feet dipped in
the flowing stream. Rewarded for his stillness, time melted away as he gazed
and gazed upon the glorious butterfly, pulsating with life and light on his
hand. It swept him up and renewed his whole being and he followed the living
butterfly whithersoever it flew.
Oh, how all the children longed to share
with others, this wonderful new life and liberty which the butterfly had
brought them.
Then some of the older children reasoned
amongst themselves as to how they should do this. They came to the conclusion,
that if they could just catch the butterfly, then they could pass it around to
their friends, so that they might all share in this glorious new joy together.
Their idea seemed good to them, so they did it.
They caught the elusive airborne butterfly,
dancing and shimmering in the warm morning sunlight. They pierced it with a
pin. Then they stuck it on a piece of paper. How eagerly they anticipated the delight their
friends would have, when they saw the beautiful new butterfly.
So the children laid out the pierced
butterfly, decently and in order, just as the entomology textbook had taught
them. Then they carefully placed it in a box.
They were thrilled with it. Here was proof! Now at last all their friends (perhaps even
their enemies) would be able to study it for themselves and learn of the wondrous
life of this rare new butterfly, and come and join them in the garden. They passed the box around expectantly.
So shadows come and the glory fades.
While some saw nothing but a decaying,
common garden ‘cabbage white,’ and thought they had quite lost their senses ~ these
lived on the outskirts of the garden, others did see a beautiful butterfly and
became fascinated with its exquisite markings. They spent much time, and many a
happy hour examining it with magnifying glasses; making careful notes of the
detailed patterns on its wings and then comparing them with the textbook. They
uncovered many marvellous things about this new butterfly! They found exciting
messages encoded in its extraordinary markings, which they were most earnest
and diligent to teach to one another. Those whose interests and passions seemed
similar, gathered themselves together, in separate groups in the garden.
Oh, the myriads of messages of fascinating
things to learn. They took great delight in these things. With them, they were
fulfilled and content; although there never seemed to be quite enough, and
their search for more was endless.
So shadows came and the glory faded.
Then one of the smallest children, who
lived in the centre of the garden, came and looked at the dead butterfly in the
box. “What have you done?” he cried, as he held the lifeless thing in his hand;
and he threw it down to the ground; and he wept in brokenness of heart.
*
Tuesday, 21 July 2015
Monday, 20 July 2015
Dancing in the Light...
ALL THROUGH THAT
PARTICULAR DAY had been a ‘shaking’ of all I knew; and then, asleep
in bed that night, in what must have been the early hours of the morning, there
was a kind of small ‘explosion’ in me, and I suddenly I found myself filled
with delight and doing cartwheels of joy inside me; and, almost at once, I was
moving up and up and up on a wide and brilliant beam of light, where angels
were . . .
DAY
WAS JUST BEGINNING. Joyous from the womb of the dawn, the newborn
skies first clothed in pale amethyst, then amber, jasper and gold sang as a young
sun rose to conquer the whole expanse of the heavens and to welcome the arrival
of a new Day. Very soon its robe of softest blue would spread out as a canopy,
holding above for all, the promise of truth and comfort.
On the earth a mist was
rising from the ground. Like a floating bridal veil of purest white it was; brilliantly
shining from the light and energy that was within it. Slowly moving along, and
towards a wide glassy river, it was watering the ground as it drifted a little
above it, and then beyond and away. In the air the music of Morning, silver
sounds of life mingling with the
songs of birds and the voice of trees, each living thing adding its melody to
the welcoming of day, and in all the beauty the awakening of hope in a fulfilling
of answers. Emerald deeps of love flowed through the whole valley and embraced
and blessed the green-lit pleasant land.
Beautiful living beings, which inhabited the
arboreal realm, and bright angels, and people filled with jasper fiery light
were everywhere. And in all the ‘dancing’ in the light, and in the music, such
harmony as would make you cry. All pervading love, warmth and comfort filled
the entire Valley; and in ‘running’ delight embraced everything there was.
In the midst of the Valley and beside the glassy
river – the river of life – were many fruit trees growing, all along its banks,
and on both sides. Planted at the edge of the living river, these trees were
trees of life, and so their fruit was new every month. The fruit, when it
appeared looked like apples . . . magical ones, too . . . for no matter how
many bites one took of them, they were never any less. This was because the
life they gave was real, not an illusion of life: knowledge about life, but
life itself, and so it was always replenished.
And the life they gave was ‘back-to-front’ to us, as it took away shadows
of knowledge to give us the life of
it. And so no one ate of these trees who would not brave the ‘seeming darkness’ which was life! I was shown this by the angels, when they said,
the life of the name of the
fruit: “elppa” . . . or . . . “helper” . . . the fruit of the trees of life
beside the river of life . . . helped us, in
life!
So, too, the leaves of the
trees; they helped in life, also. And the leaves were the writings which taught
the way of life, which no one could
read or write who would not embrace the light. The leaves could be found in books
written by those whose names were written in the Lamb’s Book of Life. And the
leaves of these books were as medicine, for the healing of hearts.
All of a sudden, it was as if there was a
small ‘explosion’ of bright light, with an ‘earthquake.’ (It was a little like,
the first ‘explosion’ when I had first seen the Sky, and come into it . . .
which was either many eons ago, or just a little while ago; I don’t know.)
Perhaps it is impossible to describe . . . but
I will try. (And if my words come in a
‘different’ order, it is the order in which they are meant to be.) I was in a tree, and the tree was in me! And
the pages I in it wrote were emerald leaves hovering and dancing in the light
in and about the tree which was in me and I in it. And the pages which were
leaves went flying about and travelled far and wide although they were always ‘attached’
to the tree; and in some sense I could not understand, never left it. And . . .
it was as if the tree had always been, and was always known, even before the
beginning, although it was new every moment.
After a timeless time I slowly became aware of
the sky. Soon, all there was was sky; and it was beautiful, beyond description.
Founded in the softest blue, it seemed that all I wanted to do was eat it! To eat the blue sky? How funny! How can you
eat the sky? But that’s how I felt. That’s what I found I was trying to do!
In fact I wanted to ‘eat’ everything there!
Perhaps it was knowing I was a part of it all. And, most of all that I belonged in it all, or that it all belonged in me . . . even crazier, I suppose! But so full of love and joy
and delight it was, all the Land was irresistible to me! And I could not help
but dance and move about on tiptoes which were always leaving the ground, for a
lifting rising was in me and everywhere, and in everything: life as light as a
feather and buoyant as a helium balloon on a sunny day!
Then suddenly there was one of the ‘apples’ in
my hand, from one of the trees of life beside the River of Life. I was holding
it in before me and looking at it closely. It was truly beautiful. And so I
found it exquisitely shaped and formed. And it was of many merging, changing, transparent
colours; all the colours of the rainbow and many more besides which I had never
seen before! And as I continued to gaze at it, accepting it, loving it: so shining
did it become, it was as if it was a globe of fire. In it was LIFE.
And just as I had wanted to eat the Sky when I
really saw it, it was the same with
this amazing ‘fruit of LIFE’ when I wanted to eat it: all at once it was in me – all infused inside me – and in
my hand it became as a bird that flew up from my hand high into the air! And as
it was with the bird I found I was moving and dancing above the earth even
higher in joy and delight! Something had fallen from me when I ‘ate’ the
helper-apple . . . like a layer of skin, or a discarded cloak . . . and I was freer
and lighter . . . moving onward and further through the shining bright light
through the centre of the garden in the midst of this beautiful valley.
And I knew
I was loved; and the feeling of that love grew and grew; and I was comforted
above and beyond all I had ever suffered.
*
Pearl of Great Price....
When
I was very young I was always writing ‘books.’ The fact that they never exceeded
three or four pages, or got past the first chapter never deterred me. I didn’t give
up beginning, only finishing: for a message was in me, only I didn’t know what it
was. (Or, truly, it was more like I was the message and didn’t know who I was; and
that thought was scary: it seemed very vain to me. And I knew I didn’t know anything and was pretty dumb in this world.) But sometimes flashes of it, whatever ‘it’ was
would shoot all through me. Always it evaded me: for it wasn’t knowledge which could
fit in your head. And it wasn’t anything you could put your finger on, and say,
that’s it! ...if you did, it changed. It was something that came despite you: being
as it wasn’t understandable it wasn’t of this world, it was from God who is too
big to fit in your brain, and too small for you to find him.
The
Pearl
When I am old I will write a pearl.
The
pearl will be 25,000 miles wide,
Because
it will circle the world
In
one second.
It
will be the smallest thing
Which
can do that –
Small
as a pea under 20 mattresses,
That
is why it will be a pearl.
Then
the world will know what it has
Forgotten,
And
I will be gone.
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