Messages
from the Seraphim
6/15/10
Day
Two
I awoke this morning as usual
at the crack of dawn with a spiritual “essence” flooding my pineal gland, then
my pituitary gland and then all of the rest of my glands all the way down
through my chakra system. When it got
down to my base chakra, kundalini energy started swirling up my spine opening
up all of my chakras in ascending succession.
This is how spirit connects with me and I connect with spirit each
morning.
The rose-colored rays of
sunrise illuminated my surroundings. I
looked around to notice my pink modular house reflecting its own pink radiance
(Joe had threatened to paint it some other color as it was such an eye-sore)
and the happy-faced sun I had painted on my animal/tool shed was winking at me
with the words “Good Morning” in bold, hand-painted, black letters. But the morning air felt chilly and I wasn’t
about to get out of the warm cocoon I’d created in the back of Mom’s old green
Ford Lumina. So instead, I grabbed my
computer and started editing my book, Becoming
One—the journey toward God while I still had juice in the battery source.
I’d left off in the middle of
the chapter entitled, “Dancing with the Serpent” and I quickly scanned down to
the part where I’d ended:
The
serpent has been the source of great controversy throughout the ages for both
those of religious and of non-religious views.
Throughout the world, we see the occurrence of the serpent symbol as
representing profound power as well as a universality of religious
mysticism. In the book, The Great Cosmic Mother by Monica Sjoo & Barbara Mor it reads:
The snake was, first of all, a symbol of eternal life since each time it
shed its skin it seemed reborn. It
represented cosmic continuity within natural change—spiritual continuity within
the changes of material life. Gliding as
it does in and out of holes and caverns in the earth, the serpent also
symbolized the underground abode of the dead who wait for rebirth. Its undulations symbolized the serpentine
earth currents of the underground waters.
The serpent path on earth was the terrestrial energy-flow; the serpent
path in the sky was the winding spray of stars in the galactic spiral arm, or
Milky Way.
It’s
interesting to note that the Hebrew word for angels is seraphim—bright and shining angels, a flying dragon, and it’s
derived from the root word “serpent.”
In Joe Sampson’s enlightening book, Written
by the Finger of God, he states:
For centuries Jews and Christians have
wrestled with the meaning of the unusual thorny phenomenon of fiery serpents
biting the children of Israel during their exodus from Egypt to the promised
land, and the subsequent raising by Moses of a brass serpent on a pole which
allowed those who looked at it to live (see Numbers 21:8-9; John 3:14-15; Alma
33:19.) This strange incident has not
caused most Jews and Christians to lose faith in their scriptures. Nor has the Lord’s turning Moses’ rod into a
serpent been considered a reason to discredit the story of the prophetic
calling of Moses. (See Exodus 4:2-4)
When the first white settlers witnessed the
American Indian make use of the serpent or the snake in their religious
ceremonies, the white men undoubtedly thought native beliefs in the serpent
were pagan superstition or demon inspired worship. This is furthest from the truth in Native
American reasoning.
The symbol of the serpent legends has
over-shadowed the whole western hemisphere as an object used in religious
ceremonies, and as well used as temple decor for Aztec and Toltecs. Furthermore the ancient mythology of the
flying serpent was seen amongst most other Amerindian tribes. These traditions go back centuries, having
their origin and foundation from the Holy Scriptures. Moses, by command of the Lord raised a brazen
serpent before the children of Israel, in similitude of the fact that Jesus
Christ would be lifted up on the cross.
(See Numbers 21:4-8 cf. John
3:14-15) This brass serpent staff was
used by Moses so to illustrate to the children of Israel the saving grace and
powers of their God Jehovah—Jesus Christ, if we believe on Him.
In both the Eastern and Western Hemisphere
the ancient ones used the serpent, a Judaic-Christian symbol representing the
saving powers of the Savior that saves men from their sins. To this extent the gospel principal was so
simple, that men would overlook and fail to see it.
The
question I have is this—if the serpent
was originally a positive symbol perhaps representing Christ, then why was Eve
“beguiled” by a serpent in the Garden
to partake of the forbidden fruit? And
why do we Biblically and historically believe that serpent to be Satan or Lucifer (the Son of the Morning) who
was cast out of heaven onto this earthly plane?
(See Rev. 12:9)
Just then my battery ran out of
juice as I was just about to answer my own question—was the serpent a good angel or a bad angel? I, myself, was
curious for the answer as I still had some apprehensions about hiking into
Diamond Fork that day with the thoughts of rattlers nipping at my heels.
It had warmed up a bit so I
decided to dislodge some of these serpentine fears onto my garden plot. I slithered into my jeans, and grabbed my
gray running jacket as I slid open the van door. My toothbrush was conveniently located in a
pocket behind the passenger’s seat. I
grabbed it along with a disposable plastic cup and my natural toothpaste; and
then opened the passenger’s door and siphoned out some fresh water from the
5-gallon container sitting on the seat.
After my tooth-brushing ritual, I grabbed a clean washcloth and soaked
it with water for my face-washing ritual.
Ah…life in the slow, KISS (Keep It Simple Sweetheart) lane. “Could it get any better than this?” I asked
myself as I stretched my stiff joints in the warmth of the rising sun. I slid between the fence rails (I was too lazy
to grab the keys out of my purse to unlock the gate), grabbed some tools from
the shed and a wheelbarrow along side.
I quickly surmised what needed to be done next.
Brody had roto-tilled a large
10 X 20 foot plot on the north side of the shed where our goats and the
neighbor’s horses had conveniently dumped their shit. The mix of soil, shit and composting hay was
rich—almost too rich. Parts of the soil
were all shit and no soil while other parts needed more compost. For the next few hours I went about trying to
even out the soil mixture by getting rid of some of the shit and mixing in some
of the topsoil left over from the garden I’d created in the back of Brad’s
workplace.
“Was this a metaphor for
getting rid of some of my own shit?”
I bemused as I wheeled nearly a dozen wheelbarrows of shit out of my garden and
dumped it onto the compost pile. I used
a rake to mix all of the ingredients together.
It was all good exercise until I realized I was getting hot and tired
and ready to quit my gardening efforts for the day. I’d already stripped down to my bikini (which
is how I prefer doing gardening if I can’t do it naked) so I decided to just
wear what I had on for the 30 mile drive to Diamond Fork trailhead. My plan was to do as much gardening in the
morning as comfortable and then spend the rest of the day relaxing at the hot
springs.
When I got close to the
interchange that forked right to the upper trail and left to the lower one, I
recalled Cindy and Glen saying that “nobody ever used the upper trail anymore
even though it was quite a bit shorter” they’d heard. They surmised that it was because most
people could tolerate the uphill climb in, but were relieved when the hike was
downhill on the way out after soaking. I
preferred the upper trail myself as it paralleled a pastoral stream that
cascaded over several breathtaking waterfalls.
When I got to the fork in the road, the steering wheel pulled toward the
right which was my spiritual indicator that the upper trail was the better
choice.
After about 15 miles of winding
switchbacks along Sheep Creek Road, I pulled into the parking area to Fifth
Waters trailhead. It was vacant as I’d
hoped. This meant I could hike in the
way I always liked to—naked as a Jay Bird.
I got out and slid open the side door to the van and grabbed my
backpack. It still had the water in it
from yesterday and I filled up the other plastic container with Green Drink
from the cold gallon I’d stored in the cooler.
I placed it in the backpack’s cup holder and then unzipped the inner
compartment to check for my towel; and then stuck in my shorts and tie-dyed
tank top I’d worn yesterday. I slid the
door shut and then locked the door—first making sure I’d stuck the keys in the
small outer compartment. I looked around
for signs of humanity; and then stripped off my bikini and threw it into the
inner compartment, zipped it up, then loaded it onto my back.
The weather was perfect—a
gentle breeze was blowing from the west—the direction I was headed. As breezy fingers stroked my warm, naked
skin, I wondered why any one would want to hike any other way. Ground squirrels were playing hide-n-seek in
and out of their burrows as I traversed the open meadow. I soon descended into the rocky cliffs and
denser-foliaged part of the journey where I’d seen snakes before—a rattler on
one occasion. I said the silent affirmation
which Brody had taught me the short time we were together—“I love God, God
loves me, God protects me and my family.”
A surge of welcome relief passed through me, convincing me that I was
indeed being watched over and protected by a Divine Source.
Coming out of the steep rocky
area, I began to relax into a steady pace and take in the beauty of my
surroundings. The spring flowers were a
symphony of color. Indian Paintbrush,
Fireweed and Firechalice were a dazzling display of vibrant red hues. Balsam root, Buttercups and spring Dandelions
were eye-catching yellows mixed in with white mountain Geraniums and pink
Carpet Phlox. It was eye-candy for the
soul and the impulse to break out into a John Denver song was irresistible:
Thank-you
for this precious day
These
gifts you give to me
My
heart so full of love for you
Sings
praise for all I see
Oh sing
for every mother’s love
For
every childhood tear
Oh sing
for all the stars above
The
peace beyond all fear
(The second verse I’d changed
slightly for a concert I’d put together for a class of Pinesdale students. I couldn’t remember the actual words to the
song so I sang what I’d composed.)
This is
for the pure in heart
Who
long to build a home
Who
gather here among the Saints
So they
won’t be alone
Are
they not some dear mother’s child?
Are
they not you and I?
Are we
the ones to turn away?
And
scorn their sacrifice?
Or are
they just like falling leaves
Who
give themselves away?
From
dust to dust
From
seed to shear
And
to another day
If
I could have one wish on earth
Of
all I can conceive
‘Twould
be to see another spring
And
bless the falling leaves
(The first verse repeated
itself and I continued singing it out loud)
Thank-you
for this precious day
These
gifts you give to me
My
heart so full of love for you
Sings
praise for all I see
Oh sing
for every mother’s love
For
every childhood tear
Oh sing
for all the stars above
The
peace beyond all fear
My
voice had a resonance I hadn’t experienced before and I wondered if the voice
lessons I’d taken from my friend, Soul, and the throat chakra clearing I’d been
doing recently had made a difference.
Convinced that now was a good time to try out my operatic skills, I
broke into another John Denver song (one of my favorites, by the way) called
“The Flower that Shattered the Stone.”
The
earth is our Mother just turning around
With
her trees in the forest, roots underground
Our
Father above us whose sigh is the wind
Paint
us a rainbow without any end
As the
river runs freely, the mountain does rise
Let me
touch with my fingers and see with my eyes
In the
hearts of the children a pure love still grows
Like a
bright star in heaven that lights our way home
Like
the flower that shattered the stone
Sparrows
find freedom beholding the sun
In the
infinite wisdom—we’re all joined in one
I reach
out before me and look to the sky
Did I
hear someone whisper, did something pass by
As the
river runs freely, the mountain does rise
Let me
touch with my fingers and see with my eyes
In the
hearts of the children a pure love still grows
Like a
bright star in heaven that lights our way home
Like
the flower that shattered the stone
I
paused for a moment, listening to the tones reverberate off the canyon walls
and dissolve into the burble of the brook nearby. It was a sacred hymnal to God and I knew He
“had his ears on.” My entire soul
worshipped God in the same way I’m sure John did when he wrote these
songs. I was on the second half of the
hike, nearing the campgrounds when my eyes beheld an incredible meadow of
mountain Forget-me-nots. (I didn’t
really know what the proper names for these wildflowers are but they looked a
lot like Mom’s garden variety of Forget-me-nots only taller.) Blue flowers are my favorite and even though
my beloved Blue Lupine weren’t blooming yet, the blue Forget-me-nots made up
for them. I couldn’t resist glorifying
this exquisite scene with Annie’s Song (you all know the words)
The
final words—“come fill me again”—merged with thundering sounds of a giant
waterfall I’d named “Maui Falls” after the spectacular falls in Hawaii. I had a “Kodak Moment” as I stood at my
favorite look-out spot, viewing the three-layered, forty-foot falls. There are no appropriate adjectives to
describe my feelings—it’s something you’ve got to experience for yourself to
appreciate. A few more precarious
mountain curves in the trail, and I was at the upper pools. Yeah…no one was there…I had the entire
pristine pools to myself. This time all
I had was my backpack and shoes to slip off as I slid comfortably into the water. It was somewhat hotter than yesterday, so I
pulled a part of the towel from the hole in the sidewall to allow for the cold
stream to gush in. It wasn’t long before
I had the perfect water temperature to relax into a complete state of bliss.
After
an hour or so of relaxing (I’d found the perfect rock shelf to do some neck
massage on), I decided to pull out the book I’d included in the bottom of the
backpack. I had discovered it over the
weekend while helping Brad sort though the stuff in the garage. It was in one of the many boxes of books that
once belonged to a dear friend, Mary, who had given them to Joe who in turn
gave them to me. It wasn’t just the
title of the book, The Middle Pillar
that intrigued me, but it was the cover design that had caught my eye. I’d come across this particular image while I
was going through other images for my book and had saved it in my “favorites”
file under the name of “combo-snake.”
It had
represented to me the combination of a myriad of sacred symbols that I had
included in various chapters of my book.
Now, here it was, staring right at me as the cover to the book I was
about to delve into. Could life get any
better than this? I sincerely doubt
it! I opened the front cover page and
began to read:
Integration of the human
personality is vital to the continuance of creative life. Without it, man lives as an outsider to his
own behavior. By combining magic and
psychology, Israel Regardie has created a system whereby one can make full use
of all being potentials, drawing
nearer the goal of both psychology and magic—and that of life itself.
· Understand the psyche
through its correspondences on the Tree of Life
· Expand self-awareness,
thereby intensifying the inner growth process
· Activate creative and
intuitive potentials
· Widen the field of
vision of the conscious ego to embrace the divinity within, unfolding a new
sphere of spiritual perception
· Understand the
individual thought-patterns which control every facet of personal behavior
I
turned the next few pages to the introduction to the second edition and read:
The
world is in crisis. Men of all ages look
in despair on the chaos which is their inheritance from countless generations
of forebears, and join in what has become a universal cry of disillusionment: “Stop the world—I want to get off.”
Unfortunately,
it isn’t that easy to get off. Answers
are not as simple as some might have supposed.
And assuming they were, where would people go, once they got off the
merry-go-round? Many centuries ago,
certain sages approached the problem from another angle, and found what they
considered a practical solution. If life
is sorrow, then the only thing to do is to end this revolving wheel of
existence. Life follows life, incarnation
follows incarnation—and all of them spell anxiety and sorrow. For these sages, it was apparent that it
might be millions of years before the masses of humanity would develop enough
insight to be able to terminate the sorrowful cycle of existence. But for the illuminated individual who will
apply himself to a specific psycho-spiritual discipline, escape might come
aeons sooner than for the average member of mankind.
This
release, they learned, comes only through the achievement of a higher
consciousness by the individual. Call it
cosmic consciousness, the mystical experience, communion with God—all spell the
same message—release. None may know it for another. Each man must himself attain for himself awareness of his own oneness
with Infinite Life—the consciousness that a state of separateness exists only
within his own mind…
I turned to the front of the
book to find out when it1 was written—its original copyright was in 1938 and
the fourth edition printing was in 1986.
“Things haven’t changed much have they?” I said to myself and then flipped
through the pages, landing on an interesting quote from Sutra of Wei Lang.
“The Wisdom of Enlightenment is inherent in
every one of us. It is because of the
delusion under which our mind works that we fail to realize it ourselves, and
that we have to seek the advice and guidance of the highly enlightened one
before we can know our essence of mind.
You should know that so far as Buddha-nature is concerned, there is no
difference between an enlightened man and an ignorant one. What makes the difference is that one
realizes it, while the other is kept in ignorance of it.”
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