May 31, 2017


Steve is restless this morning, but does not want to replace the beautiful tribute, and biographical sketch, he wrote of me yesterday for his "Updates." So he is trying to find an excuse for us to channel, and there is one thing I could try to delve into a bit. But he will have to try to really channel my thoughts, and not write his own essay, which is always a temptation.

Yesterday, during his lunch, Steve had the whim to watch a couple of near-death experience interviews. So one woman gets over here, and doesn't want to go back. She is told, "You have a daughter," and she is trying to think of who could take care of her daughter properly, so she wouldn't have to go back.

So Steve's question is, "What is this? Because, if you think about it, this is sort of like winning the lottery, with the condition that you have to abandon your children. In other words, it is supremely selfish. Never-mind that they have to suffer terrible grief, loss, and disruption in their life, which will affect them for the rest of that lifetime. So long as there is someone to raise them, it's just the price of good fortune.

So does heaven make one absurdly selfish?

Looked at this way, it kind of sounds like a heroin addiction--you know the old addage, "a drug addict would sell his own grandmother."

So that is one of Steve's questions. The second is, the disparity between what researchers into the afterlife hear in these near-death accounts, with what they hear from mediums. Because the near-death accounts would indicate that people suddenly find themselves on close personal terms with God, or a Being of Light; and that they become practically gods, themselves, knowing everything they'd ever wanted to know, and more. And that it is so beautiful they would never want to come back (and so beautiful, they are prepared to leave everyone they love, stranded and grieving back on earth, without so much as a thought for them). But the mediums tell us, "People don't change who they are just by crossing over. They are still the same person, maybe just better, or at their best."

So Steve's second question is, how can these disparate reports be reconciled?

Now, he could answer these questions in his own essay. Let us pause, so that he can perhaps catch my thoughts on the matter.

He feels compassion from me--as though I can't explain it because people on earth can't understand it, but that they will when they come here. That is the first answer.

He also feels, from me, that it is simple.

"Ye are gods." Steve can't remember where that quote is from, presumably in the Bible somewhere. This is the answer. When we remember who we are, as opposed to who we imagine we are while in an incarnation on earth, it is so overwhelming and so powerful, that we are momentarily stunned. But it wears off when we get accustomed to it. The same thing happens on earth. Steve saw golf icon Tiger Woods yesterday, arrested for driving under the influence (i.e., of something or other). They showed his mansion--but is he enjoying his mansion? Or is it just another bathroom, another empty corridor, another room that hasn't been dusted?

Well, for those of us fortunate enough to inhabit the higher astral realms, it is far better than being wealthy, on earth. But--here is where it is hard for Steve to keep his own thoughts out of it--Okay, let's try this. Heaven is an experience, a state of awareness. It is not a "place" so much as it is an experience. There are different "heavens"--some more real than others, more intrinsically genuine than others, depending on their origin. If you want real heaven, serve someone else in need, selflessly. You may not experience the heaven immediately, but it is automatically there, with you. Mother Teresa, as she tended the dying on the streets of Calcutta, was in heaven. Self was absent.

Therefore heaven, real heaven, is a by-product of instances where the least selfish love is being expressed, and acted upon.

Every other "heaven" is an imitation.

Now, if you switch over, if you get fooled, into loving the heaven, itself--the by-product--you fall. You may have it for a certain amount of time. And this is the "prodigal son." The prodigal son, as a template, as a type, stops loving and falls in love with the by-product, the heaven.

Even in religion, the emphasis got away from loving God, and loving one's neighbor, to loving heaven. This is because it was conceived that God is in heaven. But do you know where God is? God is in the dying man on the streets of Calcutta; God is in Mother Teresa's heart as she lovingly tends God in the dying man. Heaven is irrelevant--it happens on its own accord, as the scent wafting from the love. It is not to be loved for itself. Loving heaven, is sort of like loving the perfume your wife wears. Suppose you ignored your wife, or even betrayed her, just so you could amass a room-full of bottles of the perfume she wears?

Wouldn't that be an absurdity? And yet the traps that the poor people on earth fall into, while worshipping various types of "heavens," and forgetting to love, are just as absurd.

I was not immune. I had progressed to the point that I had eschewed all except the high astral heaven; but that, I worshipped, as part of my religion. And I abandoned my soul-mate on earth. The worst of it was that I left him with the impression that my religion was correct, and that I was justified in doing so. He felt I had abandoned him, but all his life he honored me by trying to force himself to believe that I had done the right thing. Mathew wrote a poem about it--Steve wants to share it, but perhaps not. It is too painful for me. Because he was so earnest, so sincere, in trying to believe what I believed, with me--to such an extent, he tried to unselfishly let me go. Which of us was being the more spiritual, then? It was him--because he was trying to love me enough to let me go to the heaven I loved. It broke my heart to see it.

So in answer to the first question, one is overwhelmed by the experience of heaven, when one crosses over. But one soon settles into life, here; and one finds that one is still the same person. That's all. I am still here, because we had to find each other. Mathew was lost; and I had to stay put until he got his bearings again, and found me, here. That has now been accomplished--we are now in step, again. Steve wants to use an analogy, and there's no harm in it, but I think you understand, already. If two people get lost in a big department store, it is best if one of them, by pre-arrangement, stays put, while the other wanders around looking. Because if both people stay put, nothing happens; but if both wander, they could cross each other's paths a dozen times and not know it. So, I stayed put, here.

But eventually, you realize that it was love, in the first place, that mattered. Not even heaven. And soul-mates are destined to be together. Their time apart is for the purpose of building longing--and longing is everything. Wherever your deep longing is, that is your destiny; and I do not mean wants and desires and addictions. I mean what is behind them--what they signify. I am telling Steve, "be careful of the analogies you use for this." So we will pause while he tries to get a good one, from me.

We will use the one we started with, from my own experience. Deep, deep down, I wanted love, God as love. I had been taught to associate God with heaven, as though He is sitting up there, but He is not equally down here! So I took that deep yearning, and I made of it a preoccupation with heaven. But what I found, was that my real destiny was to love God by loving my soul-mate. And leaving my soul-mate to get into heaven was a self-contradiction.

Steve could develop this, but he has once again felt me stop giving him additional thoughts. We are about to take "Kappa," the new car, for a spin on the expressway. We stopped to channel this, briefly. Steve wonders whether I have any comments on the biography he wrote of me for my birthday, which is coming up in a couple of days, on the 2nd of June. It is an exquisite gift. The less I say about it, the less I will marr it. I am deeply pleased and appreciative, and can say no more. To be understood--to be acknowledged--to be "grokked"--is the greatest gift you can give someone. Those men, dying alone on the streets of Calcutta, were amazed to find that suddenly, they were "grokked" by this little Catholic nun. Do you see? Just so, your true soul-mate groks you completely; and in this, both can learn to "grok" God, and to be "grokked" by Him.

Love to each and all,